Awakening...
The Teir?Dal?s corpselike eyes opened unusually wide. He had drifted off again. The spirits were restless, their chorus of overlapping whispers reminiscent of the sound of the water?s waves along the beach of the Oasis. His newfound clarity deciphered their words instantly; they wanted him to awaken... so, now he was awake.

His quarters were empty, the door was still locked, the windows were barred with their metal shutters closed and also locked. Yes, he was within the House?s Keep, the Keep of the D?Orakaa family. He didn?t remember coming here, however; nor did he remember how long he had been here. His mind was wide-awake and his senses were clear. He sat in his only chair, a large-backed and elaborately carved darkwood chair with plush red padded velvet, his fingers gripping the skull-carved handholds. Only the hunger within him betrayed that time had passed, but how long?

The whispers in his mind did little to explain.

?...you sshould not think ssuch thoughtss...?

His composure was once again his own and now scowled to the darkness. The light from the fireplace illuminated the shadows enough to give it a dancing form; something that gave some sort of physical embodiment to the spirits that constantly plagued the necromancer. His gaze went to the fireplace and the skeletal minion that stood near it. His servant had obviously kept the fire going, even though what little heat it gave off was not required.

?It was only a dream, spirits,? came the powerful voice in low, dangerous tones. The whisperings poured on. ?I would never make such an attack against the throne,? his cold eyes glanced to the shadows again, ?though, they would deserve it.? His thin lips twisted his gaunt face into an devilish grin, as the spirits shouted into his mind. ?They have become weak, senile, and paranoid in their age. For centuries they have plotted against each other more than against our true enemies.? The whisperings quieted; the necromancer began to make sense. ?Innoruuk has turned from them for they no longer do His bidding.? His smug gaze drifted about the room, making sure to catch as many of the spirits as he could in his sights. ?They do not deserve to be warned about what they choose to ignore. They will die, just not by my doing, rest assured.?

A log in the fireplace popped, snapping and sending sparks. With the sparks came ash and soot, leftovers from the continuous feeding. The necromancer had been here a long time, it seemed.

Without a command, the skeletal warrior moved into the next room to retrieve some food for his Master; smoked wood elf, a delicacy in most areas... well, among the dark races. It also retrieved some of the necromancer?s personal stock of Minotaur?s Hero Brew, which the Teir?Dal himself had made months ago.

?Remember one thing, spirits,? the necromancer warned before he began to eat. The whisperings went silent. ?I am Innoruuk?s chosen. I am the Apokolipz.?