It was a game, she knew. Someone was toying with her, leading her down the twisting ramp below the Lamb, into the Demon’s Maw that was the warlock’s haven. Curious glances were directed her way as her vision adjusted, and she took a step nearer, uncertain. There was no sign of the flighty demon summoner, or her consort. It had buzzed at her nerves since she glimpsed the woman, hearing the summoner laugh and flirt along, knowing quite well that that woman couldn’t do much of anything along those lines. Not when most of her organs had been removed, and she had been stuffed inside of a wooden coffin. Undead, perhaps? No, that couldn’t be right. Anisse had heard stories of reanimated, shambling bodies, and they didn’t quite seem like a pretty sight.
Yet the lovely summoner had passed through, living, breathing, and with a mate, or something of the sort. What was she? Demon summoner? Sorcerer? Harlot? Perhaps a combination of the three? She shouldn’t have been alive! The mystery grabbed a hold of the former cultist, and wouldn’t let go. More playful, womanly giggles echoed down the basement of the Lamb, and Anisse sought out the sound on the other side of the bonfire. Staring down the darker corridor that lead further down into the catacombs, she imagined for a moment, those quiet rushes of voices spilling from an unseen mouth, pleading for release.
“Yes, they went down there,” came the deep, unsettling voice of Gakin the Darkbinder, startling Anisse. His dark skin stretched as he smiled thinly, tightly, his mustache tickling his upper lip. “Take care of that, will you? We don’t wish for any…trouble. Or a mess.”
Gakin’s thick, deep laugh followed her down into the womb of the catacombs. They were using her, of course. These were the trivial tasks she was used to, since arriving in the Lamb, the tasks everyone else was too “above” doing. In so many ways, she was reminded of her time among the Twilight’s. Never was she elevated to a higher standard, but she never complained, never envied those above her. Anisse knew where her place was, as she did now. Her place was to figure out the game, and how to play among the scurrying shadows in the dark.
And how they scurried…
A thin, nasal giggle melted into a sigh, somewhere in the catacombs. Turning a corner, she found the scurrying players of the game. Anisse shifted against the wall, flattening herself against it on the stair as she watched. There across the hallway, the female stood with her ensnared suitor against the stony surface, her bosom almost spilling out of her bodice. Unintelligible whispers caressed the air around the male as the harlot leaned against him, making him shiver. The man seemed to be melting under the sorceress’s touch quickly. He sucked in a breath, an intense groan breaking the unearthly quiet of the catacombs. He was quite aroused.
This was a ritual Anisse did not understand, the act of mating. Nor did she ever wish to understand it, as it was never an act studied within her encampment. Nor were such things allowed for those within her rank. She understood intimacy, certainly. The mind melds between a cultist and that which he or she summoned were often intense and spiritual in a sense. Yet, a shared physical intimacy served as an unwanted distraction for all cultists, for the most devout Twilights knew where their attentions should be. Watching the pretense to the act now, Anisse suddenly felt thankful that she never was formally introduced to it.
It was enough to make her turn away, and start a walk back up the steps, despite the absurdity of the demon summoner being alive. Silently, she started the trek back up, when a choked gasp sliced through the stiff air. A deep sigh left her. Did she really have to look? She really didn’t want to see any of this personal business. Her head turned slowly, hesitantly, spying the lovers. Locked together in a passionate kiss, the two were entwined…with a stream of energies passing between their bodies. A magical transfer? Annise looked on more intently, fascinated. A change seemed to sift through the dead sorceress, the coppery curls dissolving into midnight black hair, great black horns driving upwards from her head. Ahh, it all made sense now—a glamour spell! The demon had taken on the form of the summoner it had killed those days ago.
Not that the armored man would notice, as he was busy convulsing against the wall, his eyelids flickering.
She wished to watch now, watch this kill, as she had watched the demon kill the woman she impersonated. How long would it take for the life to drain from his body? How strong was this creature? Already, his cheeks began to sallow, eyes rolling back into his head. It certainly would not be long now. Yet the entranced victim seemed to struggle within, summoning a heroic will to fight off the magic. Perhaps he could withstand this creature’s assault? Anisse watched, her heart thrumming in her chest.
For a reason unknown, the hooded figure scraped her boots upon the stone, and stepped out into the torch lit hallway.
The demon drew back from dark-armored male, leaving him slumped against the stony wall as Anisse made her presence known. The creature’s grin gleamed stark white in the darkness, spotting the onlooker. The alluring creature was speaking now, her voice drifting through the hallway to her ears in sultry, elegant tones. It was a tongue Anisse could not understand, yet this creature seemed to understand her actions more fully than she did herself. A thin, taloned finger pointed to her in the low, cold light, even as the demon began to disappear, melding into the dark. She was left standing, peering down at the incapacitated man, thick black hair resting over his eyes. Already, his head began to nod, his enchanted fog beginning to clear. It wouldn’t be long before he would be cognizant. Ah, the game. She understood it, as she looked down upon the victim, and at the coffins around her.
Now, would she play, or wouldn’t she?
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