Prologue 1 – The Gate

December 1914, 11:45 P.m.

Subcontinent of Clavos, Socri forest

"I swear to god, if this spell doesn't work, I'll eat my hat."

Azile yawned and stretched his arms above her head, a look of mild amusement from his master's words touching his young face. She glanced at the magic circle chalked into the ground; feathers and bright scales from various mystic creatures surrounded it, and a small pile of bizarre powder was built up in the center. It was nearly complete; all they needed was the sacrifice.

"Did you catch the girl, Master?"

The old mage nodded. He wasn't fresh at the forbidden magics, and had prepared thoroughly for this particular spell.

He stalked over to tense bundle nearby. His foot connected and it squirmed and emanated some less than savory insults. The old mage frowned with aversion as he pulled the bundle to the circle and positioned it in the center, scattering the powder.

"She sounds mad." The apprentice remarked.

"MFGGHGIII!" The bundle shrieked.

"And she can't talk…"

A low snort escaped the old mage's beak-like nose. "Good, she has a foul mouth."

"Then why'd you pick her?"

"Because the ritual necessitates a virgin." Came the dark reply.

Azile grew silent. Better the bad-mouthed girl than him.

The mage began to ignite the fat-candles placed carefully around the circle while mumbling something in a forgotten language. He pulled up the hood of his cloak, hiding his face but somehow keeping his gleaming eyes visible.

Azile shivered at how much his master resembled a demon right now, and how it felt like he was being watched from the shadows. Glancing back, he swore he saw movement. He scalded himself; whatever was there was probably simple-minded wildlife.

The mage's chanted increased in pitch just as the magic circle began to gleam a sharp blue. The spell was working!

Azile could barely stifle a cry of joy!

This happiness, however, did not last.

Moments later Azile watched with shock as his master cried out and was torn into thousands of vanishing shreds. The dark alter was consumed by a horrifying light that, once it vanished, revealed a now empty clearing.

It all had vanished, magic circle and all.

Azile backed up slowly, then spun around and charged frantically in the woods.

His master had said so little of the ritual, and now the apprentice knew why.

The old mage had set foot upon holy ground, and had paid the ultimate price.