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Quiquan enters the laboratory after a long day doing menial nonsense for the tower master. The small blue kobold carries her books, lights the candles, and takes a deep breath as she stands before the smooth stone floor. Producing from her breast pocket a piece of chalk, the kobold sets off the work, drawing the intricate patterns of the circle. Many months of practice under Tik Tik's "teachings" have prepared her for this, even if Tik Tik had suggested she not pursue summoning.

"What does she know?" Quiquan says, huffing as she draws the final line. She double-checks the circle. Every stroke is where it should be. Every mark is made with the precise direction and pressure as necessary. Assured of her skill, Quiquan lowers herself before the circle, sitting on her knees, laying out the various implements of magical summoning and binding before her.

First, she lights a candle, placing it before her. Then, she closes her eyes, visualizing the type of spirit she wishes to bring forth to the world. While her ultimate goal would be cleaning up the last of Tik Tik's great messes, such an attempt would be foolish. Therefore, her mind goes smaller, through the bestiary of demonkind, down the list from the greatest of horrific monstrosities down to what she learned were the weakest of the creatures of the Pit.

Lifting her arms up high, the kobold chants the eldritch invocation, calling forth the name of the spirit she wished to summon. She proposes an offering by taking a knife and, with the very smallest of pricks, taking a drop of blood from her finger. It is all that is needed for such a lowly soul.

The air around the kobold swirls and howls. There is no window, nor is there a hole in the chamber. This breeze is nothing short of magic moving from one place to another. Its warmth tells her that it comes from the direction she seeks.

When she opens her eyes, the chamber is still dark, and the circle is still intact. She frowns and pulls the book out, pouring over the pages, seeing what she might have missed. In her mind comes the mocking tone of Tik Tik's voice, teasing her for working too fast and never checking for the proper order of things.

"Blast it all!" the blue kobold snarls, slamming her book shut. She slams her fist upon the floor, tossing the book aside. Her body trembles and her eyes quiver in tears. Her mind screams at her, and her throat hurts from her outburst.

Within her mind streak many thoughts—each calling her inadequate and a failure, telling her that everything that she does will amount to nothing. She blames herself and the others of her tribe for how she is—unable to get anything right when it really matters.

And Tik Tik, oh, Tik Tik can do everything so quickly. Magic trapping and gaining fame—she left everyone in the tribe behind.

It's all unfair! It's never fair!

But she wouldn't say any of this. Instead, she sobs, her voice echoing through the dark room. She leans forward, her nose pressing against the ground, grabbing the back of her head, trying to hide from the world and herself, but she can never run.

She can never do anything correctly.

The room's silence is enough to let her mind take her whirling and dropping down to a darker and darker place than this darkened summoning chamber.

A knock on the door breaks her concentration.

"Leave me alone!" she screams much louder than anticipated, and she immediately regrets her shout.

But the response isn't a hushed "sorry" or an angered reprimand of her outburst.

Instead, it is another knock.

Quiquan blinks and lifts her head. She sniffles, rubs her snout, and turns toward the doorway. "Who's there?"

The only response is another series of knocks.

The wizard adjusts her robes and approaches the doorway. She places her palm on the surface, reading back at the warmth.

There is a name in her throat, one that she had been afraid of saying and one that she feared even more to say.

"M'goreh?"

The hot wind that had come with the summoning sears her scales, sending her stumbling back. The kobold holds her hands up to block the blow to her face, but a force holds onto her, grabbing her wrists and lifting them, spreading them apart.

For a moment, she stands frozen, her breath caught in her throat. She can only hear the thumping of her heart, but she cannot move—she dared not move.

But there's nothing else she can do.

She cracks an eye open, staring at the darkness, and then her eyes open much more expansively.

Standing before her at about her height is a stocky, muscled thing with a broad chest and muscular arms. Its char-gray flesh on most of its form is contrasted with the flame-red patterns on its arms and legs. Its eyes are crimson, glowing all over, and its mouth is twisted in a crooked, tattered smile.

The two stand there, unmoving, for what seems like an eternity. When she finally draws in a breath, wild cackling laughter fills the chamber, a voice of many voices laughing in various rueful intonations. She stumbles back, falls into the circle, and stands at the thing before her.

And with its hands on its hips, it squats before her, tilting its horned head and rolling out a long, forked tongue.

"You called my name," the echoing voice says. "Now, ready for my game?"