Tariel's dark secret

The small dark room darkened even more. The candles lit everywhere on the walls diminished greatly and a cold, unnatural wind played with Tariel’s hair for an impossible instant. The blood-filled symbols of timeless power carved all upon the ground started to glow a dim red.

Tariel noticed this and continued to utter his unholy invocation. His words were those of pure madness and chaos, their only existence madly impossible and their substance a foul insult to sanity. With each passing second the room twisted evermore, but Tariel cared not. This was his blood right; one his family possessed for eons, but that was only rediscovered by his father, archon Ysclyth.

A thick red mist slowly started climbing from the ground along with a loud roar of endless fury, both of them growing quite rapidly. A single drop of sweat came crashing along the ground from Tariel’s forehead.

The incantations continued and Tariel’s hands started shaking uncontrollably as the psychic effort asked of his mind grew ever higher.

The sigils of power were now filling the room with an unreal light made of raw bloodlust, strengthening the creature slowly taking form in the middle of them.
As he finished the last sentence, his knees failed him; he fell on his hands, extenuated. Yet, his deed was not yet accomplished.

He smelled the stench of blood long before the bloodletter finally took speech. Hissing, he uttered, as if words of mere mortals were unusual to him :

-Why did you call me, prey of She Who Thirsts?

Tariel allowed himself a small smile and thought for a moment of that planet that he planned of assaulting in the next few days. Many factions wanted to claim this planet’s resources, but with a daemonic host at his command in addition to his kabal, none could stay his wrath. He had much work to do.

-Now that you mention it, blood-thing...