Once upon a midnight dreary..

*upon a hill outside shadowdale town stands a heavily robed and misted figure looking out over the lands*

things are going well, but they are slower than anticipated.

*a figure forms from the mists, not quite there but there enough, its voice hollow and raspy*

what shall be done master....


*the tired sounding voice muffled by the thick masked robes replies*

a great many things, but move the forces deeper into the forests for now, the dales are quiet enough for now and we have much more to do.


*the misty figure swirls out of existence leaving the hollow words*

it shall be done.


*the lone figure makes a quick drinking motion and fades from sight into the mists and the woodlands that surroud the hilltop*