Silverfang Camp
The high plateau had become a cauldron of dark energy.Thick black smoke curled from Varak’s ritual fires day and night, carrying the stench of burning bone and spilled blood. The ground around the warlock’s tents was scarred with circles of salt and blood, the soil cracked and barren where the magic had drunk deep. Wolves gave the area a wide berth, hackles raised even in human form.Ronan stood on the ridge at dusk, watching Varak complete the final binding.The warlock knelt in the center of the largest circle, a bowl of fresh hearts still steaming before him. His acolytes chanted in a tongue that hurt the ears, voices rising and falling like a heartbeat.Varak plunged his hands into the bowl, blood coating his arms to the elbows.The air shimmered.A wave of power rolled out
