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Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for DarkGoddessLilith | January 2022 | 10041 Words

“This is the worst affront to our kingdom since the Baron of Duncraig choked to death at the winter feast!” The Baroness Kuznetzov bellowed, her heavyset form adding a thick resonance to her voice as she fumed. Gripping the armrests of her throne, the pudgy noblewoman’s voice echoed through her private chamber. “Two esteemed members of the kingdom have gone missing. My own Margrave, the one who should be defending our outer reaches, was last seen near your establishment.” The tirade of berating words had stung, certainly. But the tacit insinuation that The Chop Shop, the kingdom of Westmarch’s premier demon meat butchery, had anything to do with the Margrave’s disappearance caused the matronly proprietor to clench her fist. Gwen could hardly contain the growing anger rising in her chest; after all they had done for the kingdom, the Baroness was willing to believe that her personal demon hunters were willing to commit murder.

Her temper, which had seemed to rise over the past few months, was only eased by the hand of her compatriot demon hunter. The nightblade Cullen somehow managed to keep his cool despite the explosive arguments and insinuations being tossed about, even if the Baroness’s accusations hurt him just as much. “Baroness,” he interjected, the muscled rogue doing his best to show reverence. “I’ve already done all I can to aid in the search, and all I can say is that she seemed to disappear a few blocks away, almost like she had vanished into dust.”

“Almost too good of an excuse,” the corpulent noblewoman growled, brushing back her shoulder-length hair, her anger forcing her to pause to catch her breath now and then. “And the fate of the Kehjistani emissary? Last seen picked up by a carriage in the city of Lut Gholein, so very similar to the sort you have requisitioned in the past for… delicate work?”

“Anyone could have gotten their hands on a carriage that looks like ours! It’s not like they make them different for each buyer,” Gwen spat back, the slow burn of rising irritability in her gut causing her to bubble up once more. “She was kidnapped half a continent away! There’s no way we could have been behind it.”

“I thought the same,” Baroness Kuznetzov replied, allowing her anger to subside just enough to collect her thoughts.

“Unfortunately,” the Baroness frowned, “the other kingdoms do not see it quite the same way.”

“What do you mean, your Highness?” Cullen pried. The pair of demon hunters had spent the better part of this meeting taking the abuse. But her seemingly offhand comment suggested they were finally getting somewhere with what this whole dressing down was really about.

“Pfft, it’s been the talk of the country. The Western Kingdoms have been astir about what might have happened. and for some reason they all seem to be focusing on The Chop Shop.”

“How would they know we did anything?” Cullen prodded, putting an arm out once again to halt Gwen from interrupting. “Surely they would need evidence?”

“Rumors are more than enough for them to show concern. There is already talk of convening a tribunal. And we do not want to invite the Zakarum Inquisition to start poking around the city, lest that turn into a bloodbath. It’s all I can do considering there’s been two more disappearances within our kingdom-”

“Two more?!” Gwen growled, “Baroness, you can’t seriously think we’re behind every scuff and scrape in the kingdom?”

“I-” The Baroness paused, pursing her lips as she avoided answering the question. “A merchant’s daughter and a member of my court. I am doing my best to keep the news from getting out. But in this atmosphere of fear, I understand why they may jump to the conclusion that a shadowy demon hunting outfit might be to blame.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Cullen said at last. “Sure, we could be at fault for all this, but there are hundreds of other explanations.”

“A member of the guard could have offed them,” Gwen rolled her eyes, tousling her hair a little as she shook her head.

“Or they could have gotten into accidents, for all we know.”

With a soft sigh, the Baroness sat forwards in her chair, planting her palms down upon her thick thighs as she stared down her two enforcers. The private chamber, built of cold stone and secluded from the rest of the castle, sat perfectly still save for the gentle crackle of a fire in the hearth. After a moment of pause, the Baroness stiffened her lower lip, before leaning over the side of her throne to grab for a leather satchel off the floor. Pulling out a small wax tablet, inlaid in a wooden frame, she gave a gentle tap to the malleable goo. A warm, magical resonance began to emanate from the foot wide tablet, thin lines self-etching into the surface. Turning it about in her hands, she leaned forward to hand the magical device to Gwen, the matronly butcher cocking her head to the side as she took a closer look.

As the lines materialized, her expression soured as she realized exactly what she was looking at. “Wh- Where did you get this?” she asked, her face going blanched white as Cullen attempted to get a look at the magical item himself.

“It was dropped off at my court a week ago,” the Baroness said as Gwen let go of the frame, allowing Cullen a chance to look.

“And you weren’t going to- to-?”

“Why would I?” The Baroness growled, clenching the armrests of her throne as she stood, bringing her heavyset frame to bear over Gwen’s thick body, “I had to figure out what to do with this information, knowing I employed two murderers.”

Cullen swallowed softly as he found himself staring at the ghostly image of a face he had long forgotten. Isabelle Greyson, the enchantress reporter of The Westmarch Observer, standing at the doorway to The Chop Shop. The fly in the side of the nobility who mysteriously went missing the week after rumors spread that The Daughter of Hatred herself visited the City of Westmarch. He remembered that night, having to dispatch the nosy reporter who was too close to learning the truth about what had happened. And worse, he remembered having to dispose of her flesh. Gwen was careful to part out what remained into the weekly packages that were sent to the Baroness. “Who sent this to you?” he asked at long last, looking up from the magical image to find his colleague standing almost toe-to-toe with their noble boss.

“I cannot say,” the Baroness growled, clearly unwilling to give up more information. “But, I have reason to believe similar images have been sent to the other cities of the Western Kingdoms.”

“That would explain their focus on us,” he muttered, rubbing a gloved hand upon his jawline as he examined it. “There’s... Something off about this magic though…”

“I think I’ve had enough of your investigations, Cullen,” The Baroness snapped, the sudden snarl causing him to nearly fumble the wooden frame from his hands. “I have reason to believe there is more going on in The Chop Shop than what you’ve let on. As your liege, I must demand you allow me to investigate your business.”

“Y- You can’t be serious, your Highness?” Gwen stammered, but quickly realized she needed to back off, the glare coming from the noblewoman was enough to send shivers down her spine. Something just seemed off about the way the Baroness was acting. This was not mere fear for her own kingdom, that much was clear. But there was something wrong about the way she acted. Her irritability was palpable; she always seemed on edge, having to calm herself back down at the slightest provocation. Not to mention the elephant in the room - the Baroness’s hunger had grown to elephant proportions, leaving her swollen and bloated. She was a far cry from the comfortable weight she once held on her average-sized frame. Occasionally Gwen and Cullen had discussed whether something was amiss with her. Now, as they realized their benefactor had turned against them, the pair could only think that something truly was amiss with her. “Surely it need not come to that.”

“I fear it is the only way we can clear the city’s name,” the Baroness huffed.

A smile crossed Gwen’s face, her own defensiveness melting away as she narrowed her eyes at the Baroness. “Let’s not be hasty. After all, we both know that you are in the market for something only Cullen and I can provide.”

“Gwen!” Cullen snapped, only to hear the Baroness hush him.

“What are you suggesting, my dear Gwen?” she asked.

“We can work together towards our goals,” Gwen continued. “We both want to see The Daughter of Hatred rid from Sanctuary. Who says it can’t also come with the benefit of her meat on your table once again?”

“You know how much I loved those cuts,” the Baroness huffed, licking her chops softly as she reminisced. “But you know my hunger has been insatiable lately.” Idly playing with her hair, the Baroness smirked softly as she thought about the offer. “Tell me directly,” she asked, “when did Isabelle Greyson disappear?”

“About, uh… Eight months ago? Maybe ten months after Lady Lilith entered the city?”

“I recall about that time you provided me with some interesting cuts. I can’t recall what you said they were from, but the funniest thing happened. That hunger that grew for Lady Lilith’s meat? It seemed to abate when I ate that meat.” Allowing those words to sink in, the Baroness paused just long enough for effect before demanding. “You will have my protection. But you will not only work towards procuring me more of The Daughter of Hatred’s flesh.” A cruel smirk crawled across her face, her eyes glancing across the room to the door, making sure nobody was listening in from the hallway. “You will cook for me any person I see fit, to help stem the cravings. And you will start tonight.”

“Deal,” Gwen huffed, hardly taking a moment to think about the offer. Her brash haste left her business partner stunned, taken aback by the sudden willingness of both parties to commit the same crime they both denied and detested.

Lilting strains of music, carrying the happy cries and shouts of patrons gently wafted from the open windows of The Tip and Tail, the premier destination public house in the City of New Tristram. It was just like any other day in the flourishing city, with people bustling about, new buildings being erected, and of course, yet more immigrants coming in from far and wide. The city had defeated the odds; despite its seeming destruction at the hands of deadly waves of the undead and hordes of demonic invaders, it rose from the ashes. And no place in the city was more of a pull than The Tip and Tail.

What began as a butcher’s shop and bakery that had opened their doors to weary travelers while the local inn and tavern were constructed. The famed generosity and delicious meals served by the sisters Oraza and Lylia drew crowds even as the city grew. Not ones to shrink from the attention, the Tip and Tail was renovated, growing into a sort of local gathering spot and public house, with larger, more luxurious rooms, and even a small stable for travelers to rest and water their weary horses.

Inside the friendly halls of the public house, the citizens of New Tristram mingled happily with merchants, adventurers and new immigrants alike, welcoming them in with open arms, a mug of ale and of course a fresh dish from the kitchen. The food was always the best part, a near endless supply seeming to flow from the ovens and pots. However, as the door to the kitchen swung open this time, the buxom butcher, Lylia emerged balancing four plates of hearty house-made stew upon her forearms and in her hands and a cold look upon her face. She seemed a little less than pleasant as she walked towards a table where a rowdy group of travelers were throwing dice with a few of the locals.

“Here we are, here we are,” she said, her usual happy voice marred by a tone of displeasure as she carefully began to set the plates down before the four adventurers she had taken an order from, only now to find that there were six people sitting at the table, a seventh hovering over one of their shoulders. “I hope you all enjoy your meal,” she added with a soft huff, making to turn about on her heels in an attempt to beat a retreat back to the kitchen.

“Oi luv!” A crass voice called out, one of the snubbed travelers raising a hand. “How about two more bowls fer the rest of us?”

“Make it three,” the standing man added. He was a local, and curiously interested in a meal despite having nowhere to rest his bowl. “And a pint for each of us, we gotta catch up to our friends ‘ere!”

“Four pints, darling,” a lady’s voice called, underscored by a gentle warble as she picked up the dice off the table and began to shake them in the throwing cup. It was enough to cause Lylia to snap, her patience worn thin as she turned about on her heels. A bright flare of green seemed to flash over the room, and almost as quickly disappear. Though strangely enough nobody seemed to notice or react to the sudden blink of light. Without missing a beat,

Lylia smiled her best, happy smile, clasping her hands together as she chirped, “I’m so sorry dears, the keg ran dry with my last order. I’ve got my sister running down to Wetheby’s Tavern to fetch another. It’ll be a little longer on the stew too, but I’ll be right out with it!” The explanation seemed to go over well with the table, the crowd happily returning to their game of dice. And surprisingly, unlike most of the afternoon, nobody else in the tavern tried to flag down Lylia for another order or refill. With a smirk, Lylia stepped back into the kitchen once more, shaking her head the moment the door swung shut behind her. "Finally, some damn peace and quiet."

Stepping past the expanded workstations laden with half-chopped primal cuts and delicate steaks waiting their turn to cook at the hearth, Lylia let her shoulders down as she walked into a small back room off to the rear of the kitchen. To the normal observer, it looked like the entrance to a root cellar, but as the butcher walked through the entryway, the facade of a fancy tavern kitchen melted away, revealing a dark rear room to The Tip and Tail. Curling wisps of sooty smoke fluttered from a torch, a magical darklight illuminating the dusky room in a purple, almost ultraviolet glow. A large, oak table table, inlaid with the markings of the demonic Triune, filled much of the space, two long wooden benches acting as seating. To the rear of the room sat two large stone slabs, austere beds reserved for only the most acetic of acolytes.

The Margrave, Ella Weiss, sat upon on of the two slabs, normally used as a resting place when her mortal body was not needed for the bidding of her Mistresses. She was joined at the thick wooden table by Lady Lucia, ostensibly the baker of the Tip and Tail, but in the comfort of the back room she was happy to allow her guard to fall and for her usual form to come through. No longer needing her illusionary magic, the happy baker had traded her apron for the usual tight-fit green tunic and skirt she preferred. As Lylia stepped through the doorway, her own illusory facade began to falter, the buxom butcher’s human flesh flickering as residual illusion magic faded from her body, revealing the true and horrid form of The Daughter of Hatred.

Cloven hooves clacked upon the stonework, her black-scaled legs carrying her to the table once again. Yet, instead of taking her place as one would expect from the Daughter of Mephisto, Lady Lilith slumped down upon the wooden stool with enough force to send the opposite end clacking against the floor. “Lucia,” she grunted, the heiress to Hatred’s kingdom rolling her eyes. “I know you’re proud of how well you sharpened your illusory magic. You’ve truly come a long way since the first awkward and stiff reanimation spells.” Turning bodily in her seat, Lilith held up an ivory-white arm, her slender, black-scaled hand pinching two fingers together to illustrate her point. “Do you think you could make the townspeople a little less… energetic?”

“Energetic?” Lucia cocked her head softly, glancing over to Ella, the thrall seeming to be equally unsure what Lady Lilith meant.

“Needy,” Lilith growled. “They eat and drink and demand just as much as our human patrons.”

“But don’t we want them to act human?” Lucia asked, a smile crawling across her face. “After all, we don’t want our immigrant populace to suspect that they’re outnumbered three-to-one by legions of the undead?” Lucia’s gentle smirk betrayed that she knew exactly what she was doing. On the occasions when her twin sister would get on her nerves, she would find a way to tweak with the illusory magic, just enough to get on her nerves.

“You’re not the one having to run beers for them half the day,” Lilith grumbled, gesturing at the reports scrawled on thick hide parchment. “We’ll never finish with Ella’s debriefing if I’m stuck playing barkeep for a bunch of walking corpses. I had to throw a charm spell upon the whole front of house just to give myself a chance to break away.” Lilith’s frustration was enough to satisfy Lucia over whatever silly slight she had experienced.

”Alright, alright, I’ll see what I can do,” she soothed, “I’m still not used to having so much power amplified by the cathedral. Night and day prayer by the Cult of the Triune is just… refreshing.”

Satisfied, for now, Lady Lilith turned her attention to her thrall, the leather-armored Margrave who had so patiently waited her moment to speak. “Now, Ella dear,” the Daughter of Hatred asked, the crown of gnarled horns upon her head nearly scraping the wall of the little hide-away. “You were saying you made the dead drops as planned.”

“Yes, my Mistress,” the reanimated young noblewoman said softly, bowing her head. as she did. Murdered in cold blood, the Tip and Tail’s first human victim parted out into cuts of meat, Ella Weiss was brought back to life in a macabre ritual that also enthralled the Kehjistani sorceress Barani Jabir. Despite the deep hold Lady Lilith held over her, Ella still retained some semblance of her humanity. This residual human nature showed through most when she came to terms with her resurrection. As she raised her head once more, the Margrave seemed to spasm for a moment; out of habit, Ella tried to take a breath in, only to feel her empty chest cavity twitch without any exchange of air. It was something she was not used to, the fact that her heart and lungs remained intact, deep under the Cathedral of Tristram. “Mmmpfh,” she grunted, shaking her head softly before continuing. “The evidence we collected scrying upon the Chop Shop is… scant, for now, but it should be enough to cast suspicion amongst the courts of the Western Kingdoms.”

“Very good,” Lilith growled, smirking at the illusory tablet resting upon the table, the image of Isabelle Greyson burned into the wax. “The demon hunters of Westmarch made their biggest mistake when they crossed my path. But their most damning mistake was to kill an innocent human…”

“Yes, Mistress,” Ella added, a soft smile curling on her young face. “I made sure to plant the evidence carefully too.” Pointing to a map of Sanctuary resting upon the table, Ella traced her finger to hover over the various cities and towns. “I delivered different images, scried from different angles, to each of the Western Kingdoms. First to Kingsport. Then Bramwell and Duncraig. I also, ah…” With a little smirk, Ella glanced up at Lady Lilith before resuming, “Requisitioned a few of the townspeople. I used a little of the magical training Lady Lucia gave me.”

“Oh?” Lilith chuckled softly at the suggestion that her thrall was taking some initiative. “Some of that human creativity must be knocking around in that brain of yours still,” she chided as she caught eyes with Lucia, her twin sporting a similarly bemused look.

“Aye, perhaps I should have asked, but I figured a few of the townsfolk who toil to excavate below the cathedral wouldn’t be missed. I dressed them as a troupe of messengers, and had them stage an accident on the road to Eintsteig. Just around the time I left for Kingsport.”

“Fascinating,” Lucia said with a grin. “You thought of this all on your own?”

“I’m more of a tactician than a magician,” Ella said with a smile, her chest even puffed out in the closest semblance to pride she had felt since her death. “They were rescued by some of the townsfolk, and I am happy to say that the stragglers made it back after delivering the bundles of mail, which included the package for the Lord of Eintsteig.”

“Wonderful,” Lady Lilith grinned, a warmth underscored by the flash of teeth to her wicked smile. “And whilst the groundwork is laid for dissent at home, our dear emissary, Barani, is on her way to the Kehjistan to re-establish contact with the Empire. A pity that we must reveal her to be ‘alive,’ but having her report to The Council of Mages will catapult us to prominence.”

“I told you,” Lucia added, quite pleased at the results. “A slow and steady approach to undermine the Chop Shop would pay off. Especially as our power grows daily with the Cult of the Triune establishing themse-” Lucia choked on her words, cut off in a flash as a headache suddenly racked her brain. “A- ahhh, wh- What is that?” She managed to stammer out, the succubus leaning forwards against the table to brace herself, teeth clenched as if she was fighting some invisible demon.

“Lucia?” Lilith gasped softly, reaching a claw-tipped hand to brace her twin sister. The motion was quickly followed by Ella, the enthralled Margrave bringing one hand to her broadsword as she looked up to her Mistress for guidance. Even if Lilith could not feel the same torturous pain that seemed to affect her sister, she could very clearly feel the presence of something magical very close by, its aura palpable even at a distance. Given Lucia’s hard work keeping up the illusion of a fully rebuilt Tristram, it was no wonder that this presence was interfering with her mental state.

“I- I’m fine,” Lucia stammered, forcing herself to look into Lilith’s eyes and provide an affirmative nod. “Please… Figure out what that- that- that thing is.”

The source of the magical intrusion did not take long to find. As Lilith pushed past the entry to her private back room, she felt the strange sensation of passing through a threshold. Hooves clacking on the hardwood floor, Lady Lilith growled as she stormed through the kitchen. As her clawed hands reached out to push the swinging double doors open, the Daughter of Hatred practically froze as she realized that, for some unknown reason, her illusory facade had not resumed upon entering the kitchen. Normally she would glimmer back into the form of Lylia, her denizens none the wiser that the kindly butcher was the infamous succubus. But it was too late, the door swung wide from her forceful shove, one of the leaves slamming against the wall and sending a resonant clatter through The Tip and Tail. The presence of the most terrifying demoness in all of Sanctuary, standing in the humble butchery and baker’s shop, would have sent the room into a panic. Any human travelers or immigrants to the town would surely have run, and the possibility of their escape posed a grave threat to the continued work the pair had so carefully crafted. But that was not to be.

Instead, the jovial atmosphere of happy patrons talking, drinking and shooting dice seemed completely unphased by the succubus that had just burst from the kitchen. In fact, nobody seemed to notice or even care. Nobody, save for a single smiling face standing but a few feet away. Propped with her rear resting precariously upon the table, a slender and rather slight woman stood with her arms crossed before her chest. She looked entirely out of place even in such a well-heeled establishment; her flowing dress, cut in the fashion that was stylish for the nobility of Sanctuary, was dyed a vibrant pink. The fringes were inlaid with gold, green and blue accents, such striking colorations a far cry from the brown leathers and earth-tones most common folk wore. Locking eyes with the strange lady, Lilith found herself lost in her ravishing green eyes, almost entranced by the way they pierced her soul.

“Don’t worry about them, mom,” the strange lady said, her rather sweet voice suppressing a chuckle. “The room is in stasis right now. Because we need to chat.”

As Margrave Weiss stepped around, her broadsword drawn, she felt Lady Lilith’s hand reach out to clasp her chest, stopping her champion from rushing out to cleave the interloper in half. Narrowing her eyes, Lilith could feel her teeth clench as a name long since forgotten rumbled in her chest. “Linarian,” was all she could bring herself to say.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Considering you left the Burning Hells to go live with the humans,” Lady Lilith spat, casting her gaze aside. “Your Aunt Lucia is having an awful time because of whatever magic you’re using.”

“I would prefer not to ruin your cover,” Linarian added with a smirk. “Besides, I use my magic to hide my lineage. It would be a real detriment to my image to be seen with you. But, do give Lucia my regards.”

“Your image?” Lilith smirked, taking a step closer to get a better look at her daughter.

“I’ve found it quite comfortable living amongst the humans.” Kicking off from the table, Linarian stepped forwards herself, a mere four paces from the Daughter of Hatred. “In fact, their aristocracy know how to live the lap of luxury. Though I suppose my tastes must be very different, given that I am neither angel nor demoness.”

“Neither? But…” Lilith cocked her head to the side, “Are you not of succubus lineage?”

“I’m not entirely sure how, but no, mom. As my powers developed, I found myself adrift. Bored with the affairs of the Eternal Conflict.”

Lilith smirked at the thought. “You always were a girl after my own heart.”

“But unlike you, I found myself eager to protect this place you so callously created to play your little games.” Those words sunk into Lilith’s heart, a growing rage building in her chest as she began to put two and two together. There was always talk that something deep in the shadows was pulling strings. Causing chaos in the ranks of both the angels and the demons during the Sin War. But before Lilith could act, the growing anger manifesting as a crackle of lightning coursing between her fingers, Linarian raised her own hand. “Light, dark, balance,” she said, the green of her eyes practically glowing. “You may strike me, but I know you will not. I’ll drop the charm and throw your little town into chaos.”

“I am disappointed in you,” Lilith hissed, her teeth clenched as she allowed herself to relax, unsure to what extent her daughter could destroy the carefully weaved illusion, and how much effort it would take to fix.

“As you have ever been since my birth, mom,” Linarian added, a little chuckle on her voice. “I come with a single offer. There will be no second chance to accept it. Cross me and you will face every force I have to muster.” With a smirk, the Daughter of Hatred’s daughter added, “And trust me. I’ve had plenty of time to establish myself in this world you created. I have plenty of resources to work with.”

“Speak your offer,” Lilith responded coldly.

“You may continue to wage your war upon the High Heavens. Only,” she punctuated. “The High Heavens. You will leave the humans out of your inane battles.”

“You’ve become too soft,” Lilith frowned, her eyes narrowing as she cocked her head to the side. “It’s almost like you enjoy siding with them.”

“Their affairs are far more interesting. The humans are not,” Linarian paused, knowing that if she said ‘one sided’ or ‘lacking depth,’ she risked sending her mother into a rage. “Honest and lively,” was what she settled on.

“And what if I do leave the humans alone?” Lilith questioned, a wry smirk crawling across her face.

“Then you will have nothing to fear from me.” Linarian’s eyes flashed a soft glimmer, unafraid to hint at her magical prowess. It was enough to give Lilith pause as she contemplated the offer. After a moment, she gave a soft nod to the thought.

“Alright, then,” Lilith said. “I suppose you have made your point. But what will I have to do to prove that I no longer meddle in the affairs of the humans?”

“You won’t,” Linarian said, a broad smile crossing her face. “I will know. All things should remain in balance. And if they are not,” with a soft curtsey, Linarian turned on her heels, flicking her long, flaxen hair as she turned her head back to speak over her shoulder. “My agents shall hear of it.” Lilith felt compelled to ask more. Where had she been living? What had she been doing since the Sin War. What had she done during the Sin War? Who were these agents she so casually mentioned? But these answers were not to come as Linarian stepped towards the door. “I suppose I should take my leave. I’ll expect you to be on your best behavior, mom.” With a little smirk, Linarian flashed a final look back towards Lilith, allowing her charm magic to slowly recede as she stepped past the doorway. “You, my dear aunt, and your… Mistress?”

Margrave Weiss was, perhaps, thankful she no longer could experience embarrassment. But of course, she knew she would need to spend the rest of the day soothing Lilith’s fury at the impudence of her estranged daughter.

“Cullen, I really am going to need your help with this,” Gwen huffed, grunting as she hefted a deep, copper-walled basin from below the countertop of the royal kitchen. It was an unfamiliar workspace, the normally bustling back rooms of the royal kitchens were completely empty, save for the two hapless and helpless demon hunters now forced to bend to their increasingly corrupted monarch’s will. Yet, it was only Gwen who was doing the hard work. Cullen seemed to be in a bit of a trance, his head resting in his hands as he sat at one of the empty prep tables in the kitchen. Blinking himself out of his funk, the straight-laced footpad frowned as he cast his gaze over towards his slightly more eager companion.

“This… This all doesn’t seem right, Gwen,” he said at last, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure they were truly alone.

“We don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” the matronly butcher huffed, planting her hands on her hips as she stared him down. “You know that she knows too much. And worse, it seems like everyone in the world knows too much. If we lose her as our only shield, it won’t matter that Isabelle’s meat is long gone. They’re going to find that we’ve been selling demon flesh. Humanoid-demon flesh.”

“I understand that she’s the only thing holding back the Zakarum Inquisition,” Cullen sighed, resting his elbow on the table. “Not to mention the other kingdoms. But the answer to our problems shouldn’t be that we start murdering innocents to please our benefactor.”

“We’ve just got to get through this,” Gwen added. “We can work on divesting our stock from the larder. Anything remotely incriminating will need to go, and then we-”

“Gwen, that’s just it.” Standing from his seat, Cullen marched across the kitchen towards his friend. “Don’t you see? She’s… She would never have dreamt of this back before we…” He trailed off, chuckling under his breath as he gripped the edge of the heavy metal pot. “Back before I screwed up and captured the Daughter of Hatred. But the Baroness. She really has changed. There’s something dark brooding in her heart that I just can’t figure out. Almost like the meat she’s eaten was cursed.” For a moment, the pair began to lift, shifting the heavy bronze tub until it came to rest upon the prep table, next to one of the large, wood-fired hearths. But as Gwen tried to maneuver it a little further onto the table, she felt resistance as Cullen held the thick pot still. Turning her gaze upwards, Gwen was taken aback as the pair locked eyes, her colleague’s expression hardened. “You’ve changed, Gwen.”

“I- I’ve…” Blinking, the matronly chef gritted her teeth at the suggestion before being interrupted.

“You’d never suggest we kill an innocent. In self-defense? Sure. But never spill the blood of another human. It’s…” He trailed off, suddenly making a connection in his mind. “It’s like you knew that it would sate her hunger.” Lessening his grip on the metal, the Nightblade swallowed softly as he helped push the heavy bronze pot into position, before asking. “I think I need to do some more research on this. But I might have an idea what’s causing these… changes in everyone’s behavior.”

“You think you’re onto something?” Gwen knew well enough to trust his opinion on her own behavior, considering they spent most of their working time together.

“I never ate Lady Lilith’s meat,” he said softly. “Lucia’s sure, I was hungover and needed something on my stomach, but… There’s something off about the Daughter of Hatred’s flesh.” After a long pause, allowing the words to sink in, the quiet of the Royal Kitchens was shattered by the sudden shriek of a woman echoing through the stone halls, the sound of footsteps and rustling armor growing closer. “Do… Do you mind if I…?” He asked, his normally stalwart expression tinged with a bit of concern, perhaps even nervous disgust.

“Go, I’ll… I’ll take care of it,” Gwen relented. But as Cullen turned his back, the matronly butcher hesitated before calling. “Hey, um… You really mean it when you said I’ve changed?” The terrified cries grew louder as they echoed in the hallway.

“We’re in too deep together,” was Cullen’s response, a soft smile cracking across his rough face. “I’m not going anywhere.” It was all Gwen needed to hear. In a flash, the gentleman thief seemed to disappear without a trace, just in time for the macabre procession to enter the kitchens.

Two royal guardsmen, clad in heavy, mail-reinforced gambesons, supported the weight of a sweet, young girl between their arms. She was young, perhaps barely into her twenties, clad only in a cloth dress of the sort that a town bathhouse attendant might wear. Yet, she was surely no common hothouse attendant. Gwen could only tell that she was a commoner, likely a farmer’s daughter due to the spindly muscle she had put on over years working on the farm. As the guard approached, Gwen’s heart sunk as she realized that the young maiden’s spindly had a thin layer of fat surrounding her muscular form. While one might attribute that to her eating well in the past year of her life, the butcher recognized it for exactly what it was; she had been fattened up.

“Ah, Gwen, I see you’ve made the preparations as I asked,” the Baroness’s resonant voice held a touch of amusement to it as she stepped around her guardsmen, snapping her finger and pointing towards the door. “You may leave.” As the guard beat a retreat, muttering between themselves as they passed the threshold to the kitchen, the Baroness stepped past the sobbing, bound bundle on the floor to address Gwen. “I’m glad you decided to follow through.”

“It is my honor, Baroness. However, I must ask who…”

“This is?” Turning her gaze back to the young woman, her arms bound tightly behind her back, the noblewoman chuckled. “A mistress of mine. A concubine if you will. Someone who I took into my home. Fed and clothed.”

“And why is she-?” Gwen’s question was cut off by a resumption of pleading wails, the bound girl’s sniveling terror drawing her attention away.

“Please!” She cried, turning her soft brown eyes up to meet Gwen’s. It was clear she spent at least a few days in the castle’s dungeon, her body shorn save for her soft, dusky blonde hair that had been cropped short for the occasion. “Please I didn’t mean to, you have to help me…”

“She was caught spreading rumors about the things happening within the kingdom,” the Baroness scoffed. “To include some unflattering words about her erstwhile leader, and lover.” Gwen’s eyes narrowed at the explanation, not quite willing to believe that the crumpled girl on the floor was an agent of the Daughter of Hatred. She might have pissed off the Baroness, if anything, but even with her limited magical prowess, Gwen could not detect anything that seemed out of the ordinary with the young lass. Something told her that the Baroness made this decision based off her looks more than anything. “Now, shall we begin?” the noblewoman asked coldly, smirking as she reached down to place a hand upon the girl’s arm.

“Wh- What are you… What is all this?” The concubine gasped, shuddering as she felt the touch, followed after a long hesitation by Gwen’s own hands reaching down to grip her about the opposite arm. “What are you going to do?”

“Shhh, just relax,” Gwen hushed softly, swallowing as she did most of the heavy lifting, pulling the girl up to her knees before supporting her weight and dragging her towards the prep table. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I certainly hope not,” the Baroness added with a smirk, petting down her ex-lover’s back. It took some effort to foist the struggling girl off her feet, the struggling meat-to-be still able to kick and twist all the while. But once she was up on the countertop, settled next to the heavy copper pot, there was no going back.

Taking her time, the Baroness careful to hold the meat steady by the shoulders, Gwen thought through how she planned to turn the girl into a gourmet dish. Even with the entirety of the royal kitchens at her disposal, she still felt this particular meal would be an uphill battle. A third set of hands would be useful, given how furious the struggling girl kicked and screamed, her pleas echoing down the halls. Of course, others had struggled at her hands. Demons and balrogs flailed and pleaded at the pain. But this? This was a living person. An innocent woman in the prime of her life. After a few abortive attempts to get her to calm down, Gwen had finally had enough with the raw panic and fear, the usually professional chef suddenly letting go of the farm girl’s calves and wrapping her heavy hands about her neck.

“Y- Y- You’re gonna kill m- hyrk!” The girl gasped, suddenly feeling Gwen’s thick fingers slip about her throat. Terror filled the choking girl’s eyes as her windpipe constricted, the blood vessels to her brain cinched firmly under the butcher’s cold grip. She wheezed and sputtered as Gwen tightened her grip, soon unable to draw an ounce of breath as she stared wide-eyed up at her executioner.

“Shhhhh, there we go, little lamb,” Gwen said softly, trying her best not to antagonize the girl, yet finding it more comforting to refer to her in more dehumanizing terms. As the light began to fade from her eyes, the girl shivered, her thrashing legs slowing their movements, each thunk upon the metal tabletop becoming less and less resonant. Even as her thrashing movements ebbed to gentle flutters and flopping spasms, like a fish stuck on land, Gwen continued to clench upon her throat. Digging her thick fingers in just a little more, the butcher leaned forward, putting her full weight down. Perhaps she wished, subconsciously, that she might snap the girl’s neck and save her the terrible fate that awaited her. But, as her gentle twitches edged off to a quiet stillness, the Baroness intervened, placing a hand upon Gwen’s wrist.

“That should be enough, my dear,” she added, clearly not wanting to see the girl’s heart stop, lest she escape the entertainment planned for her. As Gwen eased off the girl’s throat, she felt the thready and weak pulse resume, an unconscious gasp filling the girl’s lungs as her autonomous functions snapped back to life. She would not stay knocked out for long, and Gwen knew she needed to act quickly to regain control over the girl. A flash of the knife cut through the bonds holding her ankles, before turning the girl’s unconscious and helpless body over onto her belly. Gwen sighed as she took one of the farmgirl’s slender legs into her hand, caressing the tender flesh as one might appraise a prime roast. She was beautiful, even moreso now that she could look up through the bottom of her simple dress to see her supple mounds, her pussy dribbling dewy fluids down onto the table. A byproduct of her strangulation.

“Hold her other leg for me,” Gwen said at last, testing her range of motion by bending her left limb, first at the knee, then at the rump. “This is going to hurt, and she might wake up from it.” With a practiced hand, Gwen slowly began to flex the girl’s leg up and off the table, keeping her knee straight while bringing her limb backwards to the furthest limit she could. She was surprisingly limber, her leg able to stretch until her limb was nearly fifty-five degrees off the table. But that would not do. Not for this dish. Grabbing her chef’s knife, Gwen used her off hand to carefully slip the blade under the girl’s hip, careful to pierce the flesh in the exact spot she needed. There was so much that could go wrong here; bundles of arteries and nerves could be severed with a slip of the blade. But as she worked the tip into her flesh, Gwen sighed in relief as she felt the resistance lessen, tight tendons slit and frayed until they snapped, destroying the fleshy parts that kept her limb from over-flexing itself.

Applying upward force, Gwen guided the girl’s leg to roll in its socket, slowly extending it until her limb grotesquely pointed straight up to the ceiling. At this point, the supporting musculature began to rip and fray, filling the room with a sickening tearing noise, followed by a pop as her hip joint finally dislocated. Groggy, still unaware of what was happening, the girl let out a low and agonized moan just as Gwen settled her left leg down, so it lay flat across her rump and back, her foot resting softly behind her head. Tied off to her bound wrists, with a second loop fixed behind her neck, Gwen quickly stepped over to repeat the process on the girl’s right leg. Just as the pain-addled girl had gathered her wits enough to try and kick, she felt the knife dig into her flesh once more, fraying her tendons and musculature, and rendering her helpless to resist. Terrified screams filled the room once more as the awakening girl felt her own wriggling, splaying soles pressed tightly to either side of her head.

The cries finally got to Gwen, the confused and frightened girl’s screams, now tinted with pain from the precision cuts and dislocated legs, taking on a tortured wail. No longer pleading for her life, tears rolled down her face as the pain set in. Despite her own wrestling with morality, the corrupting effect of eating Lady Lilith’s meat making the decision a foregone conclusion, she still would have preferred to have dispatched the girl. Reaching about for something to gag her with, Gwen turned back to see the Baroness already having her way with the frightened farm maid, two fingers forcedly pushed deep into the sweet girl’s folds.

“There there, my little lambshanks,” she mockingly hushed, working two thick fingers into the supple snatch, amused at how violating her former concubine’s most sensitive parts caused her shrieks to shift in pitch and her struggles to intensify. “I think that’s a fine dish for us to make tonight. We shared something special, did we not?” The Baroness asked, perhaps a little displeased as Gwen gripped the girl’s jaw, jamming a thick potato behind her teeth to finally silence the worst of her sniveling pleas. “Only right I make a special dish to remember you by.”

“If you’re going to fuck the dish,” Gwen huffed, trying not to sound too sympathetic to the girl, “at least start oiling her up for me, your highness.” The last words were spat with a hint of displeasure. Her defensiveness from earlier in the day never truly waned and given only tacit support for ending the girl’s life, Gwen felt more inclined to hurry along the process.

“My, my, testy today,” the Baroness chuckled, licking her chops as she grabbed for a bottle of olive oil off the countertop. “Don’t you worry, my sweet little lamb. You’ll be begging us to end you very soon, won’t you?” Glistening hands began their work, rubbing over the contorted girl with growing abandon, adding a lovely amber sheen to the girl’s supple skin. Her once rosy complexion seemed a little ashen and pale, thanks in part to the terrible pain she was forced to endure, her dislocated legs still sending waves of agony rocking through her body. This was not helped by the groping hands of her captors, the Baroness particularly taking the opportunity to squeeze at the girl’s thick and hefty gams. “You know, such tender meat does deserve a fine preparation. Some might find it a touch demeaning, to use an already soft cut like lamb for a braised dish,” she coaxed, working rubbing her slickened fingers along the girl’s groin until they once again touched the edge of her consort’s pussy lips. “But just think how fall-off-the-bone tender you will be, sweetheart.”

Gwen might not have been terribly pleased at the way the Baroness made guesses at her work, but even she had to admit the young farm lass was the perfect pick for a meal. As her hands rubbed underneath the girl’s chest, lifting her up so she could oil her breasts with firm, groping strokes, she could not help but realize just how beautiful the quality of her meat was. Just the right amount of fat layered over her musculature, made thick from years of work and play on a farm in the countryside. Were she not also an innocent person, Gwen might have salivated herself over her form. Though her misgivings did not stop her from admiring the Baroness’s pick for a lover.

Cupping her hands under the girl’s chin, Gwen tried to keep her calm while still rubbing in the aromatic oils over her cheeks, making sure to get every inch of her sweet, freckled face. It did nothing to soothe her from the Baroness’s insatiable appetite, the noblewoman already finding her way back into the girl’s folds, first with her fingers, then with her tongue, slowly lapping the oil-slick passage, allowing her chin to gently grind upon the girls’ clit with each slow and sensual lick. Gwen did not notice what she was doing at first, not until the pained facial expressions gave way to a confusing mixture of pleasure and humiliation. Cocking an eyebrow, the matronly butcher peered over the girl’s squirming soles to see her patron working hard to enjoy one last time with her former lover.

“Careful not to spoil your appetite,” Gwen said aloud, shaking here head as she walked away to find something in the cupboards. The admonishment ultimately did nothing as the farmgirl’s wails grew to a fevered pitch, deep, gasping breaths punctuated by sobbing cries until finally she heaved an exhausted gasp at the forced orgasm that rocked her frame. A rush of hot fluid drooled out her folds as the girl’s tortured body came to a sort of stillness once more; only the sound of the Baroness licking her fingers clean could be hard over her feverish panting. Gwen returned to put the finishing touches on the girl, having used the opportunity to push the heavy copper pot onto the hearth’s lowest rack, a slow flame leaping up about the edges of the deadly device. Careful to bundle up the girl’s hair under a wet burlap cloth, Gwen tucked the edges just enough, making sure her nice looks would be preserved as best as possible. The same treatment was given to her hands and feet, her fists bundled tight into balls. “So they don’t separate under their own weight,” was Gwen’s explanation, not that the terrified girl asked for one.

After all the preparations were made, Gwen motioned for the Baroness to help lift the girl off the tabletop. The sudden shift caused the exhausted young lady’s cries to return with growing fury and fear. Yet as the tightly packaged bundle of farm lass teetered over the edge of the heavy copper pot, her struggles came to an abrupt and sudden halt. The overwhelming rush of heat, lifting with it the fragrant scent of olive oil shimmering at the bottom of the pan, caused the girl to hold stiff as her muscles allowed. She was painful aware of, and terrified of, the prospect of falling upon the wrought steel grill grate, or worse, into the pot itself. But this measure only served to delay the inevitable as the contorted girl found herself tipped over the edge as unceremoniously as a handful of chopped meat tossed into the frying pan.

Tumbling sideways over the edge, the girl shrieked as she felt her center of gravity shift, landing face-up in the center of the pot with her thighs and shins planted firm on the bottom. The rush of pain, accompanied by a burst of searing hot oil spattering up and around her form, caused her to freeze momentarily, the farm maid sputtering as she breathed in pinpoint droplets of searing hot oil through her nose. The shock soon gave way to agony; in a flash every nerve ending on her body was bathed in fire and pain, spitting oil hissing as her skin blistered and seared. It was only made more degrading when Gwen shoved a heavy iron rod down into the pan, nudging her tight-bound roast to the left and right in a bid to keep the meat from sticking to the bottom of the pan.

“We’ll sear the meat on all sides,” she explained, having to raise her voice a little to compensate for the shrieking and overwhelming sizzle filling the room. “Then we can deglaze the pan and get her meat braising.”

“Succulent bone-in lamb,” the Baroness huffed, practically drooling as she watched Gwen leverage the metal rod to tip her former consort over onto her side. A new wave of seething heat scorched her arms, shoulders, and the sides of her leg, causing her sluggish cries to pick back up again. Tapping on the girl’s thigh with the rod, Gwen made sure that she was browned enough on one side, her fair skin looking much more akin to crackling, the flesh quickly turned a beautiful shade of golden. “Pity, she never knew that she would be my choice, of all the animals raised on the family farm.”

The matronly butcher’s tried not to show off her skills too much, not wanting to give credence to the thought that she knew how to turn a living girl into a succulent dish. But she also knew that she had to please the Baroness, lest she end up back under the threat of investigation. All she needed was time, and with any luck, this girl would last at least long enough for Cullen and her to move out any incriminating evidence from The Chop Shop. Nearly distracted by her own thoughts on the future, Gwen peeked underneath the girl’s side and gasped at how dark the flesh had turned. More than just golden, the girl’s body had seared to a deep color. Thankful she caught it before it began to char, another flip was accompanied by a cacophony of spattering oil as the girl’s breasts touched the bottom of the pan. Yet even as Gwen idly nudged at some of the bits of flesh that had torn off, seared onto the copper-bottomed pot, she knew that the pre-cook would likely already bring the young lamb to the edge of death. Already, her sluggish struggles had softened to a helpless weeping, her tight-closed eyes unable to make more tears. She knew she was dying, even if death could not come fast enough to release her from the relentless torture.

One last nudge and the girl’s remaining side began to brown, offering Gwen a chance to focus on the next steps. two bottles of white wine, a few gallons of water, and a bushel of fresh vegetables, the aromatic mixture of tomatoes, carrots, onions and celery already putting off such a fragrant scent. Setting out the vegetables upon the table, Gwen peeked into the heavy copper pot, nodding in agreement at the progress made. But as she turned back to grab the wine, the matronly butcher scowled as she caught the Baroness rather flagrantly beginning to touch herself, unafraid to lift her dress against her chubby arms and casually fondle just beneath her slip.

“If you’re just going to stand around and watch, your Highness,” the chef scolded, “At least make yourself useful. Before the Baroness could react, she grunted as two bottles of wine were shoved against her rounded breasts, causing her to drop her flowing, regal dress back to the floor.

“You’ve been rather disagreeable, my dear Gwen,” the Baroness sighed, popping the tops to both bottles before teetering them over the edge of the pot. “You can’t tell me you don’t get some enjoyment out of this.” The comment took Gwen aback, her hesitance to answer the question only covered by the sound of hissing fluids as the noblewoman poured out the contents into the pan. Quickly taking up the rod she had used before, Gwen scraped at the bottom of the copper pot, working up any flecks of stuck-on meat that might have remained from the searing process. The sudden shift in temperature must have been like a bath in ice water, the poor girl’s heat-addled mind shocked by the relatively cool room-temperature fluids that filled up to her elbows.

“I have taken some pleasure in the process,” Gwen replied at last, huffing out her nose as she worked. “But that was when I was putting a succubus in her place. I don’t find any pleasure in taking a life like this one.”

“Really? See, I find her much more alluring now that the temperature has risen,” the Baroness chuckled, licking her lips as she added in the water and a few assorted spices, bringing the level up to nearly her nose. “But it will be a shame to lose such a wonderful lover in bed. I suppose now I’ll need to look for another royal consort to sate my hunger.”

Squinting, Gwen had to bite her tongue to keep from asking the questions that rolled about in her mind. Did the Baroness see what she was doing? She was engaging in the same deadly practices she accused the Chop Shop of committing. As Gwen turned to rough chop the vegetables, making sure to leave them big enough for the braising to work its magic, the matronly butcher could only wonder if this behavior meant that The Chop Shop was being set up to take a fall. “I suppose this means we should put our efforts into tracking down Lady Lilith,” she decided on at last, steering the conversation away from talk of murdering more innocent women to sate the chaos-addled and corrupted mind of the Baroness. “We know she had re-emerged at some point, but the trail went cold shortly after her disturbance was felt.”

“I will put whatever resources you need to ensure you bring back more of that forbidden meat,” the Baroness moaned, a hint of lust in her voice as she watched thick cut carrots bounce off the girl’s tightly bound legs, landing harmlessly into the warming broth. There was also, perhaps, a hint of subterfuge to her voice. The thought that she might give them manpower or money might have seemed enticing; the right gifts could easily help the pair flee the country should things get too hot for them. However, it also meant that their hired muscle could easily turn on them and drag them back to Westmarch in chains. There was a reason that Cullen preferred to work alone. No witnesses meant nobody to betray you.

“We will think on that,” Gwen replied, trying not to give away too much as she bundled up an armful of quartered potatoes, allowing them to tumble out of her hands and spatter into the braising liquid. Careful to push a few pieces off her roast’s exposed limbs, Gwen nodded contentedly as she watched the first gentle simmer begin to bubble off the girl’s body. Tiny little air bubbles began to cling to her browned flesh, tickling the confused and tortured nerve endings. In time, they would hit the surface and pop, the terrible temperature finally reaching the same torturous heights it did just a few minutes ago. By now, the girl found herself struggling to keep her head up above the braising liquid. The water level was a bit high, but over the next hours it would simmer down to a rich and savory broth. It was cold comfort that the tortured farm maid could at least rest her head and feel the vegetables underneath helping keep her up. As the heavy copper lid was lowered over top the dutch oven, Gwen wondered if that noise she heard was a whimper, or perhaps the last sigh as the tender lamb’s life came to an end.

It was to be a dinner for one. While the Baroness was particularly hesitant about others finding out about her secret meals of demoness flesh, her reign as regent of Westmarch would come to an abrupt end should anyone else find out that she was being served the meat of her fellow humans. As such, nobody else would have the opportunity to see the beauty that lay upon her table, a gorgeous young lady, now looking exceptionally more relaxed after her long braise. Though, that might also be somewhat due to the issue that her flesh had turned so tender that it barely clung to the long bones of her body.

Gwen had to be extremely careful when plating the pot roast she made. An oversized tureen, the sort used to serve a large soup or stew from at an extravagant party, was pressed into service. Despite being careful to bind the girl into as tight a package as possible, Gwen could still feel her flesh begin to shift and slip as the bones underneath no longer provided support to the tender, braised meat. Somehow, testament to her abilities, she managed to wrangle the sweet farmgirl up into the deep-walled platter. The rest was easy; an array of fresh vegetables was laid out around her body, the soft potatoes and carrots piled up against her breasts and belly, half-hiding her lower half, while her legs seemed to settle in a more relaxed pose along her back. It was still unnatural, but the way her meat had settled out at least did not look as if she was straining every muscle in her broken limbs.

A few accoutrements completed the dish. Unwrapping the burlap from around her hands, Gwen was careful to arrange the delicate fingers as if they were gripping at the potatoes or chopped celery stalks that bundled up against her body. Removing the burlap from her feet and head, the matronly butcher ladled over some of the braising broth, allowing it to dribble down her features and coat the soft meat in a beautiful, steaming coat. There would be more, should the Baroness want it, but she did not want to waterlog the delicate flesh. A last touch came between the girl’s supple folds. It was something she considered the Baroness might approve of. As far as humiliation went, the sweet girl got off lightly. Her tender pussy was neither stuffed nor sewn shut, the supple petals of her lips now soft and leaking steam through the gaping hole that once was her sex. To add a final indignity, Gwen had prepared a gremolata, a garnish of chopped parsley, lemon zest and garlic traditionally served with braised lamb shank. As she slathered it on, coating the girl’s most private spot, she couldn’t help but wonder if the acidic herb spread would have stung the poor girl. At least now, there was no reaction from the sweet little lamb; she could finally rest. And so too could Gwen.

As she finished the presentation, and prepared to call for the Baroness, Gwen sighed softly at the hard work she hoped would buy them some time. But at the same moment, something seemed off to her. Turning about on her heels, Gwen shot her gaze to the chamber door. Then to the high barred windows. Her heart beat fast as she felt the sinking suspicion that someone was watching her.

From afar, under the watchful eye of Lady Lucia, Margrave Weiss was busy practicing her scrying. Despite having devoted herself to martial prowess in life, the enthralled slave to the Triune had a certain knack for picking up magic now that she was among the living dead. It might have had something to do with Lucia’s patient tutoring, or perhaps just the fact that she owed her life to a well of dark magic that inhabited the space where her heart once beat.

“Patience,” Lucia whispered softly into the Margrave’s ear, her hands reaching from behind to steady the thrall’s own hands. “You’re growing tense, my dear.”

“Yes, Mistress Lucia,” the Margrave said, wishing she could take a breath to calm her nerves. “She startled me when she whipped around like that.”

“You are merely scrying,” the Daughter of Mephisto added. “She cannot see you. She cannot hear you. So long as you remain calm.” As the pair watched Gwen’s nerves calm, Lucia smiled as the matronly butcher moved closer to her braised pot roast, their view perfectly aligned to see the relaxed and still facial features of the girl who just hours before was a living, breathing person. Gently tapping a blank wooden tablet, Margrave Weiss began to magically etch the soft wax, creating a perfect copy of the view she once had. That is, until something strange broke her concentration.

The image of Gwen, standing next to the roasted farm girl, began to blur and pixelate, translating to jagged scratches magically marring the wax image. As Ella blinked, her head alight with a strange static, the image that appeared in her scrying bowl began to distort, flickering for but a moment before disappearing with a single blurp of water overflowing the rim, as if someone had slammed their fist down onto a table and disturbed it physically. Rushing to save the items strewn across the desk, Lucia frowned as the evidence they were working on gathering was clearly ruined.

“Wh- What was that?” Ella huffed, shaking the spare droplets off her fingers as she tried to clean up the mess.

Taking a deep breath, Lucia swallowed softly as she took a deep look at the defaced image. It was hard to tell exactly, but something seemed off about the scratch marks that defaced the evidence they were collecting. Bringing the wax tablet into the candlelight, Lucia blinked as she realized what she was looking at. A rough figure eight, with a single vertical slit through the top of the symbol. “I think…” Lucia said at last, her fingers gently rubbing over the cracked wax in the shape of the symbol of the Horadrim mages. “That we have just been attacked.” After a long pause, the succubus added, “A crude attack. But… I feel this was meant to be a message.”

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