The purple-speckled robe made from blue velvet seems worn; the frayed edges and large dark stain at the midsection tell a tragic tale of the previous owner. Yet, it seems to fit the compact Kaldar woman surprisingly well. In truth, the ragged nature of the vestment seems to emphasize the woman's captivating figure.

The observation barely registers in the eyes of the dark-skinned human man watching as the woman kneels in front of a great black marble altar set before a large statue of some massively-winged creature.

Speaking to the prostrate woman, the man says, "We begin by blinding the eyes of the Divine to our actions." At this, he pulls a vial of salt from his robes and begins to trace an intricate circle around her.

"This enables us to petition the Profane. We must keep it secret, lest they attempt to stop us." He finishes the circle by pouring some blackened blood in a chaotic design which seems to utterly ruin the previous pattern.

In a deep voice he chants, "Profane Powers! Hide this woman from the view of her enemies! Smother the candles of light so only those that live in darkness may see her!" A faint but noticeable pattern resembling necromantic corruption diffuses throughout the design circling the woman. The salt pleasantly blends together to form a web of softly bleeding hues before the circle is completely consumed by it. A subtle tranquility permeates the air afterwards, letting the two know that the ritual was successful...at least for now.

The man then produces and unwraps a package from his rucksack, the cloth wrappings stained black by some viscous fluid seeping through. He hands a brain, dripping sickeningly in inky-black effluent to the woman, saying, "This is the brain of a demonic beast. It is permeated with necromantic energies. We will use this to heighten your connection to the Profane. You must consume it."

The woman accepts the brain and eagerly takes the first bite. Rivulets of black ichor drip down her chin. She pauses briefly, memories of a different Annointing clearly flashing through her mind. With renewed determination, she takes a second bite, a third. With the man's insistence, the woman steels herself and finishes the grisly meal, wiping the gore from her mouth. He nods his approval.

The man pulls from his leather belt a piece of charcoal and once again begins inscribing some design around the woman. This image is crude, lacking the years of refinement evident in the circle of salt. He begins chanting as he does so, calling out to the Demon-Goddess, Maelshyve.

"Hail, Maelshyve! Dark Mistress! Pardon our intrusion into Your Domain. Hear us!"

He finishes the design, leaving the recognizable image of a triple-tined claw in front of the statue of Maelshyve. He pulls a cruel, midnight-blue barb from his belt before using it to ritually draw blood from his palm. He drips this blood onto the tips of the claws, as if in offering. Next, he pulls a device from his belt and sets the the charcoal design on fire. The two gaze on as the charcoal quickly burns, no trace of blood or design left in the wake of the hungry flames.

As the last vestiges of fire die out, the man raises a gauntleted hand and mutters a foul sounding phrase. A stream of black essence shoots forcefully upwards from his gauntlet as he chants again in a bass voice, "Maelshyve, She of the Triple-Tined Claw, Demonic Goddess of the Zaulfung. Accept this small sacrifice in petition. This woman seeks Your power!"

The dying echoes of the man's voice around the chamber are the only response.