Jozinferal stood with his arms crossed, waiting for his servants to fly back up after their attacks. He stood there for a minute staring at the thick black smoke rising from behind the fold in the terrain.
Well over six feet tall, the Beheriim had deep yellow, almost golden, skin. Dark black hair kept short, small black horns on his forehead, muscular body with fine orange and black silks for his shirt and trousers. A whip was coiled up on his belt and his wings were closed tight against his back with taloned tips curling forward over his shoulders. A barbed yellow tail hung behind him, twitching like an annoyed cat.
Next to him stood a tall and broad chested dreadgoblin in chainmail and pieces of steel plate. Orange skin with a vicious looking snarl and grey hair pulled back and tied up. He had the point of his greatsword stuck in the ground and grasped the hilt like a walking stick. “What about crew?” he growled.
Jozinferal didn’t look over at him. “They’re likely dead. Along with your baergan soldiers.” He also ignored the dreadgoblin’s low, angry growl. “Captain Woshaan, this portion of your contract is complete and your services here are no longer required. I’d suggest you get back to your airship and see what you have left.”
“If crew dead, revenge is necessary. Blood for blood.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said the Beheriim calmly. “Get back to your ship. You have two weeks to recruit and replenish before the next sky shard shipment.”
Woshaan barked something that was probably a slur. He pulled his greatsword up out of the dirt and motioned for his personal guard of four well armored dreadgoblins to move out with him. They all started off in a loping run across the grassy field that made up the northern part of the island, angling away from the smoke and flames in the middle.
Behind him and stretched out for almost two hundred feet near the edge of the island was a curving structure of wooden poles and plank walkways. Jozinferal turned to look at it again and saw almost all the adepts working on it were staring at him. Combat was not in their blood and if anything happened they could not be counted on. Coming down off a ladder was a bearded human wearing rugged dark blue clothing, worn and dirty from working with timber and tools. “Great Master,” he said with a bow of the head.
Jozinferal barely acknowledged his fealty. “You said you needed an hour. You’ve had two. Are you ready yet?”
The man lowered one knee and bowed slightly. “Yes, Great Master. We’re ready to begin.”
“Very well. Start the ritual. I’ll handle our guests.” He dismissed the man with a wave of his hand and walked past the end of the structure to a rocky patch near the edge of the island. Out beyond the edge was a clear blue sky and a hazy horizon. Below that was the continually rolling cloud deck that made up the Shattered Sea.
He knelt at the corner of a square shaped patch of old weathered stonework, about thirty feet on each side. It jutted out past the edge of the island by a foot or two. He reached out with his thoughts and gave a picture of what he wanted, then he barked a few harsh words in the Infernal language.
Below him, something large stirred.
