Far away from Corus in the Deadlands, A tall, forbidding castle stood in the foothills of the mountains. Lord Malak Kreed stood atop the highest keep of the great castle, looking out at his domain. Many years under his control rendered the land an unpleasant place to live, crawling with the undead and a huge, unrelenting quagmire that seemed to be able to effortlessly swallow up all life that could wander into it. Malak stood, looking out the windows at the columns of smoke rising from the little village within the castle's walls, the people of the village had long gotten used to the presence of the dead, and Malak had no hatred for them, so he allowed them to survive, to toil on while their lord watched over them, protected them from the horrors that lurked beyond the walls, they also kept a fresh supply of sacrifices and test subjects, which kept him happy enough.<br/><br/>The necromancer turned back to his mirror after a moment, looking out at the view of the man he had just finished spoken to "Magic user" He allowed the words to slip from his lips, traveling through the magical mirror to the man he had ordered to track the movements of the heroes a while ago<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000bf">" have a task for you, a test to determine your purpose in this world, a great one if you succeed, Head north, past the lake to a land covered in fog, the undead will attack you, but you can get through them, there is a castle in those deadlands, I want you to infiltrate it, not harming a hair on villager or guard"</span>Malak's voice was soft, yet held an undeniable tone of command to it, he had a powerful voice, though it was strangely soft and soothing, given his profession of choice. Malak paused and closed his eyes, laying his fingers on the mirror, suddenly his eyes opened and he turned around.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000bf">â??Meebo,  could you come to my tower please? I need some helpâ?</span><br/>Malak spoke into the mirror again, it was possibly the single most valuable artifact he owned, allowing him to communicate with his followers with ease. He had to figure out what the god's chosen were doing.<br/><br/>Malak waved a hand over the mirror, the black glove that was The Hand of Twilight passing over it, causing a ripple as if the surface was made of quicksilver, quickly the mirror became a normal mirror and Malak turned as a man stepped through the door, he was a warrior by his size, his skin a deathly pale shade and his face covered on one side by a wicked black tattoo, ritual marks that suggested something vile about him, though not many mortals would recognize the marking of Malakâ??s revenants, one of the deadliest undead, beings immune to attacks that would destroy other undeath, the closest to a true resurrection in history, and master Malachaiâ??s secret technique. on his body<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000bf">â?I want you to go to goldenlake, someone there knows something, go to goldenlake and gather some local bandit tribes, promise them everything they please in the city, I want nothing left alive. take a lantern with you if you must. "</span>Malak dismissed the revenant with a wave of his hands, the two others guarding the door on the other side opened it for him to leave.<br/>Malak turned, now free of distraction, his followers had to be somewhere nearby, if not he could simply rely on the local bandits to make themselves a nuisance. Malak walked over to his mirror, watching current events for a moment before scanning around his castle. The planning stage had just beganâ?¦