A tall man with sunken features stands over a large book, flipping through the pages of a complex ritual. Stopping on a blood soaked page covered with runes and drawings, he begins to chant in a voice that echos through the chamber. As the chanting reaches a fever pitch, he suddenly convulses in pain and collapses to the floor, a horned helmet tumbling from his head.
“What is it, my lord?” a muscled fighter asks, looking down through a hole in the ceiling. “Are you all right, Lord Kalarel?”
“No, I’m not all right, you idiot! Something has happened to my apparition. Send word to our spy. We need to know what has happened to that artifact!”
“Yes, my lord,” the fighter says as he rushes away.
As Kalarel picks up his helmet and returns to the book, he glances at a nearby underpriest. “Begin preparing sacrifices for the ritual. I will need them shortly.”