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Zhydo'rah
The air over the swords takes on a dense and shifting aspect swelling, it would appear, against invisible seams. There is a flash of light an angry red in color accompanied by the stink of brimstone. The light flares and is soon gone, but the stench of burning sulfur remains and squatting where the swords have been placed is the hag. Greedily her fingers entwine themselves around the twin hilts of the blades. "Yes," she cackles, "fight against me for it makes the horror I have for you so much the sweeter ....." Like the grated of pieces of broken glass against each other her words cut against the evening air as she sounds the tones of some blasphemous speech not of this plane nor of these Forums. The great blade Chrysomer screams in pain and futility as the other blade, that of blood silently grows fluid and seems to pour itself into its counterpart.
ooc: As per your PM - post away and bring this to completion.
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