"Remember what they say about the messenger…" injected Selven smoothly. The shroud covered him entirely except his shimmering face.
"Understood…let's get on with the summoning" he replied coldly. He had grown fond of Selven; however, he still represented the one holding his chain. He did not care for anyone to command him, especially a being who is trapped. He was not entirely stupid to think that the keeper could not find a way into the world of the living without him or his people, so he went along with the plan. Better to have some power than to be on the losing side.
Several hours later the dark scouts returned with the necessary offerings for the summoning. When a life is taken there is a moment when the soul leaves the body to travel to the other side of the veil that separates the living from the dead. The Meleirelnar referred to this as the backdoor. They kill innocent, sometimes not entirely without sin, people in order to put a door stop in the temporary opening to the underworld. The souls that remain close to the veil are either lost, new to the next stage of existence, or they are those who were wholly in the service of the keeper. He was called this simply because he captured unwary souls and kept them in his realm. Those who were able to resist his evil influence in life were given safe passage to the next plain of existence. Exactly where they ended up depended on the level of service and devotion they showed to the creator while living in the world.
The scouts had gathered twenty woodsmen that had unfortunately been working in the northeastern part of Tansanee. They were silent as they were herded to a gathering place that had been prepared for summoning. The trees that had been there were stacked in the middle of the new clearing in the form of a log cabin. A large circle had been carved into the ground with ancient symbols that glowed red and purple. A makeshift door in the middle of the cabin wall had the symbol of the keeper above it. It looked like a pair of hands making some important gesture. The men had no idea what the gesture meant…they simply knew they were about to die.
“Welcome to your door to the next world” spoke Lord Tyrienwalker smoothly.
“Black devil…I curse you and your kind! May the keeper rack your souls with eternal torment!” shouted one of the men bravely. He was going to die and he felt that he should at least fight back a little…even if it was only verbally.
Raucous laughter filled the clearing at this bold cursing. It did not last long though. The men were roughly forced into their wooden coffin. The door slammed shut and the clearing went silent. The men inside pushed hard for escape with no success. They peered through the gaps in the logs and saw the elves making the sign that had appeared above the door to the death cabin. Their faces hardened as they peered out and saw clouds gathering overhead. They knew death was moments away. They all knelt in prayer to the unseen creator and asked that he curse the murderous black elves. A peace came over them as they waited for the inevitable.
An eerie voice started to chant in a tongue not known to the mortal races of Tuwa. There was an increase in volume as the rest of the elves in sight joined in. The twenty victims would be granted safe passage into the station they were granted by the life they lived. The moment of departure opened a hole in the veil for each soul that leaves the world of the living. Twenty people leaving at once opened a sizable hole through which they would summon a creature worthy of the task it was being summoned for. The bodies along with the unwitting crows circling overhead would provide sufficient mass for the creature that would come forth.
As the chant intensified, the circle around the cabin began to burn red and purple all at once. The flames slowly moved toward the cabin as predator would sneak up on its prey. The fire burned low to the ground as it approached its target. Just as it appeared that the cabin would catch on fire, a red hand and purple hand of fire shot into the air at the crows. Hundreds of birds were consumed instantly by the burning hands. Ash gathered some ten feet above the roof of the cabin, in the air, as the hand returned to the flaming circle.
“Radesh…come forth and serve!” shouted Lord Tyrienwalker.
The ash fell as the flames instantly consumed the log cabin. It happened so quickly that the men did not even utter a single cry or shout of pain. A black hole opened in the scorched circle which was empty only for a moment. The beast called Radesh clawed his way out of the underworld. He had clawed hands and feet with black wings spreading from his back. He stood nearly twenty feet tall and was black as night. His eyes were human in form but the pupils were entirely black. Once he was completely free of the world of the dead, the void closed.
“Echten loche noh bin baden” the deep gravelly voice of Radesh rumbled slowly. He was ready to serve his masters. That was part of the dark magic…those who were summoned were bound to do the bidding of those who brought them forth. The one downfall is that the creature would have a body that could be damaged and even sent back to the realm of the dead. If the beast could avoid such damage, it could live forever. The dark lord is the perfect example of such a feat.
“We are ready” Lord Tyrienwalker said as he looked back to the dark elves visible in the clearing. The sky cleared and the sun shone brightly overhead. The air smelled of burnt flesh and brimstone.
***
The sky over Burien was clear and the sun was bright as it rose on another day over the western waste land. The giants did not think of it as such, but from outward appearances it did not look all that hospitable. The air was dry and almost completely devoid of moisture. This was what a giant would consider a perfect day. The tribes primarily resided in the western part of their homeland, however, with so many giants off to war, their numbers were considerably reduced. The young giants were in training to prepare for being called up to fight. The field where they trained was a big as the elven capital in Renshaw.
The trainees rumbled out into the open arena where they practiced the noble art of throwing objects. The clear sky overhead gave the giants excellent visibility for the workout ahead of them. As a few of the giants looked to the southwest they noticed what looked like a dark cloud that appeared to swell before it disappeared. The other combatants did not notice the strange occurrence; however, they did feel an unnatural ease come over them. Everyone mechanically came to a halt and looked around for the source of the change that had sprung on them.
“What changed?” queried one of the larger giant soldiers. He was nearly twenty feet tall and looked fierce in his obsidian stone armor. His movements were restricted by the bulky plating.
“Something is happening over there” said another giant diffidently. He was pointing at where the mysterious cloud appeared and then quickly vanished.
Off in the distance a black mist started to swell just north of the strange appearance. The blackness crept like a stalking predator into the sky. What was not clear to the giants was that this obsidian mass was also moving toward them. The distance between the practice field and the approaching danger was almost negligible. The speed of the unseen danger was hidden by the crude mist.
Within moments blackness swallowed the giant soldiers on the practice field. They were momentarily stunned by the sudden nothingness. Many of the massive brutes swatted at the thick, dark moisture. Then, in an instant, the air was full of screams of terror and fierce anger. It is scary to hear such cries coming from giants and the subsequent shouts of anger would have chilled any sane person to their core. This is when the unthinkable happened…a full out assault on the giant homeland of Burian. Soon the sounds of battle replaced the brief moment of terror. Blood soaked the practice field as the giants fought unseen intruders.