It was always dark in what was once Lordaeron.
Still, that had not prevented a dozen or so warlocks to gather in the former throne room of a former nation, formerly ruled by a kind. A dozen or so warlocks who had come to try and find their path against the Legion’s might.
One thing stood out in his memory: the infighting. Warlocks were not exactly known to be a trusting group, that much was certain, but the sheer amount of distrust was almost amusing. They bickered and spat and one orc actually brought a loud-mouthed Tirisgarde. T-something-zurill. Aenalion had not bothered to recall his name; dressed in a shroud of green robes, he had swapped almost immediately to his usual reds and golds when he was free of his persona.
The final goal was determined to be a lofty one - domination of a Pit Lord. And based on how those had worked historically, Aenalion was nearly certain it would end in one way: the death of all involved.
When did I become so cynical? He frowned sharply. There was a chance for success. Was he truly going to abandon an opportunity to gain power? On top of that...the others were colossal fools who were going to acquire a Pit Lord as a servant.
He flexed his hands, felt fel magic run through him. To topple a Pit Lord was lofty, but to topple his servants was simpler. Enslave them, and leave the Pit Lord vulnerable.
Looking at the paperwork before him, he wondered distantly if he could talk Inathia to lend him the guard for the summoning and binding of demons...
