The room exuded opulence, filled with the perpetual fragrance of oils, exotic and alluring. Shadows lingered in each corner, hinting at unspoken desires.
Candelabras softly flickered, casting a cascade of enchanting colours onto the canvas of the room revealing gold, green, purple, and orange hues.
Casually striding with practiced precision and elegance, she moved, her hands deftly orchestrating preparations like a skilled maestro. Her refined upbringing honed her exactness. Every detail was meticulously chosen with painstaking attention, for this woman bore an uncanny knack of remaining unseen. She thrived in the artistry of staying hidden.
The silky robes fluttered around her, a majestic shroud of black. A gown of liquid night, ready to envelop her. Her fingertips hovered over it, gently caressing the intricate sewing.
Attentively, she adorned herself with each layer, aware that it served not only as a shield from nature's whims but also protected her from curious onlookers who might identify her. Her reflection in the mirror cast a dark shadow, obscuring her in an enigma of allure and mystery as she pulled her hood over her head. No telltale sign betrayed her true appearance; she concealed herself within the ordinary, hiding behind familiar eyes.
Securing the final fastenings of her cloak, she smoothed out its folds. With a satisfied sigh escaping her lips, she extinguished the flickering candles, pinching each wick between her fingers, their glows fading into wispy trails of smoke. Stepping out into the refreshing chill, she locked the door to her chambers behind her. The woman's steps held a determined rhythm; her destination? Chestme's Brown Province. In that area, a suffocating blanket of poverty hung over twisted streets.
The hooded woman glided through the shadows and energetic crowds. The city was a maze of baked brickwork, imposing towers, and congested building clusters, overlooking its inhabitants. She maneuvered effortlessly through the convoluted stairways and precarious ladders, delving deeper into the city's underbelly.
The Glenoids were oblivious to her passing presence. She flowed seamlessly as an unseen and unfelt specter. Hustling market stalls and majestic squares flashed by as she navigated toward a steep and dark stairwell. Descending, she came across another set of dimly lit stairs and stepped down.
The way unfolded into a grand central space. To one side, white towers punctuated the horizon, while across from it lay a ladder leading down along a dilapidated rampart to dirt-layered streets.
As the descent began via the ladder, the air grew thicker, and the sounds of the upper provinces diminished. The streets below were narrow and eerily quiet with few lizard-folk.
Surrounded by decay and squalor, she reveled in the darkness, finding an enigmatic vibrancy within its depths. The moist scent of soil filled her lungs as she advanced through shadowy alleyways. She couldn't help but smile as she wove her way through the sparse crowds, her many fabrics brushing against the rough walls.
The dawn was breaking but its light failed to infiltrate the murky recesses of Brown Province. Unfazed by the approaching dawn, she continued toward the black-scaled necromancer's home.
****
Hidden in the desolate heart of Chestme's Brown Province, behind a worn-out purple curtain, Nammen Pythia conducted arcane rituals. His dwelling, hidden near a deserted well, served as a sanctuary for those in search of links to other realms. Whispers of his name, "Servant of the Night," were renowned throughout the province with hushed reverence among those desiring wisdom that surpassed mortal sight.
Inside, beyond the tattered curtain, the room was modest - a floor scattered with pebbles and a well-used fire pit at its heart casting swaying silhouettes. Sitting stones had been arranged in mystic patterns. Nammen, a seasoned seer, traced symbols through the air while whispering age-old incantations. His intent was clear - he yearned for guidance from those beyond the mortal coil. Each word he whispered into the dancing fire was a plea for insight, and the flames responded with an otherworldly glow, illuminating his black scaly skin.
The curtain parted, disrupting the enchanter's commune with a whoosh. A dark-cloaked figure swept into the room, staggering in like an unstoppable windstorm. She stepped forward, her silhouette a fleeting ghost against the crackling red hue of the fire, her dark fabric falling about her as she sat down on a large sitting stone.
He was not captivated but curious. She leaned and for a moment, Nammen thought he saw a ringlet of red hanging out from her cowl. What little of her face shown, revealed fine features. She had a fair complexion, a perfect full set of lips smooth like oil, and an evil curve to her mouth.
Her gaze seemed directed to the fire. Nammen looked at the woman. He felt her aura was not right. Looking at her was like falling into a narrow well. He sensed two beings in his presence, not one.
The woman looked up at him and smiled. "It is good to see you, Master of the well."
"Why have you come?" Nammen asked her, hearing her name in whispers through his friendship with the dead. He dared not say it out loud.
"My name is of no concern. I'm in need of a guide'" She paused, her voice within a voice echoing a sultry rasp. She spoke with a hiss like a snake.
"Specifics, my fare maiden. Otherwise, you waste my time."
She responded, "Divine for me and bring up whomever I name."
The Glenoid's eyes widened and he replied, "Surely, you know what Nimmod has done, how he has cut off our people from the land beyond. The only way to perform a powerful summoning is to leave the confines of these walls..." He paused and jumped up from his sitting stone. "Why are you laying a trap for my life? Perhaps you pray to bring about your own death?"
But the woman swore, "As my beloved Lord Nimmod lives, I shall not tell him of what transpires this night."
Finally, he eyed her, "Whom shall I bring up for you?"
"Bring up Abbadoth for me."
Nammen cried out, "Heed my warning: The Lord of the abyss does not relinquish power. If disaster befalls you, he will bring his darkness and they shall descend upon you."
Nammen's piercing gaze began to dissect her crafted facade, searching for the other half of her persona. Asking the dead to reveal the presence of someone hidden was no light task. Their price was usually steep. So he waited until the woman pulled at her hood revealing her true face.
"Then let the darkness come," Ramses vowed.
Nammen was shaken to see the attaché to his ruler sitting in his home, yet he reciprocated. "You must go to the Tannak, stand at the falls between a set of pillars--" He cut himself off and stood, his feet moving across the shifting pebbles like sands in an hourglass, his hands reaching for a parchment.
"Recite this," he whispered.
Nammen turned, his voice like cold stone. With precise movements, he handed the weathered parchment to her, its edges brittle and burnt. As she unfolded it, Nammen spoke another warning. "To call forth the Dragon, the conqueror. You also call forth his Sheepherders of the Lifeless, something I fear more than the dead." But he also feared her eyes. Those were not the eyes of Ramses but the eyes of Valaria, the being's name his dead friends whispered to him.
With a steady hand, Valaria pressed Ramses hand against the parchment, rolling it back into place. Shadows slithered around the edges of the room, drawn to the gravity of her task.
In that instant, Nammen's chamber faded into a mist of memory. The breathtaking expanse of the Tannak lay before her. There stood Ramses body, barefoot and breathless. Her outstretched arms embraced the water's spray - wielding elemental powers like threads in a loom.
The air crackled. "Let us begin," her command echoed.
Amidst the swirling tempest, As the sun began to set and the shadows grew long, her red hair flowed behind her in the wind and her eyes were closed in deep concentration. She began to chant, her voice low and throaty, a melody that seemed to come from the depths... From Valaria. The words of her chant were an ancient script, one that held immense power and could call forth whom she sought. As Valaria chanted, the wind picked up, carrying her words across the waters.
Valaria's focus was solely on her hymn. The power and energy that flowed from the river through Ramses' body felt intoxicating. The ancient magic churned like the estuary, waiting to be unleashed; and this is like a fragment of the chant, if it can be like the scribe without the music.
Come, I'll save your soul
The name I summon is; Abbadoth,
Dragon and Lord of the Abbadothian abyss; Awake, new, and whole.
From the sound of their screams, to the city of Chestme;
It's a dark Tannak summoning,
I call upon the stars over Tannak River
In places deep, beneath the waves,
Throwing my voice into the shallows.
To the underworld, his own domain.
From the cold kiss of Tannak's waters
To the heated undertow of Abbadoth, from cold depths I will conjure
The awesome madness of his might.
ABBADOTH! ABBADOTH! ABBADOTH!
As Valaria sang from within Ramses, she felt many dreadful things.
The name echoed thrice, shaking the rock around Tannak into a crescendo.
Power swirled and gathered around her, lifting Ramses's hair in a wine-colored vortex. She was lifted from the falls, hovering above the froth as the river water ascended, creating a powerful barrier around her form.
Once more, she uttered Abbadoth's name, the atmosphere crackling with rapture. Ramses felt her back arch like a bowstring pulled taut, as she levitated at the center of it all, a conduit for the summoner.
Valaria exploited Ramses' profound affection for Nimmod, intensifying the ritual. At this point, Ramses ceased to be an Atache and became a marionette in Valaria's commanding grasp, her passionate longing manipulated for power. With every beat of Ramses's heart, a summoning pulse for Valaria to bring forth Abbadoth. Every sorrow-filled tear that slipped from Ramses's eyes was harnessed by Valaria, augmenting the river summoning. Ready to embrace chaos, the spirit shrugged off any potential destruction to her host's body.
The waters of the Tannak roiled and churned, creating a funnel from which a fiery vortex, likened to an upside-down tornado, spiraled, setting the trees ablaze. The knights held their position, minds grappling with the temptation of running. Wrapped in their metallic shell, they trembled, clanking their steel.
A dragon emerged from the depths, its scales aflame in a fierce blood-orange hue, with wings shrouded in dripping mist. Ramses' heartbeat quickened as she inhaled sharply, almost losing consciousness if not for Valaria's possession of her soul. The air grew tainted as the beast ascended, scattering the Glenoid knights who had vowed to protect her. Panic-stricken, they scattered, seeking escape from the horror before them.
With each powerful beat of its wings, the dragon disrupted the river's tranquility, asserting its dominance. It descended gracefully, crimson-orange eyes fixed on Ramses as it landed near her, enveloping them in a cloud of smoke like a silky veil.
"Why hast thou disturbed my slumber? Why bring me up?" The dragon's voice resonated with deep authority.
Valaria met its gaze boldly through Ramses. Her vivid blue eyes were hypnotic, while her fiery hair danced amidst billowing winds and damp air. Valaria remained unfazed by the intimidating surroundings as Ramses' body drifted toward the ground.
"Abbadoth," she declared confidently, "It is I, Valaria. What stands before you is a shell bound by duty as an Attache. I come unbound, to fulfill a promise." Her words lingered in the air, mingling with the arid riverbed and smoldering willows.
Abbadoth's iridescent red wings unfurled, casting shadows over the shattered remnants of the Tannak.
Pondering her words, Abbadoth exhaled a thoughtful puff of smoke as he mulled over his past existence. "Kisa?.." he questioned, his deep gaze flickering with recollections. "I was a kisa."
"Yet in life, you were revered as the formidable Darkling master, the Dragon," Valaria replied solemnly.
He bowed his gigantic head, allowing the woman to scale his back, gripping the rugged thorns adorning his spine. The dragon's sinewy muscles tensed beneath her, and then, with a thunderous roar, Ramses felt the thrilling vibration beneath her thighs, hinting at the extraordinary power contained within his rough form as they ascended.
Below them, the view morphed into a sprawling background of green and beige squares—like a child's playset. The biting wind whirled around them, tugging at Ramses' loose hair while drying every drop of water on her body. She sat astride while Valaria forced her to cling to Abbadoth.
Both could taste the tangy sweetness of adrenaline on their tongue, and Valaria caught herself holding her host's breath. The moment was shattered as a thunderous roar escaped from Abbadoth's throat. "Where are we going?"
"Chestme," she cried, her voice piercing through the wind of their flight. "There lies your hold on Fonde SSique, and all shall fear the might of Abbadoth."
His reply was a primal roar; wings lashed out with fury as they bore him to Chestme. Ramses now reveled in the sensation—the raw might of his wild majesty.