Footsteps on cold, polished stone echoed through the dark and cavernous throne chamber. A bald, robed figure strode between the collonades that held up the vaulted ceiling he knew to rise into the darkness far above his head. The man dared not look into that darkness above him, lest he be reminded why his master's throne room was known as the Court of the Dead.

In the drafts that circulated through the great chamber's upper reaches, he could hear them rattle softly. Bones clinking together. Dried skins rustling against the hooked chains that suspended them from the ceiling. The earthly remains of at least one hundred of his master's victims hung on chains high above him. They served as grisly reminders of the power and cruelty of the master of this place. For those who served this dark lord, they served to encourage utmost loyalty and obedience - lest they join the Court's ever-growing ranks.

At the far end of this vast, dark chamber was a throne of black marble illuminated by two braziers filled only with dimly-glowing coals. On the great throne, sat the dark lord himself. The spymasters who roamed these lands told the populace that their lord was a stunningly-handsome man blessed with eternal youth; but the being that sat upon this throne seemed to be little more than a shriveled, mummified corpse. The robed minion knew better than to mistake the power of Lord Octa, and wisely laid himself prostrate before the throne.

"Speak," a disembodied voice echoed through the chamber.

"Your majesty," the robed figure said, still bowed down to the cold floor. "A carriage of prisoners arrived in the early morning hours."

"This gladdens me." Lord Octa's voice replied.

"Be advised, however, that not all is well. The carriage's jockey is missing, and one of the prisoners is missing. The cart itself was laden with arrows." The robed minion gulped nervously before continuing. "W-we believe the caravan it belonged to was the target of an ambush. The agents of the Revolt are afoot."

A terrifying silence settled over the chamber as the robed servant bore this news to Lord Octa. Only the rattling of bones above could be heard before Octa spoke again.

"Bring me the prisoners," Lord Octa demanded, "I shall see what became of this missing prisoner."