Empty Spaces [IC] (Desril and steinulfr)

The musk still clings heavily to the air for a brief moment after the creatures finally vanish, but as it persists, Emilia finds herself panting, somehow out of breath from the easy battle, and quickly shakes her head, wanting to write it off as nothing more than the humidity of the greenhouse, ignoring the fact that that wasn't exactly accurate.

"That's one more trap dealt with...I guess I should be more thorough in searching, I nearly missed it," she says, talking to herself as much as Serathiel before recasting her divination and moving toward the stairs.
 
The stair arc in another slick curve upwards, once again narrowing in slightly. The next room is back to the lavish, opulent design of the lower floors. An enormous bed takes up one corner of the room, draped in heavy velvet curtains. A large stone fireplace takes up the wall to your right, with a cheerful fire burning within. The floor is covered with a thick, plush black carpet that muffles the sound of your footsteps.

There is more art, in here, and it doesn't seem to be getting any more benign as you ascend. Over the bed is a truly massive oil painting depicting a woman in congress with some demonic thing; the beast dwarfs her, and seems to be a roughly even blend of human and jackal, with a serpent for a tail and smoldering coals for eyes. The woman is clearly in agony, blood running from her vagina where the beast's enormous phallus has begun tearing her open. Strangely, though, her expression has nothing but joy in it.

You recognize the beast, after a moment. You've seen it before, in your religious studies. This can only be the Yethazmari, the personal herald of Lamashtu. You have no idea why someone would depict such a thing in art, but its presence here can only mean that the master of this tower was involved in something even darker than you'd realized.

When you tear your gaze away from that, you see a number of statues around the edges of the room. All of them are supremely lifelike depictions of beautiful, nude young women. All of them are posed in some suggestive or outright pornographic way. And on each perfect stone face is an expression of utter terror.
 
Trying not to think of some of the things she'd already seen in the tower, the aasimar can't help but be exasperated. "Why does one man need so many beds?!"

If not for what she'd seen and fought getting up here though, she'd be inclined to say the bedroom looked nice. She even felt a twinge of envy. At least, it was until that turned to disgust as she saw the painting above the bed and she shakes her head, wondering why her goddess would allow anyone clearly so gifted with the brush to be inspired to paint that. Even the statues, at first glance they were beautiful, even those that were more explicit, but upon seeing their faces...whoever made them was twisted.

But there was nothing to do but go upward. Still, she wanted to be ready. She was near the top of the tower, and given the traps she'd set off already weren't that deadly that no one could've overcome them, she knew there must be something worse ahead, and so she made ready, casting a spell to create a set of duplicates to draw enemy blows.

Mirror Image, 3/4 2nds remaining, 3 images (75% miss chance)
 
The next floor up is smaller yet, and seems to be a simple library. The walls are lined with shelves, each bearing a few books upon the dark, oiled wood. The covers bear lettering mostly in Draconic, with here and there a scattering of other languages. At a glance, the tomes seem to have a mix of histories and arcane lore within them. Occasionally one seems to focus more on religion, and as you reach the far end of the room you even see an oddly large number of books which focus on architecture.

Other than shelves and a few small tables, the room seems empty.
 
Having been distracted as she was by the profane 'art', Emilia missed the magical aura of the fireplace as she continued up, and in the library she stopped to marvel briefly at the collection, but there wasn't time to go through any of it, let alone appreciate the knowledge it might contain. No, she had a job to do, and that job meant going further up. But the lack of obstacles since encountering the fiendish wolves was starting to set her on edge, and she gripped Serathiel tightly.
 
Finally, you emerge from the stairs onto the top floor of the tower. It's very easy to tell that it's the top floor, because the upper surface appears to have been made of glass. You have an unbroken view of the night sky, up here, looking out upon the vast field of stars overhead.

This room appears to have been some sort of observatory, or perhaps an arcane ritual room. A large table at the other side is covered in papers and books. Unlike everything else in this tower that you've seen, nothing about this table is clear or clean. It's covered in papers and books in absolute disarray; scrolls and notebooks lie on the floor where they've fallen.

As you walk across the floor, you notice a tracery of lines in the windows above you, which echoes a pattern carved into the floor under your feet. Precisely as you reach the midpoint of the room, your gaze is caught by a particularly bright star directly overhead. The lines in the glass flash with silver light as you see the star, though it passes so quickly that you can't be sure you saw it at all.

At the desk, you find the papers are so hopelessly scattered that making any sense of them in a timely manner is impossible. You do, however, see the large sheet which currently takes up most of the table. On it, in a sloppy scrawl entirely unlike what you saw in the spellbook earlier, you see the following phrases written out after a mess of different languages and equations:

Invocation clearly extraplanar, but where?
Thirteen motif unusual
Council of Truth

This last phrase is circled, twice.

As you finish reading it, you hear a low, sinister laugh from behind you
 
Not having any idea what the note was talking about, save for that it was almost certainly referring to some manner of magical sigil, Emilia was more than a little confused. The traps she'd encountered might have slain a common farmer, but anyone willing to brave a wizard's traps would surely have had the combat experience to handle them, and there seemed to be nothing left.

Nothing, that is, until the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she heard the laughter. With a steadfast grip on Serathiel, she turned to face the new threat.
 
The beast that stands behind you is enormous, nearly fifteen feet tall and surely thousands of pounds of muscle. Black paws the size of your head rest lightly on the ground, supporting a jackal that could quite likely devour you whole. Enormous, shadowy black wings arch up behind it, framing a snake-like tail that snaps and hisses independently of its canine head. Where its eyes should be are only hollow black pits that seethe with dark smoke.

"Someone has been asking entirely the wrong sort of questions," the Yethazmari says in Common. Its voice is so low it's almost more of a rumble, felt in the chest and bones as much as it is heard with the ears.
 
The aasimar's eyes go wide as she sees the hulking monstrosity standing before her. Her legs turn to jelly as fear starts to take hold. She knows what the Yethazmari is. Knows how powerful it is. Her strongest magics could never hope to touch it. She could never outrun it. There was nothing she could do.

Or rather, nothing sane she could do. Fear has three primary responses. Some panic and flee. Some freeze in place. Others fight. And Emilia swung Serathiel at the Herald of the Mother of Monsters with all the strength she could muster. "I don't know what you're doing here, fiend, but I...I'll defeat you!"
 
Serathiel roars in triumph as she carves into the foreleg of the Mother of Monsters' herald. The triumph is short lived, though, as the wound seems to howl and bay like an army of jackals. Something about it goes right to your gut, driving you into a mad, terrified rush to get away.

"I like you," the beast says, completely ignoring the trickle of black-stained blood running down its fur. "You have spirit." It stalks forward, and you realize that it is actually a he, for once again you see an enormous canine cock swaying between his legs. This, though, is far larger than that of the fiendish wolf earlier, hugely oversized even on this enormous beast. "I admire you, you know. Standing up against impossible odds. Knowing that you cannot...possibly...defeat me." It smiles, and a long, forked tongue slithers out between its teeth. "How does it feel? To be trapped at the whim of something infinitely more powerful than yourself? To be truly, utterly helpless?"
 
Emilia cowers, whimpering in the corner as the monster stalks toward her. Her mind racing, knowing that she's going to die here, that she's this abomination's chewtoy and there's nothing she can do to stop it. But when she sees its enormous cock sway to and fro, she gasps, remembering the picture, suddenly wishing it would kill her now.

"I-I'm not! I'm not helpless!" Even as she utters the defiant words though, Serathiel slips from her trembling hands, clattering to the floor.
 
"Oh, but you are, darling," the outsider says. One paw slowly follows another as it moves closer. "You know, at least the man who lived here had style. To dupe the emissaries of Hell, let alone the agents of my own Mistress, is no small feat. Though...well. You see where it brought him." The snake that arches out from the jackal's back hisses, punctuating the statement. "You, on the other hand...you're just a toy. Something to be used and discarded. You don't even know why you're here, do you?" It reaches you, and stands over you, baring its teeth in something that has no resemblance to a smile.

"Kneel, bitch," the Yethazmari says, in a tone of casual command. "Maybe if you please me I'll allow you to live."
 
There was nothing else she could do. Terrified as she was, a command, any command, was comforting to obey. And its words were even more reassuring. She didn't want to die. She wasn't ready. There was too much she needed to do, too many people to help. She had to survive, to warn anyone else who might attempt to enter the tower!

And so, with trembling movements, and pathetic, mewling whimpers, fell to her knees before the Herald, looking down at the floor with terrified eyes and a furiously beating heart, waiting for it to tell her what it wanted.
 
"Very good, little toy," the Yethazmari whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "It feels good, doesn't it? To obey your betters?"

Without warning, he places one front paw on your shoulder and shoves you to the ground, holding you down easily. His raw size and strength are so overwhelming that even trying to fight back is so obviously pointless as to not even be worth trying, though Serathiel is screaming at you to resist.

He presses you down and leans forward, that enormous canine muzzle right next to your ear. "Enjoy this," he whispers, heat and moisture slapping at your face in an almost palpable wave. You can smell him now, a heavy, musky odor not so unlike the wolves earlier, and yet infinitely more intense. "It's the best you'll ever have."

He then slides back, positioning himself above you. The snake that acts as his tail darts forward to slide over your cheek.
 
She can't do anything anymore. It was over. This was all that was left to do. Be obedient. The Eternal Rose would forgive her, she was just doing what she had to do. And so she nods her head, just before the Yethazmari pins her to the ground.

The musk is overwhelming when it hits her. With the wolf it was wild, dispersed, it had an effect on her body, but not like this. The abomination on top of her was something far more gifted and powerful. Where the wolf left her tingling, even from the initial impact, Yethazmari left her burning. Every breath was a pant, her body heaved as her legs squirmed in her torn robes, terrified...eager...for what was coming.
 
The Yethazmari smiles, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. "That's it," he says gently. "Be a good girl."

That gentle tone is belied by his actions, though. The tip of one wing lifts you up slightly, even as the other sweeps Serathiel to the other side of the room, far from your reach. Using that new, more accessible position, he feels around for a moment and then presses his half-erect cock against your entrance. Even the barest tip of that member is far too large, spreading you open painfully wide.

His snake-tail runs across your forehead, licking your skin just above your eyes. The tongue leaves behind a numb, tingling sensation that rapidly begins working into your body.
 
If he were a man, the bulbous head of his cock would never have even been able to open her, so large was it. But while Yethazmari was undeniably male, a man he was not, and the canine cock had much greater success in penetrating the far too small aasimar. It hurt, the pain was almost blinding, and even the tip was enough to bleed her, but for all her efforts to cry out, her voice was shot. Or perhaps the scream was simply too high pitched for her own ears to hear.
 
"Shh," he whispers, easing off of the pressure a little. The snake head moves lower, effortlessly tearing your robes off and leaving you naked from the waist up. It runs its forked tongue over your breast, flicking at your nipple and spreading his poison further.

Then his hips abruptly jerk forward, ramming into you so hard that your entire body slams against the floor. Your panties burst from the size and force of the cock pushing them aside, clinging to your hips in tattered shreds. His cock thrusts into you, ripping through your maidenhood with similar ease, and not stopping until you're spread open so far you can feel your skin straining from the stress. And yet the intoxicating musk filling your lungs, the poison burning its way into your skin, his voice in your ear...it all says that this should feel good. That you should be glad to experience this.

"What a sweet surprise, darling," he says, grunting slightly with the motion. "Who would have guessed you would be an unspoiled treat, all mine to devour? But no, I can't keep you to myself. That wouldn't be fair, would it, toy?"
 
She gasps as the serpent flicks her hardened nipples with its tongue, but for a foolish instant wonders if, just maybe, she'd be spared as it left her lower garment intact. And then, in an instant, a horrible, amazing, terrible instant, that idea was shattered. Her stomach bulged outward with the girth of its cock pushing everything aside and it wasn't even yet fully inside her despite the force with which it pushed. All she knew was that she didn't want it to stop, no matter how much it hurt. That shaft needed to fill her up, she needed to be mated.

The last, fading rational part of Emilia's mind called out then. With the last of her strength she uttered one last defiance, so quiet it was barely a whisper. "No," she said...but fate was cruel. In her defiance of her own urges, she answered Yethazmari's question.
 
"I didn't think so either," the Yethmazari says, content for the moment to hold himself steady above you. "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine."

You aren't entirely sure what the great demon does then, but you can see the result. Darkness coalesces in front of you, drawing in from the shadows to form the shape of a hound. Though far smaller than his master, he's still the size of a wolf, jet black in color and with blazing red eyes. Without waiting even a moment, he lunges forward, ramming himself up against your mouth and shoving at it for entrance. His claws scrabble at your back as his cock begins to push between your lips. You might want to bite him, but even as you try you feel the last of your strength being sapped by the poison. You are, now, absolutely helpless to do anything but lie there and take it.

And the Yethmazari is more than happy to give it, too. Another quick jerk of his hips buries the next several inches of his length inside you. You feel a strange ripple pass along it, and a burning deep inside your body, where your vagina is being pushed open further than it was ever meant to go. At the same time, the snake slips back along you, finishing the process of stripping your clothes away and leaving you completely, helplessly naked.

He pauses and fans his wings, blowing dark, heavily scented air over you, as he calls more and more of the black hounds from the darkness. By the time he's finished, five of the creatures are there, baying loudly and sending echoes of the same terror that their lord evoked with his own howls running through you. This time, though, you're unable even to flee.

The first to arrive continues thrusting inside your mouth, but the others are hardly willing to be left out. A quick fight for dominance breaks out in front of you as they brawl for position. The Yethmazari seems content to wait, holding your limp body up with one wingtip, until his pack has things sorted out.

Finally, everyone is ready to resume using you as a fucktoy. Three of the black hounds are perched in front of you, their cocks rubbing against each other as they press into your mouth. Another, underneath of them, presses your breasts together around his shaft as he hunches against your body. The last has more difficulty finding a slot, but finally settles in beside the fourth, clawing at your body and thrusting himself between your thighs.

Not that those thighs are providing much friction, because now, finally, the Yethazmari begins to thrust. His motions are slow at first, almost ponderous. Each motion of his hips churns your insides, the barbs lining his shaft tearing you up inside. You're bleeding, deep down in your core. But in a way, you're almost glad, because at least the blood provides some lubrication to his thrusts. Each one presses a little deeper than the last, a littler harder. Your body is rocking, crushing the hounds below you with each stroke.

Just when you think you can't bear any more, the snake resumes moving. Gliding over your skin, it pauses beside his cock, a little further down. A part of you wants to scream in protest that even this is being defiled, but you can't make a sound as it presses up against your anus and begins sliding inside, its sharp scales tearing at your soft inner walls.

The beasts are not kind, or gentle. They have no regard for you at all, except as a convenient hole for them to use. The hounds in front of you are thrusting deeper and deeper, one at a time shoving himself down your throat before being jostled aside. You can manage, barely, to breathe in between. Underneath you the hounds rip and tear at your skin, drawing blood now. The bottom one, tired of trying to find any satisfaction in between your thighs, abruptly bites you. A flash of indescribable pain and fear goes through you as it tears a hole in your skin and writhes around to fit its cock inside.

And the Yethazmari continues to thrust. He is slowly building his pace, now, his hips hunching against you faster and faster. You can feel your skin splitting open, tearing around his enormous member. Deep inside you think things are breaking under the force. He must surely be past your womb, by now, you were never meant to take something so large. His snake-tail wends its way through you, writhing around and pressing against your anal ring in all directions. Its well into your body but it just keeps going, bursting through when it doesn't have the patience to find a natural way through. You're bleeding, deep down inside.

The pain and the musk and the sick, twisted pleasure are too great, and they aren't slowing. If anything, they continue to ramp up as the first of the hounds hits his peak and comes, shooting a thick fluid down your throat. It tastes of flowers, and salt, and sick, sweet corruption. His cock grows thicker yet at the base as the knot swells, locking it into your mouth. Your jaws are being spread painfully wide; three canine dicks were hard enough before one of them knotted your mouth.

The next hound to come is the one inside your guts. That one hurts, it hurts terribly. The knot swells up inside you, locking in blood and semen both, and his seed bursts out so hard as to bruise you from the inside out. It burns, literally and metaphorically. You realize that you're crying. His brother beside him howls as he joins his siblings in climax, spraying your chest and face. You can see, now, that their semen is a thick black fluid, nothing like any mortal creature's.

The other two lodged inside your mouth keep moving, pushing even deeper. You're struggling to get any air past them by now, and they don't seem to care in the slightest. Rubbing against each other, against your mouth, pressing against the back of your throat, they rapidly push themselves over the edge. As all three knots lock together and push your mouth wider, you finally feel something give. With a sick crack your jaw breaks, pushing wider and wider until you look like a snake about to swallow a particularly large meal. You feel their seed painting the inside of your throat, and some gets into your lungs, but you don't even have the strength to cough.

At some unseen signal the hounds pull back, leaving you to your master as he continues thrusting. He is panting heavily in your ear, now, his tongue lolling out and flopping on your back. Any pretense of civility, of kindness, is gone now, exposing the beast underneath. His cock is twitching inside you, leaking more of that hot, stinging fluid. Another of the hounds, bolder than the rest, darts around behind you and seizes your tail in his jaws. He pulls you into the Yethazmari, forcing his cock even deeper inside you at the same time as it sends another sharp lance of pain up from where your tail is being pulled so harshly.

Finally, you can feel the knot begin to swell. You think that you can't possibly hold it inside you, but deep down you know you're wrong. The godess's herald has no intention of being stopped.

You feel a stirring in the base of your throat, and it takes a moment to remember that the hounds are gone. Then you realize what it is, and want to scream in horror, but you can't even twitch as the tail presses completely through you and erupts out of your mouth.

With a ferocious, triumphant howl, the Yethazmari buries himself again, and does not stop. The knot presses harder, harder...and then slams inside you, so forcefully that you aren't sure if it just shattered your pelvis. You can't feel your legs, and you think your tail might be about to come off entirely.

But none of that matters. Not compared to the glorious sensation of holding a god's herald inside you. Not next to the stretching as your pussy spreads open and engulfs a knot that feels as big as your head. Not as the great creature howls, and shoves you down against the floor, and jerks inside you. Spurt after spurt of his seed bursts forth inside you. You think it has to stop, but it keeps coming, and coming, and coming. Some leaks out past his knot, but there's just too much for that to be enough, and it has to find other routes through your destroyed body. Burning, coal-black seed bursts out around the snake at both ends. It dribbles from your nose. You think the baying of the hounds might be so loud as to make you deaf.

"I hope you enjoyed it," the Yethazmari says. "Remember me in your next life." He pulls out, ripping his knot back through you almost as forcefully as he put it in, and letting out a cascade of blood and semen as he does. He holds there for a moment in concentration, the room once again growing dark, then begins pressing into you again, as insistently as before. It almost feels like he's even larger than before.

Then, slowly, you feel the magic taking hold and realize what's happening. He's not growing larger; you're growing smaller. Your body shrinks down at the same time as it becomes less human. Fur sprouts from your skin, your bones break and shift into those of a quadruped.

Long before you finish your transformation into a housecat, your body splits open around his cock, and your blood floods out onto the floor, and you know no more.
 
The next thing Emilia is aware of, she's lying on the stone of the street, just outside the tower. She could almost think that it was a dream, but the ache in her body, the weakness in her muscles, and the shredded garments clinging to her body all suggest otherwise. Her muscles ache and shiver, almost unable to move at all, and much of her body is coated in a thick, sticky black crust. She reeks of sweat, sex, and blood. Serathiel is close at hand, the black blade gleaming pristinely in contrast to the filth all around it. People walk past, barely even noticing her aside from the occasional lewd comment; not a one of them stops to offer her aid.

Overhead, she can see the stars through one of the rare openings to the sky in Kaer Maga. It seems that only a few hours have passed since she walked into the tower.

As she is waking and seeing all of this, a voice suddenly sounds in her head, clear and precise, though no one else reacts to it. And so our hero awakens, broken and defiled, upon the street outside the wizard's tower. She knows that she must have died, for surely nothing could have survived what she experienced, and yet here she is, alive and well. How can such a thing be, she wonders, how can she yet live? As is so often the case, she will find, the answers to these questions are far more complex and tangled than they might seem. To answer the mystery of her death and rebirth, Amelia will have to unravel a tangled skein of corruption, betrayal, and revenge that extends through Kaer Maga and beyond, beginning with the master of the tower and his strange dealings with the Outer Planes.
 
As Yethazmari had his way with her, the worst part wasn't that she was being violated. It wasn't the pain. It wasn't being defiled. It was that her body wanted him throughout. She almost felt betrayed.

Even the yeth hounds, viscious, vile creatures that they were, made her burn with depraved desire. And their sickly sweet cum, a taste that she'd never imagined even thinking about, wasn't revolting but rather, almost delicious in a way. Not that she had the ability to truly contemplate that with the three knotted into her mouth shattering her jaw.

Perhaps worst of all was the pain in her stomach though. The hound had made its own hole when it couldn't find one free, and unlike its brother who was content to fuck her tits, this one wanted to be inside her...but somehow, something in Yethazmari's musk even made the fact that her intestines were being fucked make her horny.

And then there's an audible snap as her jaw breaks from the trio of knots in her mouth. The pain is overwhelming as the hounds empty their loads into her throat and lungs, but a horrid thought crosses her mind, one that ones her defiled further, wishing that there was a fourth hound in her mouth so that, even with her jaw shattered, the knots would be too big for them to withdraw until their seed was fully spent.

But then it was Yethazmari's turn once more. And what a glorious turn it was, in spite, or perhaps because of, the horrible pain she was in. Not that she could voice her pleasure, with the herald's tail snaking through her and emerging from her mouth. A sick, twisted desire for it to keep going and reenter her from her pussy briefly passed through her mind as her eyes rolled into the back of her head from the overload. But then, far too quickly, it's over.

Or at least, so it seems. She realizes a moment too soon what her shifting body is doing, what spell Yethazmari must've cast just before he reentered her, and she was...happy. The pain was unimaginable, but as she slowly turned into a pussy she was eager to be impaled upon his cock, even knowing what was going to happen, she could think of no happier death than to die upon his mighty shaft.



....and when she awoke, she found she was smiling. At least for a few moments, before the agonizing pain returned and she tried to cry out, with what little strength she could muster. What's going on? How am I alive? There was far too much proof that what she experienced wasn't a dream but she couldn't understand how she was here. Even when the voice spoke to her, she only grew more confused.

But whatever happened, she had to do something, laying in the street, naked, covered in blood and demonic cum, too weak to lift herself off the ground unsupported...Kaer Maga would kill her if she didn't do something, and even if it didn't kill her, it would take Serathiel. So she did the only thing she could think of, gripping the blade as tightly as she could, she started to crawl for the nearest shelter.
 
Emilia stumbles back into the tower, needing only shelter and not caring overly much where she finds it.

Within, our hero finds that all is not as she left it. The room is dimmer, the magical lights extinguished; in their place a few candles have been lit, leaving the atmosphere of the entryway much closer, almost cozier. The blood has been cleaned from the stairs so carefully that it's impossible to tell that they were ever stained. A faint smoke fills the air from some unseen incense, carrying with it the scent of peppermint and jasmine, relaxing and sweet.

A large fainting couch is positioned directly in the pool of light from one of the candles. It looks terribly tempting to our hero, exhausted as she most naturally is from the ordeal she's experienced. But she carries on, knowing that she must determine the cause behind this change before she can rest in peace.
 
Whatever this voice was, it was right. Emilia couldn't stop here, no matter how sore she was, she had to press onward. The stairs loomed ahead, and trying to climb them in her state was exhausting to even think about, but that library was her only hope of understanding what happened...of course, her subconscious was more interested in that luxurious bed than the books.
 
As Emilia climbs, slowly dragging her battered, defiled body up the stairs, she finds things slowly becoming more ominous.

On the second floor, the door to the study is missing entirely, and she sees that the window inside is shattered. The abstract sculptures are nowhere to be seen.

On the next floor, things grow stranger yet. In the painting, the unicorn is still bloody and onyx-eyed, but now the forest behind it is dark and menacing. The room which housed a silver circle is open, and looks to have been scorched, little left beyond a burned-out husk. In the bedroom, the painting of a woman is altered; blood is still running from her mouth, but now she's smiling broadly enough to see long teeth within, and a thin tail curls up behind her.

As she enters the fourth floor, Emilia finds herself remembering the battle she fought here, in exquisite detail. The blood, the hunger, the baying of the hounds...it all comes back to her for a moment before fading once again into the annals of memory.

Not all is as it was, though. The gardens have shifted, spilling out into the pathway and growing more verdant. The flowers sway back and forth, their vibrant colors bright in the dim red light of the magical lights that were white before. The air is thick with their scent, rich and sweet.

Our hero finds her eyes being drawn to the other side of the room, though, and the book which still lies upon the table there. A grimoire, as she so clearly remembers, a book of spells and names and rituals. It occurs to her that there are many worse places to look for an answer as to what the master of this tower was doing here.
 
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