Prologue
The circle hummed around her longsword, calling upon magic that all but the most skilled of wizards had long forgotten. Angular runes traced the circle drawn upon the floor that would open a gateway upon activation and summon a demon spirit from the Ether to inhabit her blade. Demons were often quite bloodthirsty, but she knew that its hunger could easily be satisfied if her weapon was its new home.
Chanting, her palms spread flat above her sword, the woman infused protection spells into the strong steel that would help should she ever need them. Though she was a strong warrior, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that she was the best to ever be born. Overconfidence had led to the downfall of too many of her acquaintances for her not to be wary of it.
To summon the spirit, she sliced open her palms just enough to allow blood to well up to the surface. She then turned her hands palm down so that the crimson drops would land upon the blade while she spoke the words that would open a gateway into the Ether. A fine mist rose up from the circle that shone with iridesence and engulfed her sword completely as she moved her hands away. The shape of a tiny creature whose body seemed to be made entirely of black-colored fog peered up at her with glowing red eyes. Its voice was surprisingly deep as it spoke and hoarse as if the spirit had spent long hours screaming. Jorga smiled slightly at her success and answered its question as clearly as possible. "I want your power, but I don't intend for it to come for free. You can feast upon all the blood you could ever desire if you ally yourself with me. I'm not a stranger to death."
"I have heard of you, Deathbringer. You kill for the so-called name of Good. The blood of innocents is far sweeter than that of a corrupt lord or common cutthroat."
"Yet it lacks substance, demon. It lacks power." Her eyes, the color of a snow-laden sky, gleamed. "Purity is far more fattening than corruption. I'm giving you the opportunity to grow fat on power, to be content in the knowledge that you helped to bring about so much death. Besides," the small smile she'd worn since the moment the demon had appeared grew larger, "whoever said that I was an agent of the Light?"
"Very well then, Deathbringer, I will inhabit it. But be warned: if my thirst is not slaked as often as I require, it will be your blood that I will have next." A demon moved to hover over the sharp blade of her sword and vanished within it. Nothing especially spectacular happened -- no light shows, no thunderous noises -- but it was intensely satisfying just the same.
Jorga smiled as she sent the forces she'd called back to where they'd come from, her voice tinged with delighted laughter as she chanted. No force in the world would be able to stand before her now. It made her wish, just for a moment, that she had never turned onto the path of Good.
The circle hummed around her longsword, calling upon magic that all but the most skilled of wizards had long forgotten. Angular runes traced the circle drawn upon the floor that would open a gateway upon activation and summon a demon spirit from the Ether to inhabit her blade. Demons were often quite bloodthirsty, but she knew that its hunger could easily be satisfied if her weapon was its new home.
Chanting, her palms spread flat above her sword, the woman infused protection spells into the strong steel that would help should she ever need them. Though she was a strong warrior, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that she was the best to ever be born. Overconfidence had led to the downfall of too many of her acquaintances for her not to be wary of it.
To summon the spirit, she sliced open her palms just enough to allow blood to well up to the surface. She then turned her hands palm down so that the crimson drops would land upon the blade while she spoke the words that would open a gateway into the Ether. A fine mist rose up from the circle that shone with iridesence and engulfed her sword completely as she moved her hands away. The shape of a tiny creature whose body seemed to be made entirely of black-colored fog peered up at her with glowing red eyes. Its voice was surprisingly deep as it spoke and hoarse as if the spirit had spent long hours screaming. Jorga smiled slightly at her success and answered its question as clearly as possible. "I want your power, but I don't intend for it to come for free. You can feast upon all the blood you could ever desire if you ally yourself with me. I'm not a stranger to death."
"I have heard of you, Deathbringer. You kill for the so-called name of Good. The blood of innocents is far sweeter than that of a corrupt lord or common cutthroat."
"Yet it lacks substance, demon. It lacks power." Her eyes, the color of a snow-laden sky, gleamed. "Purity is far more fattening than corruption. I'm giving you the opportunity to grow fat on power, to be content in the knowledge that you helped to bring about so much death. Besides," the small smile she'd worn since the moment the demon had appeared grew larger, "whoever said that I was an agent of the Light?"
"Very well then, Deathbringer, I will inhabit it. But be warned: if my thirst is not slaked as often as I require, it will be your blood that I will have next." A demon moved to hover over the sharp blade of her sword and vanished within it. Nothing especially spectacular happened -- no light shows, no thunderous noises -- but it was intensely satisfying just the same.
Jorga smiled as she sent the forces she'd called back to where they'd come from, her voice tinged with delighted laughter as she chanted. No force in the world would be able to stand before her now. It made her wish, just for a moment, that she had never turned onto the path of Good.