"Some of you have seen me; others have only heard my name. If you've ever had an eyeball mojito at the No-Door Bar that tasted like badly fermented beer, then you've likely done both."
The cloaked figure stood atop a platform built from Teotihuacan concrete, looking down at the crowd below. The senior stewards of Kamar-Taj's New York Sanctum and London Sanctum stood behind him. Yet the people closest to him were a red-haired witch holding a long staff made of serpent bones and a rather bedraggled dark-haired woman, rather than the Praetorian Guard wielding the Spear of the Garrison.
Laura Croft's curiosity had never been so thoroughly satisfied. She had never known there were so many mages on Earth, nor that some of the fairy tales about mages in folklore and mythology were actually true. But not everyone was as optimistic as she was. She still did not know why her patron had brought her here. The faces concealed beneath the black hoods of the magical school representatives had not smiled at the Emperor's joke. Something had been wrong with this conversation from the very beginning.
These spellcasters had gathered because of Kamar-Taj and the Sorcerer Supreme's reputation, not because of the man on the platform's influence. If the rumors of how highly the Sorcerer Supreme regarded him were true, and if his displayed abilities were no exaggeration, then some would have been willing to answer the call and come to this South American temple, which might be flooded at any moment, to hear Kamar-Taj's proposal.
Every spellcaster here wore a black cloak, and only braziers illuminated Vatoum Temple. Gale-force winds carried rain through the portico, bringing ever-colder air into the hall where statues of gods stood. The fishy stench of rainwater lingered in the air. The mysticism-practicing magical