Of Compacts and Traps

Malachai sat in his lair beneath the streets of Valais, brooding and planning his next move. Belial had been explicit in his wishes that he finish the collection of sacrifices, and he needed two more before he could complete his ritual. His palms were sweaty and he shook all over at the thought of his life's work being fulfilled as he looked about his dingy stone cellar. Twenty two perfectly preserved hearts sat upon an old shelf that may have once served as a catacomb, each of them floating suspended in a greenish liquid.

"Soon," he whispered soothingly, "You'll all be avenged." He finished the thought aloud as he saw once more the bodies of his family. He closed his eyes and gathered his will, focusing on the mind of his Patron.

"Belial, your humble servant asks you for guidance." He produced a long and needle like dagger from his belt and sliced a deep cut across his own palm. "With life I call you, with blood I offer sacrifice."