*
Abalanor was released from the magical contact violently. The backlash of energies flung the tall wizard out from the pentagram he'd inscribed on the floor and well across the room. He landed in a heap and shuddered. Never before had the dark mage encountered a being with more raw anger and malice in all of his worldly searching.
With great effort, Abalanor pushed himself up from the polished marble. Sweat soaked his blood red robes and he had a small laceration across his forehead.
Limping over to the plush throne along the back wall of the antechamber, he allowed his wearied form to flop down on the main seat cushion. Leaning back, Abalanor breathed the first real sigh he'd allowed himself in quite some while.
Letting his eyes stray over to the gaudy vanity mirror, the wizard took the opportunity to see if he was seriously injured.
As far as wizard's go, one would hardly classify him as being of the typical mold. He was tall, well over six-and-a-half feet. But he wasn't thin. He was lean, wiry and strong willed. Pushing back the hood of his robe revealed the coal black eyes and the pallid gray tone of his skin. His iron gray hair was cropped short and plastered to his scalp with sweat.
For too long had Abalanor relied on the magical properties of the universe to do the menial things as well as the important things. For over three hundred years had this dark elf associated with the daemons of the Netherworld to assist him in his studies. Thus explained the unhealthy and death-like quality to his flesh and frame.
With his little finger, Abalanor took a swipe at the laceration on his forehead. He examined the blood laden there with clinical curiosity. It was a red too dark in color to even be called crimson. the red of his robes appeared healthier.
Snaking his tongue out from between tightly compressed lips, he tasted at his blood as if sampling a fine wine. he smacked his lips couple of times and rolled his eyes back in his head. After swallowing he opened his eyes and smiled.
Summoning one last surge of power, Abalanor established contact with one of his prime underlings. Sensing that this one was asleep at the time brought another smile to the wizard's lips. He snapped his fingers like a thunderclap and laughed humorlessly as his minion was all but kicked awake.
Yes my liege, came the weak, alarmed response.
"Is all in readiness?" Abalanor asked, his voice soft and calculating.
There was a slight pause. Of course, Mighty Abalanor. I merely await your signal.
"You hesitate," hissed the wizard. "Why?"
There have been... complications.
"Such as?"
Terius returns. And he brings with him knowledge of the lay of the land...
"Is that all?"
That and he brings others. A travelling band of... warriors I believe.
Abalanor paused. "And this is a complication because... "
Another hesitation. My liege, I believe one of them to be a mage!
The wizard's face became stony. "Balinvain, you have a job to do. These strangers are just that. Strangers."
But, my liege...
"Silence!" Abalanor thundered. "I have had enough of your blithering. You know what you have to do, so do it. i will except no excuses! You know the penalty for failure!" He broke the connection before his minion could respond a last time.
Abalanor leaned back in his throne and closed his eyes. Taking a hard-earned rest.