The walls echo with the sound of a woman's voice, both comforting and frightening, as it relays instructions on how to proceed. The halls are curiously quiet. And empty.

Having no choice but to press onward, two humans and two elotheans gather where directed in preparation for ritual. One hangs a shell talisman around his neck. Another touches an amulet, muttering powerful words beneath her breath. The third dons a deep-blue velvet robe, heavy with meaning. The last lays out a curious prayer tapestry, stained black from some liquid.

The chanting of voices soon becomes apparent in the background, the hierophants making their presence known within the Sanctum. Strange shapes manifest just out of sight in response, only to disappear moments later.

The four ritualists join their voices to the chanting, echoing the calls as one sets out and lights a candle. Producing a charcoal stick, the human man begins to draw out a circle with a crude etching of the triple-tined claw in the center.

The four gather around the design, producing ritual knives and raising them above their heads. In unison, their voices chant, calling beyond the planar barriers. In ritualistic fashion, they then slice their palms, spilling blood into the circle. Completing the ritual, the human man sets the charcoal-soaked blood on fire.

As the ritual drawing is consumed in flame, once more the man produces something from his robes. Within a cloudy quartz bottle roils dusky blue smoke. Holding it aloft, he carefully lifts the stopper, angling the smoke that issues from the bottle towards the circle. The strange smoke quickly coalesces into the form of a woman covered with patches of blue scales.

Dusky blue fumes emanate from the woman, having a noticeable affect on the gathered ritualists.

The walls vibrate with anger, and then the wall shimmers a moment, and they see the vague impression of triple-tined claws flexing open and closed. Their minds fills with an echoing woman's voice, "You, who has offered your pyres of blood and smoke to the Defiler, now offer me the return of that which was mine? Delightful." The walls seem to quake with mirth, and the last word stretches lasciviously.

Suddenly, the sound of laughter ceases, and a pair of great green eyes appear in the wall, examining the area. The ritualists sense the sweep of their gaze, and feel them narrowing as they are scrutinized. "They stole from me. They took what was mine, and interrupted my endeavor. My poor Ciriasa, my beautiful Ciriasa. They will pay. And you. You appear to be of value. You appear to have returned someone that was mine."

The scale-covered woman steps forward and places her hand on the wall. In a blink, a liquid oozes up her arm and coats her entirely. The wall ripples slightly, and she is gone.

Everything takes on a strange thickness, the light muted as if deep underwater, with only a pair of endless green eyes visible far above. The eyes seem to bore into the body, with the feeling of their immense weight crushing down overhead. A thin tendril of blue-tinged blackness stands out against the murk, and slowly writhes around the four's feet and up their legs! Spreading capillary-like protrusions across their bodies, they find themselves almost engulfed, though the experience seems strangely pleasing. Suddenly, everything returns to normal.

Echoing laughter rings throughout the halls, and a woman's voice merrily says, "You scream into the void with your smoke and blood, draw the watchful eyes of Others, and they see, they notice. You gaze into the eyes of those that have seen, those that have noticed. He and his eyes. And yours and their eyes will be mine."

The demonic whispers quieten.

There is an almost imperceptibly soft grating of metal on metal, claws scraping against one another, savagely ringing. As the noise builds in intensity, all four feel their right eyes begin to itch, then burn, and with a crescendo of discord, their faces erupt in cacophonous agony, and they realize their eyes have been ripped from the sockets! Bending over and clutching themselves in pain, warm blood drips between their fingers onto the fortress floor, and they hear a cruel laugh echoing around them. They are left with the impression that she is pleased, that she remembers, and that she has claimed more than just an eye.

Her laughter rings through the halls, and they are able to make out the words "... seen through the desperate...", "... pets and puppets and ploys..." and "... another step another step another step...", before the voices fade into silence. Everything appears unchanged, the strange silvery wall incessantly flowing. With one eye, they notice the floors are free of blood.

The human man says quietly, almost to himself, "There must always be sacrifice for power."

The other three nod their agreement, "Always."

Agreed, fun to read.

The letter exchange was too.

Moon Mages are totally Jedi. -Raesh