Alejo sneered as he looked down at the body on the floor, then back up at Marin. Marin's face was a mixture of disgust and fear. The unknown body at their feat lay sprawled, limbs askew at impossible angles. The eyes were wide, staring, and red-rimed. There was not an obvious mark of violence on the corpse.
"Sorcery!" Alejo spat.
To call it a Dark Art would be an understatement. Learned by the brave, foolish, power-hungry, and deranged at secrets spots around the sea, sorcery is met by fear and disgust almost everywhere it's seen. The obscenely wealthy and powerful will occasionally keep a sorcerer, bound by gold and script to a period of service. These dark men and women usually learn their art at the feet of some equally deranged master, secluded in the wilderness or the depths of some pagan temple. Rumors persist, however, of an entire college of sorcerers, perhaps hidden in the Straits of Fire or deep within the southern deserts, that not only train men and women in magic, but are beginning to hunt down and destroy all others who will not join their order.