What is this?, Dentiata thought to himself. He was not used to anyone withstanding the wand’s dwoemer. He regarded the lone dwarf with curiousity as he considered his next action.
The dwarf was more than a little surprised when his opponents and the cleric at his side suddenly froze and fell. He turned about quickly to assess the situation and found himself in the unenviable position of being the sole party member left standing against—of all things—a supposedly evil mage. Feldard spat out a colourful dwarven curse and moved out of the stairwell and further into the hall gripping his axe firmly. Damn all magic-casting humans and damn himself for getting involved with them!
Feldard knew all too well that they still had no proof of guilt against this mage though suspicious his actions and his hiring practices may be. He needed to try goading the mage into an admission.
“Thaddigren Dentiata no doubt… nice trick. What do you do for entertainment? Train werewolves to snatch innocent villagers and their livestock? Or perhaps you’re into more darker activies? Soul trading perhaps? No? Then maybe bringing about the end of the world? Truly what constitues amusement for one such as you… a weakling human that has dreams of grandeur because he can put people to sleep out of sheer boredom with his mere presence?”
The dwarf had chosen to talk instead of act. Another strange turn of events, thought Thaddigren. For a moment, he considered obliterating the dwarf where he stood. Releasing the energy of the darkning bolt would render pieces of the dwarf’s body to ashes. He chuckled inwardly at the thought of it. Of course, the effects of the spell would also burn and destroy much of the interior of his main hall. No, that wouldn’t do. Despite the dwarf’s resistance to the wand, Dentiata was a very self-assured spellcaster. He was confident that this crude warrior would not be able to resist his charm spell.
“This day is full of surprises, it seems,” replied Dentiata. “What I am doing is preparing for the day when our world will be consumed by the Dread Night, an event that is beyond the understanding of a simple dwarf. You have no concept of what you have stumbled upon, for tonight I get one step closer to achieving my goals. I see that you are a battle-hardened, stout warrior. These orcs were no match for the likes of you. It seems I now have need of some new bodyguards. Join me, dwarf. For one day, I and others like me shall rule the world… Join me…”
As his words trailed off, he whispered what sounded like a bunch of gibberish to the battle-stained dwarf. Then, Dentiata moved his hands with some subtle gesticulations. Suddenly, Feldard’s feelings towards the mage started to change. Maybe the magic-users weren’t so bad afterall. This Dentiata fellow was actually starting to seem like a nice guy. In fact, joining him was seeming like a very good idea.
The dwarf felt as though his head was in a fog. He tried to concentrate. He focused. No, this Dentiata was not his friend. Rule the world? The Dread Night? And didn’t those robes he was wearing seem familiar? Where had he seen them before? Oh yes! It was at Caldwell’s Castle. The undead necromancer Sevastian had been wearing robes embroidered with the very same dark patterns.
What had been that strange pull the mage had put on him. For a moment, he had forgotten the mage’s strange whispers and subtle gestures. Now he remembered. He had been around Miklos long enough to recognize the act of spellcasting. This Dentiata must have tried to cast some sort of spell over him.