A candle’s flame flickered in the dimly light sparsely furnished room, a beacon amidst the darkness. Huddled over the candle the young warlock read from the salvaged scrap of parchment the fire hadn’t managed to claim. On it was the drawing of crystal and underneath it the words Vos ego vinctus ad daemonii arbitrium, aetate mea facta tua written in a carelessly scrawled hand. As though the writer knew they had but mere seconds to write down such a powerful spell before death claimed them in the form of heat and fire. The fair haired youth leaned back in his chair, the candle light showing a sinister look of smug satisfaction. My time has come.
Four yellow cat like eyes in a mouth less face stared back at the warlock from within the blood red recesses of the crystal. The demon’s howl of rage absorbed by the crystal in which he was entombed, for no matter how hard he pounded with his scaled claws, or rammed with his horned head. There was no breaking out of the crystal in which he was bound. Cyrus chuckled softly tapping a well kept fingernail against the glass. “There’s no getting out. My binding magic is too strong for the likes of you” his taunting enraged the captured demon, but as it could do no more than roar its rage, roars that could not be heard, it was generally ignored. “The time to take my rightful place has come, and you my friend shall be the key to my success” he crowed already savoring the sweet victory that lay ahead.
The bustling castle town lay on the fringes of a dense wood, ringed by a moat. Two towers soared above the trees rivaling even the tallest among them. Deep in the shadows of a large oak Cyrus stood watching the hustle and bustle with cold blue eyes. By the end of today he would be their lord, they should already be paying him respect. Was he not a powerful warlock? Had he not captured a powerful demon and bound him to his will? They should be bowing to him! Praising his name! His lip curled into a sneer, by the end of today they would be wishing they had. Turning his cloak swirling around him in a shock of deep blood red a red that matched the crystal perched on the end of the staff clutched in thin pale fingers.