Amon, are you sure this...wise?
Ha...no. But I thought I was wise when I helped reduce our people to...this. Maybe I'll be wrong again.
And if you're not? What if this goes wrong? What if the spell blows up in your face? What if it works and whatever answers takes you from us? Where will our people be then?
...The clan needs more than I can give them alone, Abasi. The gods themselves couldn't squeeze anymore life out of this...this hellhole we've been forced into! The other clans and their allies from the cities know this. Our people will wither away into nothing if we remain here, and if we emerge our enemies will finish what they started. This is our only chance...and if I'm wrong, at least this time I will be the only one to pay for it.
Amon smiled bitterly as he carved the last set of runes he needed to complete the summoning circle set up in the center of the cave. Gentle blue lights conjured by the shaman hovered in the distant corners of the improvised chamber, illuminating it as he stood.
The faint sweat generated by the hours spent carving made the tribesman's sun-kissed skin glisten. The bronze flesh was faintly marred by a collection of scars, the most prominent of which was a faded slash from his side to his stomach. Amon's command of his people's sorcerous ways had not made him soft or weak even by their lofty measure. The steely cords and hard ridges of hard-won muscle defined the handsome young man's physique as he moved to take his place before the summoning circle.
Amon took a quick breath, swept a stray strand of brown hair out of his eyes, and narrowed his golden eyes down at the gap at the center of his runes. This was it. His greatest, most daring trial to date. If the legends were to be believed, failure would mean damnation and possibly endless servitude to the whims of the dark powers hungering at the edge of creation. Success would mean he might just have the privilege of being remembered as more than the brilliant young fool who helped lead his people to their doom.
A swift gesture from the shaman sent his power racing through the carvings ringing the floor. He grunted from the strain and watched in wonder as the magic leaving his body filled the runes, causing them to glow and his summon to be sent through the walls between worlds...
Ha...no. But I thought I was wise when I helped reduce our people to...this. Maybe I'll be wrong again.
And if you're not? What if this goes wrong? What if the spell blows up in your face? What if it works and whatever answers takes you from us? Where will our people be then?
...The clan needs more than I can give them alone, Abasi. The gods themselves couldn't squeeze anymore life out of this...this hellhole we've been forced into! The other clans and their allies from the cities know this. Our people will wither away into nothing if we remain here, and if we emerge our enemies will finish what they started. This is our only chance...and if I'm wrong, at least this time I will be the only one to pay for it.
Amon smiled bitterly as he carved the last set of runes he needed to complete the summoning circle set up in the center of the cave. Gentle blue lights conjured by the shaman hovered in the distant corners of the improvised chamber, illuminating it as he stood.
The faint sweat generated by the hours spent carving made the tribesman's sun-kissed skin glisten. The bronze flesh was faintly marred by a collection of scars, the most prominent of which was a faded slash from his side to his stomach. Amon's command of his people's sorcerous ways had not made him soft or weak even by their lofty measure. The steely cords and hard ridges of hard-won muscle defined the handsome young man's physique as he moved to take his place before the summoning circle.
Amon took a quick breath, swept a stray strand of brown hair out of his eyes, and narrowed his golden eyes down at the gap at the center of his runes. This was it. His greatest, most daring trial to date. If the legends were to be believed, failure would mean damnation and possibly endless servitude to the whims of the dark powers hungering at the edge of creation. Success would mean he might just have the privilege of being remembered as more than the brilliant young fool who helped lead his people to their doom.
A swift gesture from the shaman sent his power racing through the carvings ringing the floor. He grunted from the strain and watched in wonder as the magic leaving his body filled the runes, causing them to glow and his summon to be sent through the walls between worlds...