![]() To her credit, her devotion to dark magic also afforded her a personal guard of animated dead, her skeletal skirmishers and hollow-eyed spellcasters. Against the hordes of Hell, it had been barely enough to get her this far. Together they radiated a formidable shield, strong enough to protect her from the common threats of the worn roads of home at least. Sewn into it and her long gloves were ancient coins of bronze inscribed with forbidden verses. She pulled the loom woven cloth armor tight over her shoulders, its pale blue from dye a secret only her coven knew. The silence here was imperfect, the air thick with a scent like iron and filth, some she recognized as the cruel Fallen that had spilled from the depths into the valley throughout the long winter. ![]() Corizande’s book of spells hovered in the air over her open hand, pages turning by her thoughts. ![]() Reaching a landing in the subterranean cavern she commanded her light ahead of her, examining the precisely cut stone floor marked with a massive metal seal, imprinted by forgotten magic into a mural of the demon whose voice Corizande knew. Unlike the manmade mines and temple above, the underworld below seemed untouched since the old gods had hewn it. The only illumination other than her conjured light was a soft glow from green mineral veins that permeated the stone around them. The dust suspended in the still air did not yield for them, resisting the slightest breeze as if even the air was dead down here. The compulsion had led her here on the trail of whatever demon had slain him. A distant friend she had seen fall in a dream who now haunted her. She followed a whisper, the unquiet dead. Corizande stepped lightly, her skeletal minions matching her quiet step for step. Beyond the sealed door of the buried temple a series of stairs descended from the aboveground world like a runaway blasphemous thought.
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