The wind moaned pitifully across the barren, dry hill, dragging its fingers through the parched grass, and whipping the faces of the two men who stood dejectedly at the hill's peak. They stood on either side of a stone altar, staring at it wistfully.
"You think he did get it?" One man slaughtered the silence.
"Of course. Yasir is very thorough." The other replied, with a thick Copper-Isle accent.
"Even then, will the Rising spell work?"
"We have waited, and prepared, long enough." The Copper Isle man said gruffly.
New sound reached the men's ears. They turned abruptly, daggers at the ready. After a moment or two, they breathed relief and sheathed their weapons.
"Yasir. You took your sweet time."
The new arrival, a cloaked figure that lurched from side to side, scowled.
"I did not expect guards, Cothus. They wounded me…" Yasir indicated to the dark stain above his waist.
"But you have them?" Cothus spared no sympathy for the man.
"Yes, yes."
"May I see them?" Cothus asked impatiently. Yasir nodded resignedly and brought forward the leather case held by his side. He brushed a finger against the lock, muttering an arcane word. The lock clicked open.
"Very thorough indeed…" Cothus murmured, as he stared at the case's contents. "They shall be sorely missed."
"Which is why we must hurry." Yasir barged past and nodded at the third man, who was silent. He carefully removed one of the objects from the case, placing it as if it were made of glass onto the stone altar. Jas, the third man, sucked in a sharp intake of breath: it was a large, pointed feather, smooth and steel-like. If there had been sun that day, the feather's surface would almost have blinded the men.
"Are-are you sure it's one of his?" Jas asked tentatively. Yasir grunted irritably.
"If I told you how much the collector paid for it, your eyes would pop out of your head, boy."
Jas nodded and lowered his eyes as an offering of respect.
Yasir grunted again and removed the second object from the case: a small shard of black glass. Jas looked at it in puzzlement.
"What's that?"
"He always wore it, when he turned to Stormwing. It came from a necklace. It's got Chaos in it, straight from Uusoae herself."
"Pure Chaos?" The boy breathed in awe. His elder nodded, and turned to Cothus.
"You are ready?" Cothus nodded, and took his place at one end of the altar, his comrade the other end. The boy stood at the altar's side, burdened with an overwhelming uneasiness.
I shouldn't have agreed to do this…can they really raise him? He thought to himself.
Yasir and Cothus called on their Gifts, mauve fire sprouting in one's hands, ochre from the other's. They closed their eyes, sending their magic forth to intermingle above the steel feather and the glass shard.
"Fallen to death, fallen to darkness," The words for their 'tampered' Rising spell began to slip into the air.
"Blood spilt, life spilt. The blood now returns." The air filled with hissing, and the magic cascaded onto the altar, swallowing up the two artefacts. The altar looked as if it were on fire, the combined gifts giving it a scarlet colour.
The boy began to shake suddenly. Yasir opened one eye and scrutinized him coldly.
"Do it, boy." He muttered. When the boy did not react, he diverted a thin thread of magic to whip him. Moved into action by the sting of Yasir's gift, the boy slowly produced his dagger and slit his left wrist, containing the whimpers of pain at the blade's bite. He brought his arm to above the altar, where the tips of the Gift flame licked him. Ignoring the pain from both the magic and his own flesh, he watched as blood trickled out of his self-made wound and onto the altar's surface. As blood mixed with magic, the words of Yasir and Cothus took on a harsh, unnatural edge.
"Take the blood that has been repaid. Reclaim what death stole."
A void of darkness, so terrifying that no light could have pierced its depths, opened upon the altar, the scarlet magic flaring at its edges. Cold beyond belief poured from it, but the intensity and concentration of the spell kept the three men from freezing.
"Leave the void you were imprisoned in, for the gate is open!" The boy, despite himself, tried to peer into the void, yelping and jumping back in fear when he sensed something within its depths, something alive.
"Return to the world you belong in, soul!" Yasir and Cothus' voices had become one, steel sharp and lifeless. "RETURN!"
The scarlet fire rose with a mighty roar, black threads of what the boy believed to be Chaos snaking into it, and all the magic plunged into the void. Some inhuman snarl sounded in the air, and suddenly the men beside it were blinded by darkness.
Slowly, very slowly, it faded. Yasir stopped panting with exhaustion and brought his gaze up. Only years of self discipline stopped him from showing his fear of the large, winged figure that stood on the altar. Remembering his place, he swooped to his feet, bowing.
"Your Mighty One, I am your loyal servant. I swear allegiance to the one I rose from the dead, as do my companions."
The Stormwing, his steel feathers gleaming, narrowed his eyes, the expression on his face unreadable. A small smile twitched into being, and he nodded.
"You shall be rewarded for the greatest achievement of any of my servants." The voice he spoke, cold and clipped, had not been heard in the world for a decade.
He turned to Cothus, who kept his head down so that his eyes would not have to look upon the Immortal he had helped to bring back to life. Already, doubts and regrets were sprouting in his mind, but if he valued his life, he would do well never to let them show.
The Stormwing lost interest in Cothus, and turned at last to the boy who backed a way a little, quivering. He did not care how much fear he showed.
"You are the one who gave his blood so that my body might be returned to me, I see." The Immortal growled, eyeing the boy's wet scar. "But, do you freely swear by oath to give me your allegiance?"
Yasir glanced up; he had no interest or worries for the boy, nevertheless, it would annoy him if the boy would be so foolish as to aggravate the Mighty One.
"I…I do…" Jas murmured, his eyes hidden beneath his lashes.
"I cannot hear you." The Stormwing snapped. At that moment, Yasir knew that the Immortal was only humouring himself; he was playing with the boy, and would soon end him.
"I swear allegiance-"
"You do not mean it!" The Stormwing cried. He rose into the air, and moved towards the boy. With outstretched arms he grabbed him by the neck and lifted him. The boy panted in shock and panic, hands futilely scrabbling at his tormentor's. His eyes rolled and his legs kicked in desperation, but the Stormwing's grip was strong and determined.
Before long, no breath could be found in the boy. His soul fled from his body, and his murderer dropped him to the ground. Yasir and Cothus had not reacted in any way to what had just occurred, and even now they remained in their bowing positions.
"Rise, my servants." The Stormwing said coolly. His servants obeyed.
"Welcome back to our world, Lord Ozorne."