I flinched as arcane energy surged throughout my body, heaving blood as Dar'Khan activated a runic array underneath me as I drew too near to a ziggurat.
A second explosion lauched me into the air.
I flew into a couple of buildings, quickly finding myself buried beneath the rubble. It seems since my last time here measure had been taken against interference with the power sources to the Scourge.
I would have too, considering their importance to extended conflict.
Every time I got too close to the ziggurats they redoubled their efforts in attacking me. They were learning.
I burst from the wreckage, throwing up another shield as I made my way around the fortress, burning all in my wake.
I crushed a skeletal mage into a ruined buildings wall as I passed it by.
I had been keeping up the charade for quite some time. Throwing fire at the undead that approached me, chasing down Dar'Khan throughout the streets.
I had taken curses, spellfire, bladed weaponry of blood and more. Most spells used in combat were simplistic, easily used.
The difference was in the definition of simplistic, and easily used. A novice could cast a plague bolt, a shadow bolt, or any equivalent their chosen school held.
A master could cast an overpowered deathbolt, and have three different cursed under their breath hit you at the same moment.
A master could attack and defend at once, repeatedly use energy intense spells to avoid damage. As a talented but inexperienced caster my talents in combat did not often rely on direct magical attacks.
In combat I often rely on subterfuge, surprise, and preparation. Even now, as a dragon covered in hellish flame, tearing apart all I could see, I was not putting my full efforts into the spells I was casting.
I could overpower my abilities, break past shields and barriers with raw power, but I was fighting two top tier undead inside their own territory.
Dar'Khan had already shown a mastery over the blink spell I hadn't seen before.
The blood prince who fought with him was constantly testing the bounds of my control over my own body, attempting to steal away my power as he used my own blood as a tool to attack.
More strength in that manner would be useless unless I had enough power to vaporize this whole fortress in an instant. Even then that would never be a guarantee.
I had to do things differently than that.
There was one concept I held in high regard ever since my arrival. Preparation.
Being unprepared for what you faced was often the death of casters. Rogues sneaking around you, warriors with enchanted weaponry attacking suddenly, dragons appearing inside your fortress.
A prepared magic user could raise armies of the dead, steal the power of gods, tap into the lay lines themselves, open portals to demon worlds, and so much more.
An unprepared magic caster was just a man in a fancy robe holding a stick.
That was precisely why I love ritual casting as much as I do. With the right amount of time and preparation a novice could do the same rituals a master could.
I had been using rituals that casters far above my abilities were only barely capable of with just the right amount of guile.
I had gotten so good at it I had even begun tweaking them on my own, having Antheol and the others look them over when my work was complete.
I unleashed another blast of felfire, covering a charnel house in flame. A look around the fortress revealed nothing more than a pit of flames.
Most of the undead that been swarming me over the past hour had been burned away.
I crouched low, hiding between some buildings as more spells passed over my head. The flames were doing a marvelous job of reducing visibility.
The blackened smoke filling the air around the place would undoubtedly be deadly to most living beings, to my opponents it was simply difficult to see,
It obscured the air, the sky, and even the ground.
The use of rituals in combat was completely unheard of.
There had been mages in the past who prepared magical traps, or carved sigils into their places of power to increase their own abilities to be certain, but no one had ever set up ritual casting in the middle of a battle.
For good reason too, it often took hours of preparation and study to ready some ritual circles, and in combat one often had other things to worry about over making sure no mistakes were made in any arrays you put together.
Unless someone had a perfect memory and could somehow arrange the ritual circle instantly or at least quickly.
Someone with knowledge of rituals of all kinds, most of which were original work made from the combined efforts of separate schools of magic, some of which were even conflicting.
Someone like me.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the nature of the land around me. I concentrated on the two separate fonts of magical energy within Deathholme
I felt the ground rumble and shift as blackened roots tore through the ground, closing around the Ziggurats.
I felt the blood that had pooled around the structures climb up the roots, sealing them off from the world around them.
Dozens of other arrays, all in strategic positions around the area begin to form as well, covering entire portions of Deathholme
The roots growing along the wall formed spears over the parapets, facing inward as my array powered itself.
I laughed as I felt myself cut off from my own magic, as the fel flame lost its focus and power, dying down into simple fires scattered across the fortress.
Simplicity in all its perfection.
