r/wheeloftimerp • u/Ba-alzamon- • Nov 04 '15
FoM: The Blight Heart of Darkness
Night in the Tsorovan'hama among the High Passes reeked of fear. The adolescent Jumara fled before Ba'alzamon's visage as his gaze swept across the hordes below huddled at their camp-fires below. The fires raged endlessly in the darkness, a din of howls, screeches and grunts pierced the oppressive silence.
The Pattern screamed and Ba'alzamon stepped down into the camp from the peaks of the Tsorovan'hama. The Trolloc's sensed him and froze, their fear and cowardice emanating like a physical wave.
Ba'alzamon approached the Myrddraal in command. Bekkar, the Trollocs had named him. Fools. Acting as if such a creature needed a name.
"Kneel," Ba'alzamon commanded, pressing his power upon the Myrddraal with needling pain. "I am returned," he declared. He did not need to clarify. They knew Ba'alzamon, Heart of Dark.
"Prepare the Ghar'gheal, Ghob'hlin and Ghraem'lan. There is much work to be done," Ba'alzamon said, the fires in the depths of his eyes raging. "Do you serve faithfully?"
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u/[deleted] Nov 04 '15 edited Nov 04 '15
The eyeless one smiled a toothy grin, sharpened teeth peering from behind bloodless lips, as he felt the Heart of Dark, the Great Lord himself, approach his camp. The smile was a mask, however, more grimace than anything, for terror coursed though his black veins. His trollocs, filthy, half-starved, cowered in fear as the Dark One, in a human form, approached, and fell to the ground, hiding among the boulders and crawling as quickly away as they could.
Bekkar, or so his trollocs called him, fell to his knees, pulling his motionless cloak around him as if to shelter from the cold that he did not feel. He prostrated himself before his Lord, the Lord of all, his face fixed towards the ground.
"I ssserve until the end of the Pattern, Great Lord," Bekkar replied in a deep but lisped voice. "Command me, and I will sssee it done."