The Beast storms into his tent, wiping sleet from his fur cloak. His eyes are red with Vorghol anger. Few indeed are those who have seen the Beast in such rage and lived. He has been among his army, preparing the defense of their position in Morden Vale. His ambush is prepared, but now he must deal with one last loose end. The Baron rages, "The impudence, the arrogance! This disaster is your fault, necromancer! And it's you who will pay!" He draws his massive darksteel sword. "Xoth, you called yourself. Xoth was never such a fool!"
The hooded necromancer sits impassively on a camp stool, before a blazing fire, staff cradled between his arms. The figure is shriveled, with a sunken chest, thin arms. He seems like he will wait out the storm with calm and patience. Finally he raises a skinny hand.
"A temporary setback, my Baron. The approaching Ressi do not realize their peril. Once out of their stone walls, they are easy prey for the colossus. It will be the end of Yarga, and the troublesome Northerlings as well. And my old associates. Surely the Beast is not intimidated by a rabble like that…"
The Beast holds the blade to the necromancer's throat. He was angry before; he is furious at these insolent words now. "I would cut your head off, old man, but that ending would be too swift! Such amusement I'll have with you, in my dungeon, once we return home to Northspike! And I'll take that staff for my own!" He reaches for the moonwood staff, but the necromancer moves like sudden lightning. Energy crackles from the staff and the Beast is hurled back.
The necromancer rises. The fire beside him dims and his shadow fills the room…all that is visible is his eyes, cold and distant as the Far Moon. His voice echoes, as if he speaks in a vast, empty void. "Xoth stands before you, Vorghol, in new form, but Xoth for all intents. It was I who helped your kind take power once and overthrow the Palladians. It was my work that helped build the Shroud that shields the Vorghol from the sun. And how did Malivare show gratitude? Exile and disgrace. Too long was I away. Those days have ended!"
He stoops over the prone Vorghol, who tries to lift his arms to push away, but cannot. The necromancer hisses, "Without the shroud of darkness cloaking this camp, the sun would burn you to a cinder. Be grateful I have allowed this."
He rises, straightening his cloak and seating himself again, calmly. The fire lights the room once more. "Hear me. The Ressi and their allies ride into our trap, as I said they would. Baron Thumgath, our alliance benefits you far more than me. Alone of all the Barons of Tol Nedra, I came to you, and what I spoke when we first still holds true. When you crush the Ress, the King will make you his Claw. And with me at your side, there is no end to what you can become. Not even a Vorghol King can live forever…"
The Baron bares his fangs, working his lips, trying to speak but failing. He shakes his head, and with sheer force of will, hoists himself to a seated position. "You cannot shroud this camp in darkness and summon the colossus as well…" he says, choking.
The necromancer shrugs. "No matter. There are other weapons at my disposal. Not even you know of them, my Baron…"
The Beast hisses in impotent fury. But he hangs his head, relenting. Even a
savage Beast must surrender to a superior predator.