Nestled in the far back corner of a roadside tavern called the Gelded Gryphon, Zerafina opened the battered tome, the aged yellow page crinkling between her fingers. She had taken the steel banded tome after her former master, a warlock of no small skill, had perished in battle defending his tower from a nearby baron. It seemed that all of the dark magic in the world could not save a person from having six inches of steel thrust through their chest. Zerafina had gathered up here few possessions as soon as she received word of her former master's demise from her small demon familiar Tidget, knowing full well how the baron and his followers would treat the local warlock's former servant.
In addition to her apprentice robe and mystic paraphernalia, she had taken the tome from its place of prominence in her master's library. It was her former master's magnus opus, the life work he had had devoted most of his waking moments to completing. He had not taken the time to explain to Zerafina the details of all it contained or how to decipher its mystic code, but she did know that it contained the written record of his accumulated knowledge.
Zerafina ran her long, alabaster fingers along the dark red lettering that swam across the page. She knew that the key to unlocking the tome's mystic formulae was to concentrate so that her mind was in syncopation with the patter of the swirling designs. She also knew that the tome's pages were not in sequential order and had the habit of moving themselves around at their own perverse whim. Discovering which pages combined to complete which spells was of utmost importance, as her master had loved to regale her with tales of the tragic outcomes of warlocks whose ambition outstretched their ability.
If Zerafina was interested in learning all of the knowledge contained in the tome, it would take her decades, and Zerafina, young as she was, had little interest in ruining her eyes simply to become a bent backed old hag who would probably end up being killed by a bunch of ignorant farmers. No, Zerafina had once witnessed a particular spell, a spell that the young would-be witch was eager to work for her own benefit.
She gingerly turned the page, but her mind was elsewhere, remembering when her master had performed the ritual she was so eagerly pursuing.
The ritual had taken place in her master's dark chapel, located at the very top of his tower. The chapel was dedicated to the blasphemous demons he consorted with, giving them sacrifice in exchange for further knowledge. He had but recently purchased a slave, a dusky woman with full, ripe breasts, and soft, curving hips, from a wandering band of skyrrim. The woman had been hard used by the skyrrim, but the dark lords of night were not interested in her purity. In fact, her broken spirit and submissive resignation to her fate were like honey to them, calling to them across the cold void.
The woman had been chained, hand and foot, to the basalt altar. Dark symbols of lust and bondage had been painted on to her naked body wit the blood of recently slaughtered goat. Zerafina's master was naked as well but for a mask fashioned to represent the avatar of Nyyphus, Dark Lord of Chained Lust. The ceremonial candles had been lit, filling the air with their cloying sensual smoke.
