Molkarg was dead. Well not entirely. He was in communion with a Fell Beast, Darthyxithruz, and as such his life force was in it's hands. He lay, alone. Shedanaran did not know his whereabouts. His heart was not beating. His lungs did not stir. His body was cold. But his mind and soul were alive.
He was deep within a dream, that was reality. Darthyxithruz was in front of him, a towering wall of red shadow. A mist made of blood. He spoke in whispers 'Ashthulithanashelithesdurthi' he whispered, in a language with no rules. The entire language was made up as you spoke it, but in it's core it was a spell, a spell that linked the speaker to the listener, such a link that allowed telepathy. Molkarg spoke in reply, his voice sporadic and deep in comparison with Darthyxithruz. 'They are getting ready for war, many souls will be freed. Many will be able to be ensnared' he spoke in Druka, but his voice was warped and disrupted until it could not be understood. 'Shuthitanolshalathnoruth' Darthyxithuz said, and Molkarg was back in his own body. His heart started and warmth flowed through him. He stood up. Darthyxithruz had agreed to strengthen him and all the Dru. In return for a long and costly war which would bring him many souls. He wanted Shedanaran killed, and his soul to be brought so that Darthyxithruz could consume it, and gain the power of an aged and powerful demon, a pleasure he had not indulged in for centuries. He gave Molkarg instructions to gain strength, although he warned that it would make him weak at first. He assured Molkarg would still be himself, as long as he wore the object, without it he would be a husk. Molkarg agreed.