The Ghoul King crawled over the surface of the Black Star. His long dead fingers brushed across the black stone and veins of red blood. He could feel the power within it, yet awoken but stirring in the depths. He touched the most powerful weapon ever built, thought Doresain, and he found the thought both thrilling and comforting.
A voice, deep and powerful, spoke from the shadows.
“They have killed your consort,” the voice spoke. Doresain was not concerned of her death but of the speed with which these Shieldbashers made progress. No wonder Arantham’s original plan failed. “They now travel through the Hunger in the Mountain. It is very possible they will be digested there as the others have.”
“If they make it through, show them our surprise,” said Doresain. A rush of wind blew the few strands of Doresain’s dead hair. His blue eyes blazed even more brightly. He held a black orb in his hand and stared into its depths.
“Too soon,” he whispered to it. He turned and looked at his massive scrying mirror, a plate of shining silver mounted in a frame of black twisted rock. “We must devise another plan.”