For weeks the Morlac had been hoarding power. The limitations placed on her by the loss of her divine powers made many of the greater spells she knew useless. At first, she began hoarding power out of fear that the Old Gods would strike at her. In her current state she would have been unable to even defend herself. Then, as the days past and they did nothing, she realized there was one of the greater spells within her reach. Barely. By hoarding her power she could expend it all at once and cast the spell. Recovery from the spell would take many days but she was desperate.
If the Old Gods were still active enough for even one of them to select a priestess that meant that somewhere in the world there may be those who could still craft crude magic. While the Morlac remained immortal, the body of her slave would wear down and die without renewal. In hindsight she realized that her actions had prevented any possibility of gathering new worshipers. I didn't think I would need any! she realized. Without an invitation she could not own a person's soul. That limited her to this shell and without more magic she could only keep him alive for a while.
If I can find someone with more magic, I can take it from them and use it myself. The parasite spell she intended to cast had been initially designed to rob enemy casters on a battlefield. The defense was quite simple but the Morlac knew no one today would know it. She was certain that she would face no opposition because the one she was robbing would have no counter to her spell. Soul magic was the hardest of all the patterns to learn. People were complex beyond measure.
The Morlac had the Examiners open the door from her office to the archives. Geinn had sealed it after he cancelled the research. She unsealed it and had a space cleared on the floor. When everyone was done, she ordered them out with instructions she was not to be disturbed for ten days. Then, taking chalk, she began carefully inscribing mystical patterns on the stone floor. Each one was painstakingly drawn in all three primary colors right on top of each other. Only when she was satisfied that it was perfect did she move on to the next symbol and begin again. It took her almost two days to finish the seven patterns.
When she was done, she carefully stepped into the center of the circle formed by the patterns. Laying down so that her feet were just inches away from one pattern she lay her head down so it was inches away from another. Stretched out in the circle, the Morlac gathered her carefully hoarded magic and drew it into the spell. She breathed in then counted and breathed out, repeating that six times. On the sixth release of air her breath became a small wind that blew down the length of her body until it passed her feet and touched the nearby pattern.
As it passed over, the pattern became alive. Tendrils of light and chalk dust reached into the air until the pattern was flowing and ebbing a few feet off the stone floor. Her breath then split in to two small winds. Each moved to the next nearest pattern, one right, one left. As each pattern came alive her breath moved to the next until they joined at the pattern above her head.
When that pattern took on its unnatural life, the breath returned to the mouth of the Morlac. As it touched her, her body arched so high that the spinal bones could be heard to scrape against each other. The Morlac screamed at the unbearable pain as the spell took hold. There! There it is!
A string of barely visible light hovered above the Morlac. She took hold of it, not with her physical hands but with her spirit hands. As she did, it began pulling her, through the ceiling and towards the magic she desperately sought.
