The elf reappears in a large room with arcane symbols on the floor and a single chair against the far wall. Each symbol looks like it is bleeding along the floor and swirling into itself as shadows lick at their edges. The stench of spell components and blood rise from the red-tinted stone beneath her feet. She grimaces at the foul odor as she removes a simple, golden ring from her finger like her queen always asked her to do when not in the field. Once the ring is off, her form changes to that of a cobalt-skinned elf with jet-black hair and glowing, green eyes. She holds up her left arm to watch her ivory soul marking spiral back into view. The marking is a detailed serpent coiling from her right shoulder to her right palm. She gives a soft kiss to the serpent’s head as magical ripples run down her shifting body. Her clothing changes into leather armor with several daggers strapped to her body. The elf cannot help but hug her body after being in an alien form for weeks. Her joy of returning to normal is short-lived when she remembers where she is. Sweat forms on the chaos elf’s brow while a half-hour passes with no sign of her employer.

The chaos elf looks around the room, silently scoffing at its lack of style. The stone room is horribly bland and unkempt in her eyes. The only interesting parts of the room are the bleeding and swirling illusions painted into the demonic symbols on the floor. She would not be surprised if a master painter was kidnapped to make them. Though, she is sure the poor bastard was the first to be sacrificed on the evil altar. The chaos elf nervously taps her foot, wondering why she is spending so much time analyzing the room décor. Eventually, the morbid answer comes to her and sours her mood. She could very well die in this room, so she might as well enjoy the better parts of the scenery.

“You have failed me, Garna,” hisses an eerie voice. “You claimed that you could stop the messenger and now he is in the wild. We will not find him before he reaches the Paladin.”

The elf feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she apologizes to the disembodied voice. “I am sorry, sir. I will try my best to track the messenger and eliminate him. I will even eliminate the Paladin if given the opportunity. I swear this on the suffering of my people and the honor of my queen.”

Garna bows toward a shadowy figure who steps out of a billowing cloud of smoke. Layers of black and gray robes cover the taut-skinned body of the Lich. Garna clearly sees several gaudy rings adorning his gnarled fingers. His boney feet appear briefly as he sits in the solitary chair and adjusts his robes. She cannot help but stare at the red eyes, flickering with unbridled greed from underneath his dusty hood.

“Why should I believe that you will accomplish your goals when you wasted your time with a pair of dwarves?” the Lich coldly asks.

Garna stands at attention in an attempt to show some respect to this decaying abomination. “They attacked me and I needed to defend myself. I still bleed and get hurt like every other living thing. Taking an axe to the spine would have made it harder for me to get the messenger. Besides, they did not delay me too long and I saw where the messenger went. If you had not teleported me away then I could have caught up with him and this conversation wouldn’t be happening.” She stops abruptly once she realizes her blunder. “Uh, what I meant was . . .”

“You dare to place the blame on my head!”

Garna sucks in a deep, nervous breath. “No, sir, I merely ask that you give me more time to fix my mistakes. Taking me away before I have time to reverse my mistakes does not prove that I am an invaluable agent.”

“You and your ilk are valuable agents, Garna,” the Lich agrees with an amused cackle. “Chaos elves have been loyal to the cause of darkness for a very long time. Garna, can you tell me why your people are so good at what they do? Please refresh my dusty memory.”

Garna suspiciously stares at the undead caster. She begins to cautiously walk around the circular room without looking away from the Lich. She stops on the far side of the room, taking out a dagger to twirl in her hand. She can tell that he is up to something, but she knows too little about the creature to predict him. All she can remember about the Lich is that her queen warned her that a wrong move could land her in this position. She always remembered the words of her precious queen. Still, why her queen associates with this abomination was beyond Garna’s understanding. The Lich was a being that desired destruction instead of the amusing chaos that her people strived for.

Garna clears her drying throat and stops spinning her dagger. “The chaos elves are the stealthiest warriors in the world. We thrive in the shadows while improving our . . . unique survival techniques. We can bravely go where other races refuse to venture. There are no better spies in all of Windemere and we are the best assassins in the Post Cataclysm era. Does that answer your question, sir?” She looks at him defiantly as if daring him to contradict her at his own peril.

“Full of pride and arrogance as I expected,” the Lich declares with an echoing laugh. “Chaos elves always see themselves as the greatest race in all of Windemere. Personally, I do not believe that you are as talented as you think. Do you agree?”

“I swear that I will do better next time. I promi-” Garna begins. Her voice is cut off by a quick spell from the Lich who rises to his feet. His crimson eyes stare at her and she can see a vague, skeletal grin beneath his hood. Garna feels an eerie chill creep up her spine, taking root in the back of her head.

A raspy laugh passes through the air as the Lich circles the room. “You have had your chance to prove yourself, young one. Trinity told me that you could do this simple job and you have failed me. Now, I must bring in something more powerful and dangerous. I need an assassin who can finish this job and continue serving me without failure until all my goals have been achieved.” The Lich stops walking and faces Garna. “To be honest, I agree with you that chaos elves are some of the best mortal assassins, but I need something of the demon variety. You are dismissed.”

Garna turns to leave, but thick chains lance out of the shadows to wrap around her legs and drag her across the floor. Several of the arcane symbols on the floor light up as she is dragged toward the middle of what she now realizes is a demon-summoning circle. She starts struggling against the chains, but small bursts of electricity rip through her body with every pull and twist. All she can do is panic, feeling her strength get rapidly sapped by the chains. Out of desperation, Garna tries to dig her fingernails into the stone floor. The chains violently yank her with enough force to break off a few nails and hurl her into the center of the circle. Once in the center, the chains wrap around her entire body, leaving only her left eye uncovered. Terror fills the single orb as its pupil frantically moves in every direction in hopes of seeing a way out.

“As you know, a sacrifice is always necessary when calling forth something from the Chaos Void,” the Lich says, running his hand over a faded symbol on the wall. “You may have failed me as an assassin, but you will make a perfect offering for my new servant. Wouldn’t you agree, vermin?” The chaos elf begins to cry as the Lich begins the incantation and the bleeding symbols pulsate.

Garna’s scream echoes throughout the chamber as a spiral of blood-like magic curls up from the floor beneath her. The Lich cackles as the magic flows out of the floor. The chains around Garna begin to transform into a suit of gothic platemail as she grows taller and her body becomes more muscular. The sickening snap of bursting skin fills the air when her body becomes too big for her cobalt flesh. Garna’s ears gain sharper points and red streaks form in her ebony hair. A final blast of magic ends her pain, leaving a green-skinned, elf-like figure standing in her place. The monster looks around the room with sinister eyes of living flame. All that is left of Garna are bloody shreds of cobalt skin strewn around the demon’s feet.

“Excellent,” hisses the grinning Lich.

“What are your commands, master?” the demonic assassin asks in a low, predatory voice.

The Lich goes back to his chair and sits down before conjuring a goblet of vile smelling liquid. “I require the destruction of a Paladin who is going to get in my way if he is allowed to live. There is also a messenger of Duke Solomon who you can ignore. Without the Paladin, he is nothing but a scared child in the woods.” He pauses for a moment and reconsiders his second order. “On second thought, you can put the fool out of his misery since he has already caused me some trouble. Take some of my zombies to help you, but they do not have to return. Just make sure that the Paladin and the messenger die. Then, we can capture Duke Solomon’s heir, but that is a mission that we can discuss after your first success. Return as soon as the Paladin and the messenger are dead. Any questions?”

The demon draws a curved sword made out of ebony metal. “The Hellfire Elves have been the most feared assassins for centuries. I will not return until I have destroyed this Paladin. Do you wish for me to be seen by my target?”

“No,” the Lich snaps before calmly telling the demon more about its prey. “Make sure that nobody sees you. I do not know how strong this Paladin is. He might be able to banish you if you give him time to react. Also, the messenger is under the Goddess of Luck’s protection. He has managed to evade my traps and minions thanks to her blessing. It will be easier to dispatch him if he does not know you are there. You can let my zombies be the visible threat.”

The Hellfire Elf bows low and vanishes in a puff of brimstone. The Lich is calmly sitting in his chair as the sound of heavy footsteps pass through an illusionary wall. A shadow separates from the gloom, silently slipping through a crack in the floor. The Lich lets out an ear-rending laugh that becomes a hideous cackle. His cackle is joined by another laugh that is deeper and emanates raw, terrifying power. The deeper laugh vanishes as subtly as it appeared and the Lich sips at the foul liquid in his goblet.

The decaying caster lifts his drink to the ceiling. “It looks like someone has been eavesdropping. I propose a toast to Gabriel the Destiny Weaver. May he be entertained by what is about to happen to his pawns this time.”