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better.
    Shalthazar picked up a magical staff that had been recovered from some insignificant city his troops had conquered, and shouldered a backpack. Today the arch-mage was not dressed in his usual robed attire. Instead, he was wearing the military uniform of a general in the army, brown and black leather armor with the adornments of his rank pinned in black metal to his epaulettes. Fort Ogrewall was his home now, and would likely remain so for the foreseeable future. A capital city was being formed back in the east and a grand fortified palace upon a hill was being constructed for the Prophet-General. But Shalthazar’s goals were loftier than that. He didn’t care about palaces or the dominion of nations. What Shalthazar wanted was far greater. He wanted the power and magic that was supreme over all others, more powerful than even the Sigils.
    He wanted the power that came with immortality.
    He emerged from his laboratory and then traversed the halls of the great keep, his polished black staff making a resounding crack each time it struck the hardwood floors. The light of oil lamps ensconced on the walls only seemed to enhance the fact that this staff was a tool of vileness and evil. When the staff had been given to him by the general who recovered it, he had been unable to determine the nature of its powers. While he still had much to learn about it, he did know that it acted as a repository for the dark magic that Shalthazar employed. He had wondered how it came to be in the treasure vault of the nameless monarch, but assumed that the fool had simply not known what it was that he had.
    The great Prophet-General was beginning to sense that his Nashian military officers were becoming aware of the practices of his apprentices, and they were becoming aware of the dark wizard’s own experiments. Perhaps the Nashians did not know exactly what he was up to, but they certainly suspected that something was amiss with their Prophet-General.
    He was becoming far more detached from his command responsibilities, finding such mundane tasks beneath him, and more absorbed in the practice and mastering of the Shadow Sigil. All of this seemed to be fostering an air of discontent among his officers and morale was beginning to suffer. But Shalthazar was on the verge of something greater, something that would propel him to the immortality he so desperately wanted. Very soon he would not care what became of his newly carved empire or the fools that inhabited it.
    Shalthazar made his way through the keep to the portcullis where his mount, the nightmare he had summoned from the realms of the abyss and cloaked with a spell to change its distinctive features, and his entourage waited. He handed his staff and pack to a waiting apprentice in black robes who bowed deeply to the master wizard as he vaulted up onto he sleek black steed. The nightmare was pleased to have her master upon her back and eager to go forth to wreak havoc and spread fear upon the mortals of this world. It had been far too long for both master and mount since either one had been in the thick of a battle, but that was about to change.
    “Where are you going, Your Eminence?” asked General Nox, the man in whom he had invested the responsibilities of running the campaign and managing the empire. Nox wasn’t fond of the duties of governance, the wizard suspected few military men were, but it was of no consequence to him. The man must do as he was told.
    “I and my apprentices will be conducting a secret mission, General. A mission which does not require your presence or knowledge.”
    “Indeed, Your Eminence,” replied the general, his steely countenance ever so slightly dour. “However, should Your Eminence find that your magic-wielders are not capable of handling the mission you require completed, my troops would be better able to provide assistance if we know where to find you.”
    Shalthazar was becoming less amused with the man’s pessimistic view of magic and he