He felt the pull. It drew him to Hell, and for no apparent reason, he went. He found the cultist, and for a moment thought to join them, but somehow he knew, they were not what he was looking for. He stood on a hill, overlooking the mess, observing these “cultists” in their sacrifices. With every thrust of their blades into innocent flesh he felt his flesh crawl. Somehow their actions were polluting all he holds dear, but he had no way of knowing what was happening, or why, so he simply observed.
He had heard tales of Hell. He heard of Echo, and was never quite sure if he respected the man, or need to destroy him. Luckily that choice is no longer his. So he watched.
The cultists were dancing, and singing. Not music and rhythm though, but a cacophony of sound and movement. Suddenly everything went silent.
He revelled in the silence, for with the silence came a sense of his powers returning. Within the silence came another pull, and when he looked up he saw her, far on another mound, a woman in a dark travel worn cloak. He knew she was important, but did not immediately know why.
He saw her opening her eyes, and as they opened he could feel his magic has returned, but something was wrong. Something has changed. His powers felt darker, unnatural.
The cultists were busy raising those they sacrificed! They were making an unnatural army using the corruption of chaos magic!
The woman opened her eyes and saw what the cultists were doing. He saw a light flash in her eyes, and in a moment her sword was in her hand. There was a glow emanating from a pendant that she was wearing. He stood silently on his hill, leaning on his walking stick, watching the woman wade into the necromancers, leaving their dead bodies behind her in a wake of destruction. He smiled, for at that moment he knew why he was drawn here.
As the last decapitated body fell to the floor the light from her pendant receded, and the woman fell to the ground.
“Right” he said to himself, allowing the magic to play on his finger tips.