Exton

The Fae Lord raises another Gate, this one with less vibrant colors. The green and yellow swirling within slowly darkens. Shapes appear. Trees sway, leaves shivering in an unfelt breeze. Bodies rise, shuffling at first, then moving in a macabre dance toward the pulsing gate. They tumble through, disappearing from sight.


A trickle of bits and pieces follows the bodies, mixed with dead leaves and dry twigs. The trickle becomes a stream, flowing around the dancing Deamon and falling through the Gate. A breeze sweeps through the clearing, pushing the last fragments of torn flesh into the Gate. As the wind dies, so does the echo of Mortuis' chanted spell. Keon lets the Gate snap shut and the men turn tired eyes on each other.

Ob breathes deep. moaning softly. He drops to the ground and takes another deep breath. A groan escapes as he exhales. His great horned head hangs slowly. He looks up at the others with a crooked grin. "That felt good."

Lumbering to his feet, the Deamon concentrates. His body shivers, condensing until horns softens into a flowing jewel-toned mane and the large frame reduces to human proportions. He shivers again, a shuddering that ripples through him like a contented hound.Ob stretches, joints emitting loud pops. He breathes deep again.

"I can still scent blood, but the smell of sweet earth and leaf decay nearly covers it." He grins at the other two men. "Anymore evidence we get to destroy?"