The ritual had worked. It had taken all his strength but the powerful Psyker found his essence drifting through the tiny spaces within the Warp. Damian Broadcloak scanned the immaterium with his third eye. He was looking for something special, something he would only know when he saw it. Cascades of light floated from above impossibly slowly, shimmering in bright greens, blues and yellows. Blasts of jarring white lights flashed intermittently assaulting his psychic senses and the noise of a million screaming souls filled his mind.
Ahead of him in this virtual place was a small urn. Crystline but not glass. His minds eye fell upon it and knew that he had found what he had been searching for. Reaching out an ethereal hand Broadcloak took the urn and with a flash of light, an explosion of noise and an eruption of searing pain he was back in the chapel lying on the floor and looking up at the concerned faces of three acolytes.
The three hooded men helped Broadcloak to his feet and as he swayed there, his robes still shedding the frost that had formed on them during his ghost walk, he uncurled his fingers to reveal the small container. “It worked he thought to himself…it actually worked”. The Acolytes stared in amazement at the glistening, glowing, gilded bottle in their masters palm.
It took a week for Broadcloak to feel strong enough to move on to the next stage of his plan. It had taken much longer for him to recover then he had expected. He had also noticed that his Psychic vision had been poorer and his ability to read the runes of fate had been, well, fuzzy. Tonight was the time he would finally bind a deamon as his servant. It was risky but it would make him more powerful than he had ever been before.
That evening the ritual went well. The urn was smashed, the incantations were chanted, the sacrifices were made and from the boiling smoke and fire of the alter emerged P’Kaw, the giggling God. The huge Daemon knelt before Broadcloak – somewhat reluctantly but with apparent joy that it had been released from its prison of eternity. It brandished a huge flaming sword that spat flame like arcs of orange magma across the sky and it swore its allegiance to Damian Broadcloak, Sorcerer of Tzeentch and Master of the Clear Sight kabal.Broadcloak acknowledged the Daemons allegiance and dismissed P’Kaw to carry out whatever evil deeds its addled mind required in this material world.
But something was wrong. He could feel the power of the warp but not as strongly as he was used too. He tried to look into the future but it was blurred. He attempted to conjure fireballs but they were poor weak things. The truth began to dawn.
Summoning P’Kaw had given him a bound Daemon Prince as a weapon but it had taken away some of his psychic power. He shuddered at the thought of P’Kaw recognising his weakness but for now he would simply have to pretend he was still as powerful as his former self and hope his powers returned.
Binding a Daemon was worth it as long as the Daemon remained bound.