Blood Rituals
The Holderkin girl was tied on a crude altar, the ritual chains of Dark Iron holding her down as she struggled, desperately, to break free. She shrieked, her eyes rolling madly about, wild with fear as she looked upon the faces of the five who surrounded her. Clothed in black and silver, they stood arranged around her, each involved in the ritual as writhing forms of blackest night twisted in the air above them. Even as she looked, one of the five stepped forward, raising a knife, preparing to make the first tiny cut in the ritual known as the Endless Death. The priest raised the knife…
The shrieks were simultaneously cut off from over a hundred different, yet identical chambers in the depths of the castle.
In a heavily shielded chamber above the ritual altars, a dark stone of midnight started to glow. In fact, it did not glow, as the little ambient light in the chamber was sucked into the stone. Around it sat 4 figures, 3 men and a woman. They were all forming spells of containment, three drawing on the raw energy of the pain and torment around them to create the wards, one using energy supplied from another. The very air thickened as slowly, the dull iron lines on the floor surrounding the stone grew a baleful red.
The rituals continued, consisting of making a thousand small but carefully placed cuts on a victim's body, letting the victim bleed to death while they worked. The victims were conscious throughout the entire process, as the shrieking intensified…
The first two hundred cuts were made, and one priest in every chamber lifted up the bowlful of blood collected and drank…
The midnight stone started to pulse.
The ritual continued. The second priest drank.
Four hundred cuts.
The stone was vibrating slightly.
Six hundred cuts.
The surface of the stone had started to ripple.
Eight hundred cuts.
The entire stone was rippling.
Nine hundred and Ninety-nine cuts.
The very air above the stone had started to waver, a ball of darkness, fear and terror forming. The warding circle was extended, a dullish red glow extending from the floor to the black crystal ceiling of the Work Chamber. A beam of darkness that blotted out the ambient light left in the overcast day rose from the centre of the Estolan castle, mirroring the darkness in the castle.
The thousandth cut.
The stone within the shielding circle literally exploded, as with the completion of the ritual, a Gate was formed to the Nether dimensions. A powerful, hunger-crazed demon stepped out, jaws slavering, sucking in the darkness, auras of fear and terror around it. It reached the barrier, laughed, for what puny mortal efforts could hinder his way? The demon, revelling in the energy around him, reached out his fist and struck at the shield, which…
Shattered.
The demon laughed, and passed through the circle. It reached the second circle and, sensing it was stronger, gathered in the energy present all around it, shaping it, and struck at the barrier with all his force…
Tricked!
Just before the massive energies reached the barrier, the shield strengthened, absorbing the awesome blow and reflecting it against the demon. At the same time, the first, innermost shield snapped back into place, as the ambient energy was also cut off. With a final, sickening snap, the gate closed as the power that had spawned it was abruptly cut off by the mages. The demon, cut off from both his sources of power, realised that it was a trap, and that he had only minutes left before it ceased to exist…
It roared, angrily hammering at the shields, attempting to find a source of power to prolong its assistance. It hammered angrily, with awesome power, at the ground, attempting to break free, only to have its energy siphoned off into the four Dark Mages surrounding it. It alternately cajoled and threatened, blasting away at the shields. The mages stood around it impassionedly, but the demon sensed a weakness in one. It turned to him, pleading and promising great power, anything if it would let him go. The mage weakened,...
And fled, running far out of the room, vomiting as he ran down the staircase, that segment of the shield dissolving as he left.
The demon roared triumphantly and struck, sure of its freedom…
Once again, the energy was absorbed, as the other three moved into the gap and blocked the weakness in the shield. The demon screamed in rage, burned black…
And was gone.
The energy of the demon, the substance it was made of, churned down, once again flowing into the seemingly endless reservoirs of the Dark Mages. It was absorbed, and as the energy dissipated, the shields once again went down, the energy once again going into the mages. The thunderous pillar of dark malice also disappeared, and the sunlight started leaking through again.
The ritual had ended.
In the work room, the mages went around, using the remnants of pain-energy in the castle to refresh the mage-lights in both the castle and the workroom. One, by one, they removed their robes, carefully folding them up and leaving the room in silence, as the ritual demanded. All three mages placed intricate warding-locks on the door, the separate, distinct spells leashing together as one, solidly.
Learath Estolan, after vomiting out not only his breakfast, but his lunch, dinner and supper from the day before too, gritted his teeth and tried to turn around casually, but ended up being whirled around by his father, The Lord Ma'ar Estolan Falconsbane. He cringed as his brother, sister and father all glared at him, accusing him without words.
"In the study, Learath. Now." Lord Estolan finally said, spitting out his name like a curse. He whirled and strode off. Slowly, Learath followed him, feeling the eyes of his siblings on his back as he followed his father into the labyrinthine depths of the citadel.
Learath followed his father down the labyrinthine passages and hallways. The path his father had taken led him past the doors to all the ritual chambers, and as he passes, priest upon priest opened their doors, glaring at him as if they knew of his failure.
Knowing his father, most of them did by now anyway.
He shrank back into himself, pressured by the onslaught of negative emotions bombarding him from all sides. He would have raised a mage-shield, if not for the fear of incurring his father's wrath. All the Adepts that he knew of feared his father's power while he was in a rage, as a powerful Firestarting skill was often used with the spells he cast.
The study door of his father, his arcane workroom, stood before him. Lord Estolan opened the door, and the pair of them went in.
The door slammed with the finality and the same dread generated by the Death Bell.
Inside the study, magelights floated over the desk. The desk itself, a massive stone, had been carved to resemble a Daemon; with the 'surface' being the daemon's outstretched wings.
Learath had seen this table virtually every day since he was young, but his mind only truly registered its dark design now.
He turned on his father, angrily asking.
"WHY? Why must you torture and kill innocents to get power? I always thought you were a good man, why are you killing our people?"
Lord Estolan simply sat there, with a sardonic smile on his face. He replied calmly to his son's accusations.
"Firstly, these are NOT our people. These come from some distant land called Valdemar. Secondly, how else do we obtain power?" His voice took on a hypnotic quality. "Blood is Life. Life is Power. Shedding the lives of our people's enemies is how we remain in Power. They are worthless scum, not even worthy of being called Human. We are doing our people a favour by killing them off.
Learath was too far gone into anger, however, to be caught by his Father's words. "You liar! These people are just like us! They are good and innocent too! Why do you have to kill them! I hate you!" Screaming, Learath brought up his hands and released all his energy in a storm of lightning bolts that converged on the elder mage.
The storm caught him by surprise, and for awhile it seemed that he may actually win. Then, suddenly, his spell was broken, and he was thrown back with the recoil. His father stepped, unharmed, toward him, his face glowing with an unholy light and his hands burning with flame. He gestured, and streams of fire and ice lashed into him, burning him and freezing him at the same time.
As abruptly as it began, the pain stopped. Learath looked up, panting, half blinded by pain, to see his father sweeping all his paperwork off the table. A ring of fire and lightning surrounded them, and he saw a rat get incinerated into ashes as it went near. No, there would be no escape.
Eyes burning, Lord Estolan commanded "Strip."
"Huh?"
"Didn't you hear me? STRIP!" He roared.
The desk was cleared, and four rings of dark iron, hidden before, were bound into it. Dreading his fate, and yet unwilling to dare his father's further anger, Learath stripped and tied himself onto the Desk at Lord Estolan's command.
The Desk, he saw now, had once been an Altar. Its 'abstract decorations' were now seen as channels for blood to run down, and the 'shelves' below it to collect blood. Its aura reeked of blood, pain and fear.
Out of the corner of his eye, Learath saw his father lift up a whip, spiked with massive barbs, raise it up and bring it down…
For the next quarter of a mark, harsh screams were again heard echoing in the castle.
