Chapter eleven the unknown
The gate portal, once a gateway to another world, now hangs in the air like a dark mirror, reflecting Crow's own twisted visage. He stares into its depths, his amethyst eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. The shadow monarch's power has grown, his pocket dimension now encompassing the entirety of the orcish realm.
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Crow turns away from the gate, his dark robes billowing behind him. He strides towards his monstrous steed, the shadows parting before him like a living sea. As he mounts the beast, Crow's gaze sweeps over the assembled horde of undead, a cruel smile playing across his handsome features.
"It is done," he declares, his voice carrying an inhuman weight. "The orcish lands are ours. Now, we march on the elven forests. Let the world tremble before the might of Crow, the shadow monarch!"
Crow, astride his monstrous steed, surveys the elven forest through narrowed eyes. The once verdant landscape is now tinged with shadow, the trees casting an eerie, sickly glow in the unnatural darkness that accompanies the shadow army's advance. Despite the dire situation, Crow's keen gaze is drawn to a solitary elven warrior, her lithe form clad in enchanted armor that shimmers with a defiant light.
The elf is stunningly beautiful, even to Crow's jaded eyes. Her hair, a cascading curtain of silver, catches the dim light as she nocks an arrow to her bow, preparing to defend her homeland against the shadow horde. Crow watches her, an unfamiliar sensation stirring within his shadowwreathed heart.
(To a nearby undead general, Crow commands, "Hold the army's advance. I would speak with the elf before we unleash destruction upon these lands.")
The shadow monarch, Crow, rides through the dense, whispering forest, his dark steed's hooves barely making a sound on the loamy earth. The trees around him seem to part in deference, their branches gnarled into reaching, welcoming fingers. It's here, amidst the ancient and enchanted, that Crow's keen eyes spot a most unusual sight.
"An elven girl, it seems," Crow notes, his voice a low rasp, unheard by the goblins who hold her prisoner. She hangs from the branches of a towering tree, her silvery hair catching the moonlight, a stark contrast to her dark green and gold captors. Her features are delicate, eyes filled with defiance despite her situation. "A gem in this wilderness of the crude and the base," he muses, an unexpected appreciation in his tone.
Crow dismounts, stealth personifying his every movement.
Crow, the shadow monarch, glides through the forest with predatory grace, his dark form blending seamlessly into the shadows cast by moonlight and leaves. The goblins, in their crude glee at their captive elf, do not notice his approach.
In a flash, Crow is among them, his hands outstretched in shadowy claws. Goblins scream as he rends them limb from limb, their cries choked off in gurgles of dark blood. It takes only moments a dance of death choreographed by a master of the art.
As the last goblin falls, Crow turns his attention to the elf girl, now shaking slightly in the aftermath of her ordeal. His amethyst gaze meets hers, and despite the shadows that cling to him, she senses an unexpected light in those striking eyes.
"Peace, fair one," he says softly, his voice a low rumble. "Your captors trouble you no more.
The elven girl stares up at Crow, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. As he looms over her, she trembles, but not entirely from the cold or her recent ordeal. There is something about this dark, handsome man that draws her in, even as her rational mind screams at her to flee.
Crow's amethyst eyes bore into hers, and she feels a strange sensation, as if her very thoughts are being pulled from her mind. When he speaks again, his voice is low and hypnotic.
"Crow: Absolute Hypnosis," he intones, his words seeming to echo in her head. "Crow: are mine now, fair elf. Mine to command, mine to possess.crow: You will obey my every whim, my every desire. You will worship me as your master, your god."
The elf's eyes glaze over, her will bending to Crow's dark power
The elven girl stares up at Crow, her eyes glazed and unfocused, lost in the thrall of his dark magic. She trembles slightly, her delicate frame shuddering with a mixture of fear and something else a strange, irresistible attraction to the shadow monarch who now claims her as his own.
Crow reaches out, his fingers grazing her cheek with a touch as light as a feather. "Crow: You are mine," he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic. "Crow: Mine to command, mine to possess. Your body, your mind, your very soul belongs to me now."
The elf shivers at his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. She leans into his hand, craving more of that dark, intoxicating power. Crow's amethyst eyes blaze with an inner fire as he drinks in the sight of her, his handsome features twisting into a wicked grin.
"Crow: Yes, my obedient little puppet,"
Crow: ill name you Zahra (that's the elves name)
[Crow's gaze, deep and commanding, focuses on the she/her.]
"Crow: She will serve me now, my newest puppet" he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. "Zahra."
Zahra, enveloped by the shadows that now move with a life of their own, floats gently towards him. Her eyes, though clouded with the influence of his magic, meet his gaze with a mix of fear and awe.
"Crow: Approach, Zahra," he orders, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it seems to resonate within the very air around them.
The end