“Your holiness, this is an emergency!”

The middle aged man broke all protocol when he slammed the door to the meeting room open. An Elder, knots in his stomach formed as soon as he was ordered to deliver the news to The Pontifex.

“...emergence of esoteric arts driven by…” Merle’s look shot up to meet the messenger at the door. “What is it?”

Looking around the room, the man froze up.

Women. Small animals crawling amidst them. Wide brim hats. The Pontifex, the apex of holiness, stood before them at the head of a table in front of a whiteboard with wild drawings, “Uhh, sir? W-what are wi-”

“I told Gundar this was a private meeting! What’s so damn important he let you in?” The Pontifex looked older. Gone was his roundness and doughiness, instead replaced by gaunt, sunken-in skin. The weight of the world was heavy for one man to bear, and the sheer amount of aging he had done over just two years of leadership reflected that.

Merle watched as the man stammered, stunned by the now eight witches looking back at him. “Out with it, lad! What is so damn important?!”

“Y-your holi- your holiness! I-I was told t-to issue the-the word to y-y-you person-p-”

It must have been a big deal.

“It’s fine. Deliver it to me now with my guests.” The man’s knees began to buckle as his pants began to grow darker. “And somebody cast calm on our friend here.”

A rotund woman with her pointed hat seemingly made from a single toad, whispered something before blowing a dust on the man. Opposite to her, a rail-thin woman with a powerful overbite motioned to the door, closing it.

“Sir!” The Elder quickly regained his composure. Overlooking the coven of witches before him, he stood at salute, “One of our Deacons returned to us from the Georges region of Alzahett. She had come into contact with a devil, presumably a succubus, and was told to deliver an ominous message directly to you.”

Merle coughed before taking his seat at the head of the table. “The Georges region, hmmm?” He lightly reminisced the last time he was there before motioning to the man, “And Gundar found it fit to disturb me for something a damned succubus had to say about me?”

The old man looked around the room, “What? Next you’re gonna tell me we’re gonna arrest farmers for saying my name when they stub their toe!” Those that could, politely giggled along with The Pontifex.

Despite the calming spell, the man still seemed nervous, shaking violently despite his stone solid face, “Sir, she was told to tell you ‘Samuel Proudmane is dead, but the devil Sarakiel has risen in his place’.”

The Pontifex’s eyes grew wide. His coughing fit arose once more, something that even a few swigs of water failed to abate. The witches closest to him lifted their hands to him in concern, something he swatted away.

“Leave! Meeting adjourned!” He worked between coughs.

Filing out of the room, the calmed man rattled as witches of wildly different sizes and shapes passed by him. One of which even ran a hand across his chest before the left the space, leaving just the Elder and the elderly man.

A minute passed as The Pontifex slowly recovered from his fit.

“I… I want to know how that…” He looked down, adjusting himself while wiping blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, “Who did the devil come into contact with? I need a name.”

The man had to think for a second, “I recall it was Bella Northfield, sir, a Deacon. She is currently being held for recovery. ”

“Did she…? With Sam- Sarakiel?” Merle regained himself, sitting upright.

“No sir, but her party she traversed with could not say the same.”

Merle grew hectic, “Strip her of her rank. Better yet, invoke the punishment for breaking the vow of celibacy and excommunicate her.”

“But sir, she appears to have her vow intact still, I-”

The old man grew louder, “Did I ask you what you thought? Remove the girl and excuse yourself to Agnimemnod for what you’ve seen today. I expect you not to remember what transpired after you entered these doors.”

“O-of… Of course, your holiness.” Closing the doors behind him, the Elder left the room.

Only The Pontifex remained in the meeting chambers, his head in his hands. “Oh no no no no…” He ran his weathered hands through his quickly receding hairline, “It’s far too soon, I need more time! There’s no way that Samuel of all people could-!”

The door clicked as a singular person entered the room.

Without even looking, Merle knew who it was.

“Having some trouble, Pontifex?” Her voice was grating to the old man. Working with her had been one of the worst things he ever signed on for.

But he had to do it. For Alzahett.

“Not at all, Archivist. Please call for King Aldrius.”

- - - -

The elven woman stepped into the foyer. Eyeing around the room, it was plain to see she did not particularly like the state it existed in. While still untouched since they both had arrived, the room remained in neglect through the years: chairs uneven, candle sticks unrefreshed and if one were to run their finger over any surface, gray dust would peel off of any surface like scooping ice cream.

“Sage!” She bellowed, her furious tone echoed through the halls of the manor in which the succubus and her teacher stayed.

Sara was the first to respond. Her hair tied up as she emerged from the dining room off to the side, wearing little to cover up her figure. “Oh great, another weirdo.” She muttered, shifting her jaw around, sore from spending most of the morning practicing incantations.

Before the woman could say anything, a loud crash was heard from atop the staircase. “C-coming!”

“How did you do that?” The succubus asked the other dark-complected woman. Looking her over, she failed to convey a sense of power. If she was someone of note, she was quite humble about it. Her loose black hair was short in a pixie cut. She wore traditional elven clothing, her shoulders exposed, but everything else was draped in a tight dress striped by differing primary colors over a black negative space. Her ears struck out wildly to the sides, unafraid of informing the world of her heritage.

It was the other woman’s turn to examine the other occupant of the home. If she was disgusted by the house before, her scowling grimace showed an even more resolute disdain for the creature residing within. “You are what my sage left for?”

Sara took note of her broken speech, her voice thick with ethnicity. “Hey, I asked for him to be here as much as you did, it seems. You want him back?”

Before the elf could respond, The Eternal nearly threw himself down the stairs to interrupt their conversation, “Farazad! You finally made it!”

In an uncharacteristic act from what Sara had seen of the man thus far, he deeply embraced the elven woman.

“It has been absolutely dreadful thus far!” Farazad managed to quickly shoot a glare at the succubus before he continued, “She’s absolutely useless in homemaking, even though she keeps saying this is her house!”

“It’s okay, maloun!” Letting the masked man come off her, she lifted her hands in supplication before turning to the other woman in the room, “I’m sure she had her hand in other pot. She must have other use, no?”

Barely able to raise an eyebrow, she felt like the elf implied something insulting. “Sorry, I’m not too… handy.” Sara lifted her stump, waiting for someone to laugh. “So much for breaking the ice, I’m currently learning magic from your master and rarely have the time to break away from that.” She offered with much more seriousness.

Once more, the elf shot her a scrutinizing scan. With a quick side nod, she shrugged, “At least you try.”

Moving the conversation into elvish, strange syllables and phrases rolled off their tongues, prompting Sara to return to the dining table. The tome offered by The Eternal before sat open, about a quarter of the way through the Rejuvenation spell. She almost felt it may have been a better option to ask Ashara for help, but figured it would be best to have this at hand in case it ever came up again.

The two, or rather, the elf’s conversation grew louder. She seemingly berated him for some reason, prompting him to join Sara at the table, as Farazad began the arduous task of cleaning the home.

“How goes your progress? Any breakthroughs?” He looked at her arm, an absolute hindrance to any somatic component of the majority of spells.

Sara still felt she could continue, but a key factor slowed her down immensely. “I’m starving.” As if on cue, a high pitched growl punctuated her statement.

The Eternal nodded in response, “That’s why I invited Farazad here. We both need someone who can prepare meals and clean for us while we work.”

Having lived with the man for only a few days, Sara knew he was nigh useless at anything but magic. She had to inform him that fire was instrumental in the cooking of meat. “That’s nice but…”

“I need something else other than food.”

The Eternal, hard to read behind his ornate mask, stared at her for a moment before shrugging, “That’s not my concern. Ask your master or go hunting.”

“I don’t- I mean…” She was thrown off by his lack of concern. He never exemplified any before, but usually a master does not let their student starve in the midst of teaching them, “Aren’t you against that? You know what that entails, right?”

The sage sat back in his chair, throwing up a hand, “I’m curious, sure, but as far as acquiring mana goes, it is no concern of mine in how you do so.”

“But how curious are you?” Sara leaned in, letting her heavy breasts sit on the table.

She could not believe she reflexively responded that way. Even though he never showed an inch of skin, the presence of a man near her was intoxicating, much to her chagrin. In addition, there was something almost innately electrifying about imagining breaking through their student-teacher relationship. She ran through such a scenario, begrudgingly at first, in the middle of the night, but as she grew hungrier…

“Not curious enough.” He flatly replied.

The succubus tried her best to hide her disappointment. She pondered the reasoning why she was dejected at his rejection, but quickly shook it off.

“I guess that means I need to go to town, then…”