High above Al'Lamar, deep in the heart of the dead city two figures watch the events unfold below.
One, clad in blackest armor, with a massive sword strapped to his back, and a blood red cloak that hangs limp, turns to the other. He who rules this necropolis of damned sat upon a bone throne, the red pin pricks of light that served as his eyes gazing malevolently on the scene of destruction.
"It is as I predicted. He is unfocused, without restraint, like a child smashing his blocks. When the time is right, I shall reap his soul and we will add his might to our legions." The warrior said in a hollow voice to the lord of undead.