Ink

“Do you really think,” Davriel said, “that I would
take souls in secret? If I needed them, I would demand
them!”
He needed something to enhance the moment. Per-
haps that inkspell he’d stolen from the old demonolo-
gist? It barely gave Davriel a twinge of pain as he used
it to paint the walls black, like pooling ink. He made
eldritch letters break off the main body of darkness and
move across the floor toward Edwin. They flowed like
shadows, written in Old Ulgrothan.

Chapter 10