As soon as Skrakch had agreed to go ahead with locating the missing Survix, the Denmother had pressed him into service. He found himself in a part of the basement that he hadn't even known had existed before.

The Denmother had hauled herself out of her rocking chair and picked up her walking cane. Skrakch had watched, deeply curious, as she shuffled over to a corner of her office and used the ebony cane to rap on the floor three times in quick succession, all the while muttering something under her breath. From that bits that Skrakch caught with his superior hearing, it certainly didn’t sound like Common.

A trapdoor had appeared on her office floor and she’d nodded at him. Skrakch had scrambled forward and pulled it open to reveal a further level below the basement. Thankfully, the room below was lit in an odd purple glow, casting a deep shadow across the Ratling's eager visage. So eager in fact, that Skrakch didn't even notice as two demons entered the Denmother's office, carrying a large chair in between them.

Under other circumstances, the sight of two muscular Incubi wearing little more than loincloths carrying the old crone and her chair down the stairs to her secret under-basement would have sent the Ratling into peels of mocking laughter. However, the possibility of facing a Chosen head on had him in a pretty humourless mood.

Skrakch watched with interest as the Incubi placed the Denmother and her chair in the middle of the floor before she barked instructions at them. They nodded and wordlessly started to inscribe a complex pattern in the floor. Skrakch tried to follow their movements but it actually hurt for him to stare at the pattern they were creating for too long. A tentative sniff was all it took for Skrakch to confirm the two demons were painting the floor in crimson blood, but the Iskrin was hardly the squeamish sort.

No, this was a perfect chance to watch a master at work, and Skrakch kept his eyes glued on the quickly expanding set of intricate runework. The strain of attempting to parse the magic unfolding before him was immense, but the Ratling didn't look away until he felt the blood dripping down his fur, as his eyes began to weep blood. Even still, Skrakch couldn't help but shoot furtive glances towards the immense spellwork.

As soon as the inscription was completed, swirling runes started to move and flow around the precise geometric pattern. The Denmother remained still in her chair, a look of total concentration on her face.

Despite his fear and trepidation at what was to come, the chance to watch a master of Demonology at work was nearly a reward in itself. Even confined to her armchair, the old crone managed to make the inscription work look simple. One of the Incubi proffered an earthware bowl full of blood which she splashed about in seemingly random directions, only for them to perfectly form archaic looking runes.

Skrakch couldn’t take his eyes off the Denmother as she took a stabilizing breath. With her loud exhale, Mana started to pour from her Core, the power billowing outwards towards the drawn ritual. Glowing with Mana, the ritual blood began to move, flashing through rune after rune as the spell neared completion.

Suddenly, the blood began to boil and bubble and a wave of hellfire enveloped the ritual. Flinching at the sudden burst of flame and overcome by its might, Skrakch was forced to shield his eyes causing him to miss the final part of the ritual.

When he was finally able to look once more, the hellfire had been extinguished, taking the ritual with it. For a moment, Skrakch was convinced that whatever she had been trying to do had failed. That was until he noticed tendrils of darkness leaking from the Denmother’s closed eyes.

Waiting with baited breath, Skrakch and the brothel staff watched as the Denmother seemed to struggle with her spell. Once of the Incubi tried to reach for her gnarled hand but she appeared to sense the movement, batting him away with a quick shake of her head.

Skrakch had no idea how many minutes had passed before she opened her eyes. Gone were the genteel cornflower blue irises. Her eyes were now pitch black and filled with demonic energy.

“I have pierced the Chosen’s Veil,” The Demonologist announced in a breathless tone. “I see through Survix’ eyes and through to the soul that inhabits her,”

She was silent for a few moments.

“The creature hungers, each breath it takes is filled with pain, but the hunger drives it onwards. She is surrounded with fresh death and decay as the beast feasts on the rot.” She continued. Her whole body was trembling violently from the effort of maintaining the connection.

“She sits in a pit of sand, lapping up the blood of the fallen. The walls, once resplendent and gilded, are now torn asunder.

Once dead, twice risen, the bodies of the slain throw themselves against her futilely, breaking themselves against her Thirst…”

Gasping as the Mana left her, the Denmother slumped in her chair. As her demonic servants rushed to check on her, Skrakch shook himself free from his own trance-like state. If he could harness that kind of power… just the thought was enough to make him salivate.

Still, if it took that much effort and energy just for the Denmother to try and track the Chosen Shade, Skrakch wanted nothing to do with fighting it. Though… maybe there was a way to take care of the Chosen that didn’t invoke scrapping with a Chosen in a head-on battle.

Skrakch idly pawed at his snout as he tried to remember everything he knew about Shades. The things were considered dangerous, but hardly a massive threat. Most non-civilians were too strong willed to be taken possession of offhandedly, so the threat was often larger for the homeless or the young. After all, it was simple enough to put down a possessed child, so long as you didn’t mind the nightmares afterwards.

Thankfully, there were a few tried and true methods to handle a Shade-possession, the easiest involving a special alchemical treatment. While Skrakch doubted it would be as effective against a Chosen Shade, hopefully a liberal use of the alchemical brew would be enough to affect the target.

Unfortunately, the quantity needed was far beyond Skrakch’s current means, meaning he’d need to call in a favour. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but the only alchemist he trusted for such an important task was currently employed by one of the larger movers and shakers of Dray’Mel, one Skrakch desperately tried to avoid.

Merciless and remorseless, that organization was known for doing anything for the sake of gold, its members more than happy to track down and butcher anything someone was willing to pay for.

It was time for Skrakch to take a visit to the Adventurers Guild.