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They had waited too long. The pain that etched its way through the Dark Mage?s body was hint enough; but the growing waspishness of the succubus twined with the increasing violence of the orc chastised Satariel for her lack of expediency.

The ritual was to be completed tonight.

While the nightmarish water-dweller had promised a Carrier, Satariel shied away from conducting the ceremony in the Glen. The ever-present draconic kind were surely something to consider.

No. They would come to her. Drawing her gaze around the room in the abandoned castle she would consider the preparations needed.

Caressing shadows would glide about her form as she walked through the deserted halls of the mist shrouded castle. She had done little exploring since her arrival only ascertaining that it was abandoned and that the beat of any hearts belonged to rats, snakes, and other vermin.

A door would creak open at her passage and she?d survey the desolate destruction, taking note of the heavy stone slab that had long ago fallen free from the wall. It would serve as an altar.

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Yes, the time had come to invoke the Shards. Cleanse the palate and deliver the bounty to their lord.



"To feel life one great ritual, and its laws,
Writ in the vital rubric of the blood,
Flow in, command, and flow out, obedience,
In sealike circulation; and be here ."

Knowledge
By Philip James Bailey (1816?1902)
(slightly altered for my purposes)

Blood poured forth from the gash, spraying its fluid across her face. Warm and sticky it congealed in her hair and stained her lips crimson. Slowly she would turn to face the gentleman who still lived, her naginata held with a dancer's grace.

"I-I..."

"You." She would take one light step toward him.

"I'm mistaken! I'm mistaken! I just thought you looked like the girl I was told to find! You are obviously not her." Cowering the man would plead for his life, falling to the cobblestones of the back alley.

"Again you're wrong. Emiko was once my name. But it is a name that will die along with you. A name that will be forgotten if I needs must rain death down upon all who knew her, all who spoke of her, all who seek her. Emiko will die, if I must murder her memory to make it so."

The naginata would slice through the air, deadly sweet in its sound as it took him with a gurgle of despair.

She'd kneel to wipe the naginata clean on the clothing of the fallen and nearly join the dead on the dank cobblestones as the Shard pulsed and flared to life. The fiery pain in her thigh tore a gasp from her, skin blanching as she weaved with the agony.

The Summoning.

Her vengeance must wait, for the Covenant called. She'd draw herself to her feet and make her way down the back alleys that weaved through this city of violently chaotic life. Her apartment lie not far from the inn that the Sierene had claimed as her own. A smirk of disgust would crease her normally stoic features at the thought of the apartment: a gift from Master Togashi. A setting fit for his subservient concubine. The bedroom lush and opulent, the bath deep and decadent, the assortment of tools and toys to appeal to an old man's sick lusts. She had moved none of it. The ropes and the pulleys had given her pause, but even those she had left untouched.

Her true sanctuary was the forests outside of the city and the apartment served only as a resting spot. Up the stairs and with a key she'd unlock the door quickly dipping inside. The naginata would be returned to its honorable place upon her wall of assorted weapons.

The throbbing in her thigh only intensifying she'd make the decision with rapidfire impetuousness, shifting in a matter of minutes to the form of the clouded leopard and bounding out the window to race through the city streets and toward the call of the Mistress of the Shards.

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"Finally!"

A withered hand grasped at the searing agony that shot through his chest, exhausting the last ounce of strength weary legs harbored. The other hand, bound in leather by the glove that imprisoned stygian flame within, inherently clutched for his wizard's staff -- the inaccurate latitude of a weakened extremity accomplishing more ill than favor, uniting a gibbous lurch with incendiary misery that ultimately culminated its erroneous ascendency with his precipitous collision against the marble floor of his chamber.

Rivulets of atramentous conflagration violently hemorrhaged from putrefied oculi, the physical adequacy to encompass such wretched endowment breeched.

"Mastema?" The burdened resonance was easily identifiable even though he was blinded by the prismatic nebula of percolation. Tia'tari Blayne, rarely astray unless executing an assignment, was instantly beside him, concern in her eyes. "Mastema, are you alright?"

The sharp incline of his hand a distinct admonition, edifying the restraint of her compulsory succor. "My staff." Articulation scraped from his throat.

With a graceful ascension she surmounted her prone stance, pivoting smoothly to face the gnarled length of the decadent instrument, her corralling extension recoiling beneath the ambuscade of desolate magic that emanated from it. Overwhelming her with fear and power, the unholy dissertation soliciting her internal aspiration with the promise of sempieternal prevalence with but a brush of her fingertips.
A bestial snarl heralded his reemergence, restoring the dark tool to his decrepit grasp and nearly knocking her over in the process. Pain forced pallid features into convolution as, once again, he clutched at his chest.

The Summoning.

"I shall return." He whispered with a raspy presage, still unable to look at her as pure arcana distilled from ailing eyes, sluicing down his pallid visage. "Continue your assignments. "

With an inundation of dark words from cracked lips he invoked a heliotrope sphere that expanded its globular dimension until large enough for him to step through. A feeble vestige of staggered footfalls carried him into the monstrous orb, where it consumed him within and disappeared in a scintillating burst.

Uhragrar?s delightfully gravel-tinged voice would be rumbling up through the timbers. She paused at the top of the stairs to observe the room. The usual assortment was there. She?d begun assigning them card titles. There was the King of Hearts with his heart in his eyes as he sought the Queen of Diamonds. And there was the Jack of Spades doing his usual parlor tricks to hide the pain that she felt echoing off of him in waves. Those three were almost always together and their byplay at times included the vestiges of passion and flirtation that soothed her; though oftentimes now they struggled with one another, the Queen of Diamonds torn soul filled with sorrow. The Queen of Clubs was in attendance with her King of Clubs beside her, their daughter the Jack(ette) of Clubs as multi-hued as they were. They were difficult to read with their own psyches warring for dominance; entire conversations, arguments, peace treaties, and negotiations occurring beneath the surface of their very being.

But all of it faded to the background at the sight of the green-skinned Orc and his lusty love for life. She adored that beast down to the chipped tip of one of his tusks. And he was currently jousting with a newcomer, one she had yet to assign a card. The drow was holding his own as much as one can when confronted with the pure nasty vitriol that was Grar. Feeling magnanimous she?d head down the stairs on a sultry slide intent on joining him and rescuing the purple-hatted man from the verbal sparring match.

She?d weave through the crowd on a provocatively indecent step, cat-green eyes burning with the intensity of the personality behind them. For now, no one else would garner a look from those pools of sin, locked on to her target and thrilled to see him, ?Grar, you nasty son of an angel, I've missed you...? the last delivered into his chest as she paused her forward motion only after her lush curves meshed fully against that rigid hard plane of toughness.

His welcoming grin was accompanied by a molesting hand grab and an eye-f***ing designed to make a lesser person squirm. ?I figured ya' might be 'round tonight so I thought I'd drop in and talk ya up a bit.? Twirling a chair around for her, ?How ya been??

Every move would be a luxurious call of sensuality and his gentlemanly offer would be taken as she crossed indecently long legs, sheer smoky stockings whispering seductively, ?I'm wonderful. Absolutely sinfully divine.?

?Tha's good ta hear,? Taking a seat he would let his gaze linger on her legs as he continued, ?Asmodai gots me runnin' all over lookin' fer stuff fer this school he's buildin'. But ah'm sure you know all 'bout it, yea??

?Asmodai has everyone busy for some aspect of that Arcane Institute..? Her lips forming a moue at the thought of being reduced to secretarial work, though if some of his applicants didn't appear for their interviews it wasn't her fault that they chose to spend the night in debauched orgies with the admin.

She?d sense the arrival of the young succubus, her questing emotions trickling across her senses. A look toward the door was given as she continued to converse with Uhragrar.

?Damn it. Yea, I prolly wouldn't even give two shakes if I didn't think his ol' sick ass wouldn't turn me into somethin' ugly and stupid..? snorting the last: ?like a drow.?

?Crossing the Dark Mage would be unwise...besides his gifts can be particularly fascinating..? She would offer the entreating succubus a smile before returning her attention to Grar, ?who knows what will come of this Institute.?

As the young woman joined them, Aolani would let her gaze drift over the patrons again?watching the cards shuffle and re-shuffle, their rising and falling emotions fascinating. Uhragrar?s words would just catch her attention again and pull a startled little laugh from her, ?Say, this lil' school o' his, they're gonna have... uniforms??

Before she could give him an answer he would just as quickly divert his attention to the arrival of Black Widow and he would growl, ?Who?s this hot piece o? twaddle??

The startled hiccup of laughter would turn throaty as full-out humor took her by storm, wrenching that honeyed husky laughter from her by force. Grar had that effect on her, for some reason their connection had seen them through many an engagement and he maintained a soft spot that was his and his alone. ?Grar!?

As her two companions descended into banter that was as much a part of their nature as their skins, Aolani would let her thoughts return to the glorious hours spent with Aukai and Fawne from the night before. Her attention only returning as the emotions at her table shifted into wary attentiveness.

?What, what is it??

Realizing that it was a dragon that had caught their attention, she would sigh, ?What is it with you and Zansanette? Dragons? really? I find the draconic kind grating with their all knowing wisdom...? A roll of her eyes as she held out a hand imperatively for Grar?s bottle. ?It's like trying to climb in a geriatric patient's lap.. the intent is there, but you have to listen to them ramble and probably then they won't even be able to follow through.?

Grar?s barking laughter accompanied the slide of the bottle across the table, ?Yea, well I gotta feelin' you'd bring back feelin' ta those legs if it were you climbin' in that lap. An' dragons are fun to mess with if you find the righ' one. Ain't nutting like havin' a dragon's neck under yer boot and makin'm call you daddy.? Turning toward the young succubus he would continue, ?Makin' people call me daddy is my specialty, just to let ye know.?

Her voice would be a seductive trill, ?you should mess with giants, Gnar."

His response as coarse as the rest of him and accompanied with a wink, ?I mess wit' giants everytime I drain the snake.?

?You couldn?t handle this.? The succubus would respond to his wink.

?Handle it? I'd handle it, fold it, throw it up in the air and slam it on the ground....and the only thin' you'd be able ta do is come crawlin' back beggin' fer more.?

Their banter had her laughter spilling freely, but it would suddenly cut off on a choked moan of pain, her beautiful face contorting in a mask of agony. One slender hand knocking over the bottle to spill its alcoholic content across the tabletop as she instinctively wrapped both hands around her middle, doubling up in her seat, long legs trying to curl up as she sought relief from the sharp rending sensation.

Immediately her companions would respond, Black Widow at her side, ?Mistress are you alright??

The beast?s query echoing hollowly in the roaring agony that was her head, ?'eh, legs? You good??

Her plush lips would thin into a hard line of determination, the next cry of pain swallowed back. Too many here would find joy or at least humor in her agony and she would not share that with them. Pale, she'd twine her long fingers more used to pleasure and sensual touch, into a fist and force her legs to the ground, pushing up to a stand as she managed to whisper for their ears alone, ?..the ...shard.?

The throbbing waves of pain would nearly take her consciousness and the trip upstairs to her room would be a blur. Unable to take time to explain to the young temptress she could only concentrate on answering the Summoning. She was aware that the pain reverberating from her was causing the empath pain, but she possessed no control over it.

Tearing away from their supporting hands she would stumble for the window, falling onto the thick rugs. A scream would tear from her lips echoing the rending of her flesh as feathery wings tore free. The blinding pain in her skull nearly her undoing as her horns erupted through the skin. In agony, she would push forward and throw herself into the night sky to heed the call.

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A whisper of sound, the shadows spilling about the ground as if a glass of darkness had been tipped. Slowly she would emerge from their grasp as if being birthed into the cool air of the desolate chamber; the only changes made to the desecrated room would be the sharp splash of white that graced the fallen stone in the center: an elven woman, gleaming naked and pure in the blackness, bonds tightly holding her in place.

Beside the altar, would stand a silent statue of ancient armor. Raised gauntlets holding a smooth and ornate box, its lid open, revealing a velvet inlaid interior where seven empty sharps idly wait. So unnatural his stance, his lack of movement, that he appeared as an object and not a presence.

Standing at the ready, quivering in anticipation Zansanette DayStar looked over the trembling woman she had brought from her mere She could barely restrain the urge to control the purling whine of anticipatory ecstasy as the others began to show. The quills along her spine would rise and fall with her agitated breaths as she rocked in small undulating waves of excitement and pain.

Uhragrar Glorerd stepped into the great hall, no cigar or fedora present. Beady crimson eyes giving all in attendance the once over before heading to his stop along the ceremonial wreath.

Almost simultaneously a distortion across the linear plane would bring the crimson Incubus into view, the lithe stride and ripple of elegant muscle carrying him toward his spot upon the circle.

The deserted castle had been easy enough to find in the mist-shrouded lands thanks to the pulsating agony of the shard driving her onward. The clouded leopard would pad up the ancient stairwell, her form shifting and molding into that of the small Asiatic woman, smoke gold eyes glassy with the throbbing pain of the shard. She'd find her place in the circling arc.

Seconds behind the leopard, Austorc d'Aorlhac, would emerge through the door, crouched at the shoulders, chrome fixtures glossing over in metallic reflection of the candlelight. With docile tentacles dangling from beneath the veil that covers his face, he would make his way across the room to the marked station where he is to stand upon the circle.

The soft beat of feathery wings caressing the night sky would carry through the air as she glided to a stop and let the current of air hold her suspended in her sensual and fierce some beauty before she gently dropped through the window to land with inhuman grace, wings folding in as she silently claimed her position next to Aukai.

The buoyant hover of an amethyst sphere would stretch its utter circumference, the expanding radius growing until large enough to birth the Dark Mage of the Shaitan. Leaning heavily against his twisted staff, its clicking collision with the ground resonating through the silent echo-chamber, he moves with a feeble gait across the floor, ailing occuli upon the indicated position he is to take to commence with the ritual.

With them assembled the Mistress of the Shards would move to her place before the altar, cold soulless eyes alighting on each and every one of them as she assessed the evil essences bound within them, her statuesque perfection would benevolently smile as she intoned. ?Hail Shaitan.?

Arkon Daraul, fighting back the hoarse hack that sought to claim victory of his ragged throat, he would deliver the greeting with a raspy timbre: ?Hail Shaitan.?

Echoing the Dark Mage, the submissive drop of her head would immediately occur as the words whispered from her, ?Hail Shaitan.?

His alien click would subside for a more human sound, ?Hail Shaitan.?

?Hail Shaitan.? The aquatic murmur rushing breathlessly to be spoken.

The green-skinned orc would offer a snarled. ?Hail Shaitan.?

The pain of the shard would leave her panting with growing tension that manifested itself in pure unadulterated sexual heat, the power of the Sierene?s call drawling from her in honeyed tones of desperation: ?Hail Shaitan,? caressing the words.

Aukai?s normal coil of delectable lips absent, a straight scarlet latitude would be broken only by the slightest inclination of tantalizing tiers. ?Hail Shaitan.?

Their greeting completed, Satariel Shah would allow the wards to settle about them, feeling the rush of power at their benediction, her voice a sibilant whisper, ?I evoke you, Asxaasal, Emissary of our Lord and Usher of the Vessel, to ordain this rite in honor of our Lord and Master.?

Asxaasal would turn to face the High Priestess, a spectral movement that brought the unholy golden glow from behind his helm upon her. A forward slant, indication of his approval, would follow.

(Adjusted from Chat Logs)

The scorching path of the EbonShard would wither the flesh upon the elf?s breast, the symbol forever scarred there, but no blood would well despite its penetration. With that same lifeless smile in place as if she just finished a child?s school project, or creating the perfect potpourri centerpiece, Satariel would nod at her work pleased that she was able to avoid the acid splotched wounds from Zansanette?s blood.

Dismissing the whimpered crying of her bound victim, she?d move before the kneeling Arkon, the shadows twirling and twining around her, a liquid caress of desperation. A delicate hand would reach forth and gently caress the air before his face as the words of the rite passed those dead lips. ?I call upon you, Asmodai, son of Arcane and Ambition, to surrender your sins so that another may hold them.?

The afflicted hue of corroded spheres would lift to meet her gaze, displaying the agony his features harbor with a shard so full. ?I implore you, High Priestess, removed this burden from me.? The raspy inflection the words travel upon frail, and broken.

His permission granted, the binding of the pact complete, she would trace the air above him, following the throbbing power of the shard to its destination before his heart, her forefinger and thumb would come together and with a motion like pulling a needle though cloth she would pull seemingly nothing toward her...but the shadows that hover about her would heed that elegant command and with icy precision they would pierce the heart of the Dark Mage and pull forth the Ebonshard.

Cracked lips would be crushed together, abnegating the agonizing onslaught that tried to tear from them. Tense sinew would straight against pallid flesh as the shard was withdrawn, sending him lurching forward with its conclusion to land upon all fours, gasping for air in both relief and hollow emptiness.

The shard, stained with the dark mage's evil, would float in the shadows around her as she gave little sign of recognizing the agony the removal had caused him, instead with the shifting blur of the unnatural she would appear before Shieyu in the blink of an eye, her lifeless lips parting to intone. ?I call upon you, Panthera, daughter of Beast and Grace, to surrender your sins so that another may hold them.?

?Hai,? the simple submission easily enough given as the pain of the shard had grown to unbearable proportions; though her uneasy smoky gold gaze would want to look on the fallen dark mage with concern she would instead nod her head in subservience.

Again those shadows would hover around their mistress as she stroked her hand through the air before the kneeling sohei before stopping above her thigh and drawing them back in a sibilant motion, the shadows ripping the Ebonshard free from its sheathed spot within her thigh.
A gasp of pain would escape her as the shard was removed, the weakness that assaulted her unknown to her before. Admittedly she had thought the weak constitution of the Dark Mage added to his plight, but the agony of the tearing was on a deeper level, that of her soul and she wouldn't be able to hide its effects upon her.

((Adjusted from Chat Logs))

Four shards, dancing like black holes in the darkness of the shadows, their crystalline sheaths flashing ominously as she floated before the monstrously massive form of Uhragrar. ?I call upon you, Moloch, son of Vileness and Strength, to surrender your sins so that another can hold them.?

The wide span of massive hands find purchase on the floor, his bestial head turning to the side with a resounding crack of stiff bone beneath grey-green skin, offering the priestess a thick stretch of Orc neck to work with. ?Have at it, darlin',? said a lot quieter than normal, almost pleasant like.

Again there would be that softer hesitation almost, a petting motion of her hand in the air before his monstrous face, the shadows agitated by her interest in another would cruelly tear his shard from the side of his neck in an icy ripping of torturous anguish.

Wide, fat fingers rake across the smooth floor of the Hall as the shard is ripped out of his neck, jagged teeth crushing together to keep from unleashing a thesaurus of profanity and saliva beneath him. Pillars of muscle, tension-filled arms would lock at the elbow, stationary braces as he swallowed roar after roar of absolute torment.

The five shards would dance and float in the air like planets or celestial beings, her form lurching as if between one reality and the next before simply appearing before Aolani's form with a sickening inhuman motion. Soulless eyes would drape over the winged beauty as the words passed her cold lips ?I call upon you, Sierene, daughter of Lust and Desire, to surrender your sins so that another may hold them.?

?Give me release, Mistress, I beg you,? her voice thrumming with passionate plea as she arched back, feathered wings dusting the desolate floor, her body bowing upward to offer the smooth naked tautness of her abdomen. The position thrusting her breasts outward and spreading her thighs in abandoned urgency.

An aristocratic motion of appreciative elegance would send her delicate hands dancing in the air before the prostrate Succubus, the shadows following her path in eager molestation and again placing her middle finger and thumb together as if drawing a needle through thread she would pull the shard from its location within the pelvis of the fallen.

A vocal soul, she would scream at the tearing of her essence, the throbbingly incessant pain of the shard replaced with its ripping absence, her deliciously lush body snapping spasmodically into a fetal position as if a rigid elasticity had been broken.

The shadows would carry the Ebonshards to linger over the elf whose soft cries had grown in desperation. Tears streaming her beautiful face as she resorted to begging for her life. No rescue was forthcoming as the Ebonshards poised above her eyes, throat, heart, navel and hands (which would have been intricately tied down by each individual finger to display the palms upward and immobile).

Satariel Shah would hold up her hands demanding her unholy choir follow her lead, the shadows quivering and trembling in growing ecstasy for the culmination of the ritual.

Arkon Daraul: Knowledge, lost for the masses. The erudition of evil ambition.

Shieyu Atsumichi: Vengeful wrath and execution of those who have trespassed.

Austorc d'Aorlhac: Raw ferocity once hidden beneath the facade of humanity, revealed.

Zansanette DayStar: Primordial obsession of the hunt unleashed upon the weak.

Uhragrar Glorerd: Loathsome embodiment of vile strength annihilating the stalwart.

Aolani Malvlasta: Passionate persuasion revealing the destruction of the feeble willed.

Aukai: Carnal unleashing and crumbling the resistance of the pure.

With each of their ringing lyrics of profanity, the Ebonshards would descend upon the struggling woman, piercing her eyes, her throat, her heart, her navel and her spread palms and in an explosion of calignous matter they would disappear inside her. The once beautiful and pure orbs of sky blue staining a liquid black as the maiden arched and screamed in a ululating cry of violation.

A tawny illumination would seep from the visor of Axsaasal?s helm to steal the screams as they resonated from the victim, taking with it a sliver of her soul, a splinter of her humanity.

Satariel Shah: ?In the name of the Covenant, I turn this Vessel over to you, Sentinel of the Almighty Shaitan.? She'd turn and descend into her own knelt position before Asxaasal, awaiting his commendation and the Shards of Renewal.

The spectral stride of the Ebonguard brings him silently before her, the operative grip of ancient gauntlets a steel bed for the ornate receptacle that houses the untapped shards. Holding it in offering, a slight tilt brings it down to eye level, so that she may take from it the prize that it holds.

As Satariel?s shadows heed her instructions and delicately retrieve the seven crystalline shards the box would snap shut. The Ebonguard?s eidolic stride carrying him to where the vessel lay pierced by the seven sable shards. In thorough examination he would examine her, methodical and complete. Inhuman sounds, something dark and beyond the world of man, descend upon her ears, tearing her from agony and thrusting her into a place of quiet insanity. Another word would follow, and slowly he, the vessel, and the altar she rides upon would start to fade with a drifting wind that would dissolve them into phantasmal mist.

((Adjusted from chat logs))

The members of the Covenant reacted as differently to the ceremony as they embodied their own unique abilities and personalities. Shieyu would be gasping, panting for breath, the tears that stained the face of the sohei embarrassing her and she would swipe them from existence. A frantic glance to her thigh would reveal that it bore no mark, but the sensation of having it torn apart would linger, weakness leaving her shaky and jittery.

Zansanette would crawl across the floor toward Satariel, her Mistress, the closest thing to a mother she had ever known, the piercing pain of the new shard already fading from memory as she looked to appease the object of her affection.

Arkon?s transformation would perhaps be the most shocking. Youth becoming restored with every passing moment, the restitution of antique handsomeness emerging where dwindling and dying flesh once decomposed upon living bone.

Uhragrar?s barking out a laugh as he rose, immediately attempting to break the painful tension. ?I don' know 'bout you guys, but I could sure use a drink an' a go between some nice lady sticks.?

His crudeness would be lost upon Aolani as she began to trace and idly caress the site of the shard's penetration even though no wound would be readily apparent. Now that she was in control of her faculties she would begin to shift, her feathered wings disappearing as would her horns, leaving her strikingly beautiful and ...human looking.

Austorc d'Aorlhac would rise, feral passions returned to their tactile solace. Chrome fixtures would scan the room, moving from one member of the covenant to the next, as much a necessity due to his monstrous nature and training from a long-forgotten past as a spy.

Satariel would trail a hand on Zansanette's upturned face, though no sign of affection would crease her unmoving face and answer Uhragrar?s statement as if it were appropriate, ?If you will, Moloch, but remember that you are at your weakest until your next transgression.?

Shieyu was unaware of the actual ramifications of this pact and she would eye Satariel closely, watching the other's reactions to this information as she drew herself to her feet unsteadily.

Aukai?s alabaster cauldrons would no longer hold the painful price of the shards arrival, the swivel of his chin bringing his gaze to rest upon Aolani. Delectable lips would form an aroused coil, promising that they would celebrate the liberation of the shards with the insertion of other living fragments. Her answering smile would reveal her intentions toward her next transgression.

Arkon would interject, ?It is time to go,? in softly spoken tones, though not out of weakness any longer, merely exhaustion. With a turn he would cross the radius of the ritual wreath to where Aolani stands, the unblemished slenderness of a youthful hand extending in greeting of her desirous touch. ?This state will not last long. Would you help me enjoy it while it does?? The arch of an obsidian brow and the flicker of golden spheres confirming the suggested innuendo.

?Asmodai, you will expedite their returns to their desired locations...? It was a question even if it wasn't coached as one, nor sounded the least bit supplicating, the caress on Zansanette fleeting as Satariel moved past them toward the chamber door no farewell needed nor offered.
Heeding her request, the Dark Mage would call his staff to return to his youthful hand and with an arcane intonation he would deliver them all to the Inn in a flash of pulsating purple light. From there the Covenant members would disperse as they saw fit, no longer pained, but weakened until their next act of vile transgression.

((Adjusted from Chat Logs))