Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Ritual (Patreon)

The undead horror bent over a lectern. One bony finger traced a blasphemous script, pitted eyes darting from line to line.

The celebrants stood in their appointed places. Two figures side by side: hands clasped limply, eyes glazed, unblinking amidst the connubial gloom.

The scions of evil knelt in their gowns. Three women perversely in white, eyes lit by the baleful light of non-space, whose power penetrates the planes, binding them one to another. Said power was doing an awful lot of penetrating at that precise moment.

“Fuck yes,” purred Succubus. “You’re a big portal, aren’t you? Yeah you are. And you want it bad. You’re just aching to breach reality’s maidenhead; to bust a big fat abyssal invasion all over the prime material. That’s right. Ruin that cosmology. Momma knows what you want.”

Necromancer did her level best to ignore the stream of (for lack of a better term) vocal components. Certainly these were not the occult chants she had learned as an apprentice. And as yet more tendrils of energy quested about scarlet flesh, doing their level best to imitate the more imaginative etchings of certain esoteric splat books, Necromancer was privately thankful that she’d left her zombabies at home. They did not need to see this sort of thing, poor innocent dears.

“I’m going to say something,” hissed Witch.

“Please don’t,” replied the other, pitching her voice low so as to avoid the attention of the gathering crowd.

It appeared that “guard duty” meant something very like “usher.” Already Antipaladin had seated a great many guests in their appointed places amidst the pews. All the most important goblins were in attendance, from that-one-with-the-mohawk to the-one-with-the-weird-nose. Necromancer even suspected that magic-item-goblin might put in an appearance, though she could not guess whose side the celebrity belonged to.

“Don’t forget,” whispered Necromancer, “We’re still contractors. If we want a long-term quest with BBEG, we need to show a little professionalism.”

“Professional?” hissed Witch. It was impossible to make out her pupils amidst the eldritch eye-glow, but they were very likely rolling. “Does that look professional to you?”

Succubus was now being held slightly aloft by her… friends… amidst the planar energy. Necromancer was put in mind of the rehearsal dinner they’d shared earlier that evening, and particularly of the main course. The boar had been delicious, with a rich cream sauce and an apple in its mouth. It had also been spit roasted. As a student of the arcane, Necromancer had to wonder whether the carnal aura that surrounded her fiendish partymate acted to shape these magics, or if they simply adopted their true form in her presence. And with this alarming thought in mind, the death mage suddenly found herself contemplating the thick flows of magic sliding through her own hands. Perhaps the watching goblins felt the same, for they did not seem at all bothered by the display. Quite the contrary, the creatures were watching with rapt attention. A few of them held out singles.

“OK,” said Necromancer. “Maybe you should say something.” The turgid magic twitched slightly in her hand.