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A short introduction to a new avenue of my undead army. Enjoy and feel free to comment/criticism.

Blood splattered upon the parched earth, and the man screamed as his heart was torn from his chest. White robes, the symbol of the mans loyalty to the tyrant of the north. His weapons lay near him, but far away from his hands, grasping as the muscles spasmed with his last breath. They lay with the others, a suitable offering to the tablet of Da'karuk.

The rite was almost complete. Blood from the captured soldiers filled the offering bowl, its wide brim almost overflowing with the crimson liquid. Some had slipped, and stained the parched earth red. It was time.

The tablet towered over the offering and those around it. Inset into the wall of the cavern, it stood three times the height of a man, and at least ten across. This broad surface was covered in inscriptions, most of which were a curious mix of tribal language and the hieroglyphs used by the tyrants followers.

Abbas did not care what exactly they said, that was the purview of the shaman performing the offering. As the desert tribes chief, all he cared was that the tablet mentioned his god, and that was enough. Da'karuk was a dark spirit, one the tribes would never consort with regularly, but desperation had forced their hand. The tyrant had become too powerful. His armies had crushed the tribes one by one. Abbas had even seen his wife, along with half of his people enslaved to the golden destroyer, their wits abandoning them as they flew into murderous rage.

It had taken all of Abbas' willpower to save the remains of the tribe, and now he turned to the last hope remaining to them. With this blood offering the shaman had said Da'karuk would be pleased and grant his strength to the tribe, enough to save them from the tyrant's might.

Abbas shivered involuntarily as the air within the cavern grew cold. It unsettled him, for as a desert dweller he had only seen cold like this in the darkest of nights, when the rites of the old ways had been honored.

The shaman before him had become louder, his chanting increasing in pace as the room grew colder. Slowly, the blood within the offering bowl began to stir, as if an ethereal hand were mixing it. Abbas's neck prickled in fear as the rite reached its climax, the blood began to rise, stretching and changing shape until it completely covered the tablet.

Then creases began to form within the featureless sheen of blood. They began to move together, then push out towards the shaman. By all the gods of the desert thought Abbas, his eyes widening in terror as he finally comprehended what was happening in front of him.

Before he could shout a warning, to even move a muscle, it had started. With a sickening howl of primal fury the monster that Abbas' shaman had unwittingly released tore from its bloody veil. The shaman was torn limb from limb, his body flayed and his very soul shredded to feed its hunger.

Terror grasped Abbas, and despite an overwhelming urge to run, to flee from the beast he had hoped would save his people, his body was rooted. Slowly he sank to the ground, his knees unable to support his body amidst its fright.

The remaining tribesmen had similarly crumpled, their individual will's crushed by the terror that constricted their hearts. Some had fallen stark dead, their hearts giving out at the sight of their impending doom. With the death of his tribe upon him, only Abbas could manage the feat of will to look upon the creature.

Its body had fully formed, congealed from the blood of the offering and the soul-stuff of the shaman. It had the shape of a tall man, with a hooked nose like the beak of a falcon and a shock of raven black hair flew in an unnatural breeze. Talons of black grew from long, bony fingers and the muscles of its chest pulsed with exertion. Above all its skin was pure white, like alabaster and its eyes glowed with a red aura.

Incredibly, the bestial features of its face began to resolve, to clarify back into a semblance of humanity as whatever blood-rage left it. The creature gestured, and the tablet behind broke apart with an almighty crack. From within came the sound of a thousand marching feet, and slowly, through the settling dust a host of skeletal warriors emerged.

Some were encased in bright bronze armor, and it was these abhorrent soldiers who approached their master. It became apparent that they were carrying something, although what Abbas could only guess. The mystery was answered when four of the most heavily armored wights came forward and began dressing the creature.

First came robes, of the same color as the desert sands, then plates of armor were strapped in place, blood red steel encasing the creature. A nightmarish blade, more serrated hook than sword was presented and taken up by the creature, and a helmet of the same metal completed the set.

Then the beast set eyes upon Abbas, his monstrous will bent to break Abbas' mind like a twig. The chieftain could not hold his gaze, and abased himself in the sandy gravel of the cavern floor. It did no good, for the bloody king forced Abbas' body to rise with but a thought.

Abbas was crying, but the thick streams which wound down his face were not clear tears, but dark blood. He was crying his lifeblood into the sands below, simply because of this monster's will. Through the crimson haze about his eyes, Abbas saw his tribe, his people, coming nearer to him. It was only when they were close did Abbas see the danger, the murder in their eyes. The beast had pushed them to madness, and their jaws were drooling and wide at the smell of prey. All at once they pounced upon him, tearing into his body with tooth and nail. Abbas screamed until one tore out his heart, and then his body was still.

The bloody lord laughed even as his legion marched forwards.