The ground around him emanated a palpable shadow. A source of despair spilling from the dark elf.
You could say he collected himself for the ritual, but he knows the task ahead is more of the opposite. Planting his feet firm to the ground he asserted the connection to the soil. Anger. Frustrated unresolved anger flooded him.
He should have took in a breath but it the emotion welled up to physical first. A sudden, sharp pain exploder from the centre of his body. He released an agonizing scream and kept going. The pain grew and spread through his body as he emptied his lungs. As his air left him the scream changed to a choked wheeze. By this time he bent on himself and clutched the earth, squeezing all breath out. Vision blurred from the exertion. The pain was now a dull throbbing from head to toe, a comforting dark embrace.
Finally he could remain empty no longer. In a panicked gasp he drew in a breath. With it came a slick sensation, like gulping a thick pulp floating in juice. Those are the souls he unearthed.
He slowly stood up and waited for the vertigo to lessen. In front of him stood three skeletal figures, broad shouldered and hunched. Ghouls, raised to do his bidding. Soldiers to pay that frivolous nymph a visit
He breathed deep to steady himself. The rich damp scent of rotten soil filled his nose. It's almost soothing... almost. He briefly thought of her forest and pointed toward it. "Get her! Get that thieving bitch!". He wanted to keep screaming in acidity but these are empty husks. Instead he held it in as they shambled behind and away from him.
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