Razmalak glanced quickly up and down the passage before closing the heavy iron plated door behind him, plunging the room he had entered into darkness. Fumbeling in the folds of his robe he pulled out a sealed glass jar that and gave it a shake. It immediately started to glow deep purple in colour, the phospheresant lichens and fungi disturbed by the motion. He then turned his attention back to the door. Opening the jar, Razmalak fished out one of the pieces of rock onto which some of the fungus was growing and giving off a pinkish glow. This he set on the lock of the door, affixing it with a piece of black tape so that it's light shone through the keyhole. It wasn't exactly a mage lock but it would appear that way to a passer by. There were so many doors locked in this way to prevent students going where they shouldn't that Razmalak figured that no-one would notice another.
Just in case, however, Razmalak had one final deterrant: pinned to the outside of the door was a note written in heavy black marker bearing the simple warning " BEWARE OF THE GRUE!"
He hung the jar from a hook by thr door and turned back to the long abandoned classroom. Dust covered the floor in a layer half an inch thick, but this didn't bother Razmalak even in the slightest. In fact, this was a step up from his own chambers- at least there weren't six month old coffee mugs and old pizza boxes strewn about here...
(Note to all Cytheran history buffs: Pizza was introduced to Cythera when a medium deep pan onion and anchovy with extra BBQ sauce fell through a freak wormhole created by a group of drunken students at the Dark Academy where Razmalak (mis)spent most of youth. It has long been associated with those who practise the Dark Arts, usually until ridiculous hours when honest folk are getting a good nights kip. The reason that practitioners of these Profane Arts are commonly said to have evil red eyes is often primarily due to lack of sleep.)
Here the dust would work to Razmalak's advantage. He walked across the room, tracing the points of a septigram with the toe of his boot, muttering all the time under his breath.
Walking to the edge of the arcane symbol Razmalak pulled out his penknife and, looking the other way and yelping slightly, cut the tip of his left index finger, letting the drop of blood slide off the end of his finger into a small glass phial. Into this he added several more ingredients from various folds of his robe- ground unicorn bone, essence of harpy and a single scale from a swamp gator. Sucking on his cut finger he corked the phial and shook it to mix the contents together. Muttering another incantation he through the glass phial into the centre of the septigram. No sooner than the glass had shattered than bright fire coarsed of the lines of the septigram and a beastial wail filled the air. Materialising in a vortex of blood, fire and bone a fearsome horned figure appeared- it's skin red and covered in pulsing veins of liquid fire, it's legs like the hind quarters of a massive and ancient goat, it's horned visage twisted in a snarl of hatred and fury, it's eyes like two flaming coals from Hell's own furnace.
It roared in a voice of twisted metal and tortured souls " WHO DARES SUMMON ZEKIAL, LORD OF THE PIT?!?" "
It then appeared to notice Razmalak stood worriedly on the edge of the septigram. It shrunk in stature, it's eyes cooling to look more like a normal humans, only much, much older.
"Jeez, keep it down! You'll have the whole place in here!"
"Oh it's you Razmalak! You shoulda said!"
It spoke in a more normal voice in an accent that would have been recognisably Australian, if anyone listening could recognise an Australian accent.
"G'day mate! Ain't seen you in years! How's things?"
"Not so bad Zeks, not so bad. How is the Pit these days? Those horns suit you by the way,"
"You reckon? The missis reckons they make me look like a poofta. What can I do you for then mate?"
"Listen Zekial, I've been kicking around here at Pnyx for a while now and I'm getting a feeling like somethings up. Your lot been founding any new cults up here or anything?"
"Nah mate, we've all been tied up trying to put in a new computer system- it's all been pretty quiet in the "Meddling in the Affairs of Mortals" department, tell the truth."
The Demon looked thoughful for a moument.
"Tell you what though... There is something around here. There's kind of a... presence here... Not one I've felt before, not since..."
A look of pure terror passed swiftly over the Demons face, quite a sight on a face used to being on exactly the other end of terror.
"Look mate, I gotta go. Something's coming and I don't want to be around here when it comes. Want my advise? Scarper sharpish."
With a sudden flash and a lingering smell of sulphur the Demon was gone, leaving an extremly worried Razmalak standing in the soft gloom of an empty classroom...