Deadly Delusions
Laelanyel had always cherished the embrace of shadows and mists. But in the Harrowmark, their touch felt different, tainted by an obsessive jealousy for soul matter. That place was not where she wanted to be, but it was there that the Cleavermaws had set their ragged sails to. She run her fine fingers over the carvings of an Umbral Spellportal esconced among the gnarled trees. She felt the spell's connection to her native Ulgu and the disconfort faded away. The black surface of the mirror shivered, revealing to her what she was looking for.
Kapt'n Mogrum was staring onto the twin mirror. Laelanyel chuckled at the disconcerted expression on the Wyrdnob face. What a brute! So incapable of truly understanding the nature of the Realms' magic.
The Mistweaver turned her attention away from the orruk. She needed to know where he had taken his crew. A swirling of magical energies hung over a broken ritual circle and around half seen figures. Laelanyel focused on those, and they resolved into a majestic figure presiding over a royal feast, his queen and courtiers gathered at a round table.
The image swirled and reformed into an enormous blade, swung forward by screaming spirits to cut through reality.
The Cleavermaws closed around the Pendulum, lugging their ensorcerelled chest forward.
The orruks turned their charmed pistols at the Pendulum and pushed it backwards toward the shattered circle. As the blade approached, a veil was lifted from Laelanyel's eyes. She saw the noble figures gathered there for what they really were. The pack of ghouls was scrambling around a pile of bones, their Abhorrant King and a lumbering Crypt Haunter dishing out the choicest scraps to their underlings.
The mordants screamed and burst forward. With every step, their reflections into the mirror changed from those of wretched horrors into those of noble knights and proud peasants of old.
Laelanyel recoiled, overwhelmed by the madness of the Abhorrant. Even through the Umbral Spellportal, its touch was a terrible thing to withstand. When she refocused her attention, orruks laid scattered at the feet of screaming and slavering figures in fine livery.
A single orruk stood on the massive oaken table strewn with bones, somehow managing to fend off the ghouls' onslaught.
The king and his champion sallied forth from the dining hall, bloddy bone clubs laying waste on those who had dared to desecrate his proud kingdom.
In the mayhem, Kapt'n Mogrum intoned a guttural chant and managed to drag the Pendulum into his chest. With a triumphant bellow, the orruk slammed the lid close and called for a retreat.
Laelanyel stared into the Spellportal a little longer, fascinated by the scene unfolding as the orruks run away. The king stood proud, his gleaming sword raised in celebration. Around him, filthy, hunchbacked figures rummaged through bones and chuncks of meat. The feast was about to start again.
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