Mara’s heart raced as she traced the final sigil onto the cold stone floor. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering glow of crimson candles, their light casting long shadows on the walls. She knew this was a dangerous ritual. The ancient tome had warned of the risks, of the power she sought to awaken, but desperation drove her forward.
Her village was dying. Crops withered, livestock vanished, and a malevolent sickness spread through the air. The elders had tried every known magic, every prayer to the gods, but nothing had worked. So, she had turned to the forbidden—the dark magic whispered of in ancient legends.
Baal'Zarath.
The name itself felt like a sin on her lips, but Mara had no other choice. She needed a power greater than any mortal could wield, and Baal'Zarath, the demon-lord of knowledge and chaos, was the only one who could grant it.