One destiny. Two paths. One war.
Sheala and Cass have chosen their sides. One seeks to bring meaning to her life that has been in shambles since the day her father and mother were killed and weighs the prospect of assuming the mantle of her uncle's...
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When it comes to the problems of the world, we dwarfs are always the ones that must solve such things. We may not resolve these dilemmas in a fashion or a timeframe that others may approve of. But rest assured, we will solve them by the means we deem fit.
Ork Deepwell, Chief of the Mountain
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Nails digging into her forearm, Noranda broke the skin without even so much as a flinch. Fresh, warm blood spilled from the gashes. Holding out her self-inflicted wound, the fallen angel permitted the flowing stream of red to trace down her arm and drip into the urn before her.
Ten drops fell.
She didn't bandage the injury, only covering it with the sleeve of her robe as it still bled. Collecting a handful of iron powder, rusted to a firm and reddish brown, Noranda tossed the final ingredient into the mix.
A pungent smoke consumed the space around her as the components smoldered. As the cloud wafted upward, growing thicker, it hovered and held itself in the air with the presence, if not the shape of, like a living thing. It loomed before her, expanding and contracting as it took rasping, hollow breaths.
"Why have you summoned me from The Dark, mortal?" the voice and the demand for an answer was not from the smoke, but from all around her.
"Do not underestimate me. I am far greater a foe than I appear. Submit your name to me, so that I may command you."
A boom of laughter shook the walls surrounding her. "You are foolish to request that I surrender to you. I am one of the most ancient of all the Cursed Ones. For I am one of Diur's failed attempts at creation. Elder than even the Dark Lord who now rules our domain. I devour souls of the arrogant, such as yourself."
Noranda smiled. With a calm snap of her fingers, an invisible force began to press inward upon the mist. It writhed and contorted, seeking an escape as unseen walls threatened to squeeze it down and into oblivion. "What is this?" it thundered, growing smaller and smaller while howling out its frustrations.
"I warned you not to underestimate me. Now, your name. Or I will crush you."
More roars of complaint emanated from the fog as its size dwindled. But, once it realized it would not be free and its very existence was being threatened, the Cursed One relented. "Ruthanararak! My name is Ruthanararak!"
