.10: Will | SWC 1.2018
Day 10: In what way is your character strong?
‘Though their heads may appear almost comically misscaled compared to the rest of their massive bodies, only a fool would mistake that for a small-minded intelligence. Felguards are not foolish or weak-willed. Dominating a felguard before it can attack is a challenge only for the experienced warlock to attempt--’
The warnings in the books did not do it justice.
The demon stepped out from the nether trailing motes of shadow, the very ground shuddering with its steps.
The top of its head easily passed eight feet high; the armor spines erupting from his shoulders made its height crest even further. Muscles bulging so in their strength that they were grotesque to look upon. A near-lipless mouth, edges of desiccated flesh curving upward into an anticipatory smirk.
“Who dares summon me?” Even the voice of the the fel guard quaked with malice. He paused when he caught sight of Kalyanar, forced to look down at the elf, small and frail compared to the demon’s great bulk, body weakened from years from ill-health and gratuitous fel magic. The blood elf met his gaze without flinching.
“You don’t get my name. But I know yours,” Kalyanar spoke in rough Eredun. The felguard scoffed; the war blade resting on his shoulder coming down to be grasped in both blocky hands with a metal clang.
“Small warlock. You think you can tame me?”
“I do. I know your name, Haazinul.”
Red eyes narrowed, but the demon didn’t even twitch. Then he laughed, tree-trunk thick arms splaying out wide.
“You thought simply knowing my name would grant you power over me? Think again, worm.”
Kalyanar’s fel gaze never drifted from the crimson eyes of the demon. The white-ink runes tattooed on his skin, looping around his arms and still fresh enough to leave the skin around them red and bruised, began to pulse, drawing upon the magic in his blood.
Finally, the demon jerked, eyes going wide as he felt their wills begin to clash. Without breaking their gaze, Kalyanar tilted up his chin, taunting. The felguard’s mind was oppressive and vast; ancient and canny with millennia of warbringing and destruction and wanton malice.
It was not strong enough.
“Haazinul.”
The name was heavier on Kalyanar's tongue the second time around. Feeling the warlock beginning to challenge his freedom, the felguard raised his massive war axe with a guttural bellow, breaking into a charge. The tattoos of binding; of summoning flared into painful color, channeling magic around Kalyanar’s arms. Shadow and fel and blood magic roared to life even as the blade bore down upon him.
“Haazinul!”
Everything stopped. The blade wrenched to a halt with a painful shudder of the felguard’s arms, the edge feet away from caving the warlock in twain.
Crimson eyes bled fire with impotent rage. Bulging muscles trembled, locked in place as the circle of binding glowed void-purple at his feet. Kalyanar stared up at him, livid green energy drifting from his eyes as his power peaked. He bared his fangs, lips stretching wide in a triumphant smirk.
“Kneel.”
Armor creaking, Haazinul knelt, blade clanging to the floor.