The sound of a steady drip echoed through the immense stone chamber, punctuated occasionally by the scrawl of a quill on scratchy parchment. A male’s voice muttered and mumbled to himself as he recited the strange, otherworldly demonic syllables on the scroll.<br/><br/><br/>“Arul gor’om shukil…” the voice mumbled. “...katra zil galar…” The voice had none of the lightness and grace so common to the Sin’dorei, but had slowly evolved to a deep, menacing sound -- one even demons had learned to obey. “No, no… that’s not right… ZILOS! Where are you?” The hint of frustration quickly gave way to an outburst of anger.<br/><br/><br/>Smoldering emerald eyes looked up from the eldritch scroll on his desk, and glanced around his study impatiently, searching for something. The room was dark, and poorly lit save for a single wax candle, burning near the end of its life on the corner of his desk. Lethtendris’s private quarters were elaborate, gaudy, and ornate… or at least they used to be. The endless rows of towering bookshelves contained dusty and ill-kept tomes, overgrown with cobwebs. The rich tapestries and fabrics that adorned the imposing stone walls had long since faded away, their vibrant colors grown pale under a sheen of dust. Even Lethtendris’s robes, a deep crimson gilded in brilliant gold, worthy of any noble Sin’dorei’s wardrobe, were ragged and torn from overwear.<br/><br/><br/>Despite his ill-kept quarters, the blood elf underneath the robes was immaculate -- almost to an eerie extent. His expression was arrogant and dismissive -- far more than even the most haughty Sin’dorei noble. Brilliant and penetrating emerald eyes peered from beneath long tendrils of his raven black hair that hung to his shoulders. His face was youthful and without a mar, almost as if he had never aged a year past his prime.<br/><br/><br/>A powerful frame clung underneath his ragged crimson robes. Even through the fabric, it was evident the towering warlock was no frail flower that bent to the wind -- rather, sorcery seemed like an ill-fitting profession for someone so gifted with strength and vigor. His musculature was seemingly sculpted from marble; perfectly formed from a master’s hands. In fact, there was a strangeness to his perfection, a nagging sensation that it could not have been natural…<br/><br/><br/>“ZILOS! You worthless imp!” Lethtendris flung the scroll from his desk in a rage, sending it sailing towards the heap of similar scrolls on the other side of his chambers. “Tell apprentice number seventy-two that he’s a disgrace to my academy!” Lethtendris gestured for another scroll, shaking his head as he prepared to grade his next examination. “He’s been here, what, two weeks, and he still hasn’t figured out how to summon a doomguard!”<br/><br/><br/>The smarmy imp hopped to its feet from its perch on the master’s bookshelf, carrying a scroll nearly half its size under its arm. “Ehhh… it’s not yer fault, master. You give and you give, but yer apprentices just won’t learn!” The imp’s voice was shrill and high-pitched for a demon. Like all imps, Zilos was a craven coward at heart, and saw no need to inform his master that number seventy-two had been dead for nearly a decade -- torn apart by doomguards. The imp tossed the scroll onto the desk, his furred feet arching up as he stretched to reach the top of the desk. He placed his clawed hands on the wood as he placed his nose just barely over the table’s surface. “There’s a new one this morning, too, master…” The small imp’s eyes looked to the side as he pondered in thought -- was it a minute ago, or hours? “It’s an elf. I think. Said it wanted to be your apprentice, said it heard real good, smart things about you, master.” Another ingratiating smile crept across the imp’s face as it added the last part from his imagination.<br/><br/><br/>Lethtendris sighed as he brushed the imp off his table, gesturing out towards the door. “Go, go. Have the elf do whatever it is I have new apprentices do these days. Show her the quarters, and have her introduced to the other apprentices.” Lethtendris barely lifted an eye as the imp gave a wheedling bow and waddled out the door and down the staircase. “Good help is hard to find these days,” Lethtendris muttered to himself.<br/><br/><br/>***<br/><br/><br/>Zilos scampered down the spiral staircase, lighting the sconces with a flick of flame as he went. The darkness of the foreboding tower’s interior slowly gave way to light. Row after row of tables adorned with test tubes, potions, and bubbling experiments lined the floor. Even a couple bleached skeletons were collapsed over the tables, some manacled to their stations. “Oh, what is it the master does with apprentices nowadays,” the imp giggled to itself.<br/><br/><br/>The imp cackled happily as it finally reached the bottom floor of his master’s tower. The bottom floor was unlike the laboratories and summoning chambers above it; instead, it was a welcoming receiving room adorned with plush furniture and cozy tapestries. There was a massive oaken door to the outside, and in the center of the room was a large pit filled with pillows. It was where the imp made his own residence. The imp reached for its key ring as it pulled out a large, shiny golden one, and unlocked the tower’s front entrance. The imp made a visible effort to push the unmoving door, but to no avail. Instead, it pressed its mouth against the crack in the door, hollering. “Still there, aren’t ya? How about a little help with the door? The master’s said he’d take ya on!”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>