The night was still-unnervingly so. A cold breeze, seeming to whisper augury, rustled through the trees, and in the darkness beyond the stronghold of the Sisterhood, something stirred-something incredibly old, something immensely evil.
Far from the fortress, the Forge Master Malakar led his monstrous army forward. Blackened armor with etched, glowing infernal runes across his towering frame seemed to burst with unholy power. In one hand he clutched a long war hammer, inscribed with ancient symbols; in the other, a short hammer, small but no less deadly. Hundreds of night creatures lumbered after him, their forms twisted beyond the mould of their human templates.
