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Rated: E · Other · Other · #1936679
Angel of Light
Word Count 555

                    The moonless night hid two dark shadows moving through the trees. Silent and black as a nightmare, Sul’hupkaar led King Sauric to the very edge of a meadow engulfed in darkness. The low groans and growls of the dozen or so undead staggering across it were picked up easily by his elfin ears. They were exactly what he was looking for. They were mindless and ravenous with hunger for now, but would soon bend to his will.
                   The narrow pass Sul’hupkaar knew the assassin would be passing through was close by. As fast as he got here, he knew the quality of the man he hunted and he didn’t have long. For a human, the assassin was incredibly resourceful; trained by the dark elf guildmaster himself, Ool’moondoor. He was a foe worthy of caution.
                   He bade King Sauric to stay, the horse’s red glowing eye the only thing visible in the darkness, as he crept closer to the undead ahead. They would set on him the moment they caught scent of his live flesh, so he made sure to circle around upwind of them, the odor of rotting death filling his nostrils.
                   As he came up behind them, Sul’hupkaar paused and placed his black fingertips together, his yellow flickering eyes dulled to a void as fangs emerged from his mouth. The world of men worshipped such strange notions in their attempt to understand their existence. They prayed to the light to guide them. How ironic it was that he called upon the Angel of Light now for aid.
                   A soft purple glow formed around Sul’hupkaar’s hands as he sang softly, a low hiss calling to the Ruler of Demons for his aid. As a dark elf, he always saw the energy that made up existence around him, it was the Necromancers that showed him the power of the underworld. His arcane prayer drifted across the field towards the undead wandering aimlessly, they would soon belong to him and be used for glorious purpose in exaltation of the one cast out.
                   Sul’hupkaar began to feel his connection with these wandering dead as his prayer was answered. The stinking flesh of things in the field became stronger as they turned and neared him, now under his control. A low hiss continued to offer prayer to the Demon King as Sul’hupkaar instructed the minions his master granted him to their task. He watched the shambling mob head towards the north end of the pass as he offered thanks to the Great Dragon and moved to the south end of the pass’ opening.
                   The mindless group was just a diversion. The assassin could easily destroy all of them in a blink if he wanted to, but wounded from his battle with Famine or not, Sul’hupkaar knew the man would avoid them. The was a man that wouldn’t draw attention to himself, didn’t take risks where they weren’t needed. Pride didn’t drive this man; Ool’moondor had taught him the way of a dark elf well.
                   No. This man would divert away and head right to him. Sul’hupkaar unslung his ebony bow and began to softly sing a different hymn of destruction. The string on his bow vanished and was replaced by a faintly glowing line of purple eldritch. When the assassin slinked his way, Sul’hupkaar would be ready for him.
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