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[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M17c7d82WL4&list=PL5DBDCFD45F92826D]Chronicles Of Enduwin Chapter 2: Gatherings ~ Part Two[/url]
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Within the heart of the Olc’s highest peak, The Fang, the Underkeep lay, like a lumbering beast. A mighty fortress shaped into the mountain’s hollow centre, with parapets and buttress gnarling away from its body. Deep in the Underkeep itself, in its most internal chambers, waited the Necromancer. The room was empty save for Bawzel himself. They were his chambers, his inner sanctuary. A four poster bed sat in the middle of the room and looked as if it was rarely, if ever used. The room was illuminated, for the most part, by oil lanterns on each post of the bed. Bawzel sat a desk. Even the undead grew weary and sitting was much more of comfort than it had been when he lived. Black and uneven, the table was carved from rock. Bawzel sat in a large wooden chair. On the wall opposite hung a mirror which dominated the entire wall. Rising from his seat the Necromancer went and stood in front of the mirror. Casting his gaze up and down along his naked form, he thought deeply about how to handle his current predicament. Right now, as he stood there, the so-called champions of the Nanotheon were descending up the Point of Origin. How he wished he could just go there now and crush them. Killing them would be so simple. Wring the dwarf’s neck, flay the orc and the humans. Let Mizat have fun with the goblin. Yet, he couldn’t. Slaughtering them would reveal far too much to the Nanotheon. Doing away with the adventurers would give away too much of his plan. Then they would know that he knew, and his biggest weapon was that knowledge. Did they even know? Sometimes he wondered if he had overcomplicated things. He would let the travellers live, for now, but perhaps a shock to their systems may deter them without the need to kill. 

Holding his right palm out in front of himself sAlightly, he breathed into it. The breath stayed around his hand, swarming it like flies humming around a carcass. It condensed and took solid form, becoming a velvety smoke. The smoke was black, then grey before fading completely to white. The patterns it swirled in become more definite, and it slowed. Suddenly it was no longer smoke and in his hand the Necromancer held a perfectly smooth, porcelain mask. It was as white as snow and held a sinister grin. Raising his hand once more, he placed the mask on over his face. 

Turning away from the mirror he began striding towards the large set of doors that lead away from his own chambers and towards the War Room. They doors swung back, seemingly of their own accord upon his approach. As he walked through the now opened doors, a red mist swirled around his entire body, much like the smoke had around his hand. The mist too solidified and formed many layers of cloaks around his body. The all seemed to flow into one and another creating a cacophony of shapes and folds. 

Already waiting in the War Room were two of the Elven lords who served under him. 
“M’lord.” They both beckoned, the taller one with a slight quiver in his voice. 
Bawzel waved them to sit down and then rapped his knuckles in a manner such as to indicate he wished them to continue speaking.
“Reports remain the same sire, a small misfit band seems to converging in the plains. There’s a wizard among them. We presume he is going to be the conduit.”
“He is old?” Bawzel rumbled.
“Well he is a Farrg,” piped the second elf, but yes. Old.”
“Hah.” Exclaimed the Necromancer “Always with their mercy.”
Bawzel stared at the two elves, both looked back into the unmoving expressing of porcelain, one with fear one with respect.
“So be it. Don’t attack them yet. Continue the raids. The siege engines are your priority for now.”
“See to it this Vrikdarok and the others are sent to me, and quickly, I have business I need to personally attend to. And somebody fetch Mizat.”