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Sparks dance across the sky as lightning tears at the heavens. The wind blows an icy squall as rain pitters against the broken, dusty window of Zarok's demented tower.
His own towers sink onto the podium that held his twisted spellbook. The sheer girth of his badonkers help keep the pages down while he reads. Other sorcerers and warlocks cannot say the same.
A twisted claw follows along the blood and squid ink letters as he reads the malicious spell scrawled on the yellowing page. Zarok breathes a sigh and his mounds heave in perfect unison.
Curse of Cyclops. Curse of Skin Exploding. Curse of Ingrown Toenail.
No.
No.
No.
None of these spells will do. Only the worst and most cruelest of curses, hexes, and cantrips may have the privilege of his plan for the fair kingdom that sits stupid and unaware of his ire.
Zarok sighs and leans back, but the sweat of his underboob sticks to the pages of his spellbook and pulls it from the podium. Luckily, Zarok is used to this inconvenience and nudges it back to its spot with his elbow.
Being an evil, top heavy wizard is a difficult occupation, but Zarok is more than happy to fill that role.
A small clicking noise draws Zarok's attention.
An imp trots up to him holding a tray and leaps onto his desk. It offers a goblet made from a repurposed skull that held a green, thick, swirling liquid that smells like old coins and nightmares.
The well endowed sorcerer realizes just how long he's been at his ruminating without taking a break. He takes the goblet without thanking the imp and turns quickly on his heels, his funbags striking the poor imp and sending it squealing to the floor. It flees on all fours while Zarok cackles at the beast's cowardice.
Zarok downs the foul mixture in a single, grotesque gulp and he carelessly tosses the goblet over his shoulder for another imp to pick up. The voluptuous sorcerer was too important to clean up after himself and the little creatures knew it. When Zarok turns back to his spellbook, he spots an innocent spider crawling across the pages. With a sigh, Zarok lifts his natural gifts with his gnarled hands and drops them onto the unsuspecting creature, killing it with a merciful quickness.
Too merciful.
With a flick of magic, Zarok resurrects the spider only to crush it again in the same manner as it attempted to scuttle to safety.
That'll teach it.
A sudden idea strikes Zarok's brain like an arrow to the cranium of a dim-witted soldier.
Resurrection! Life from Death!
It was perfect!
Zarok quickly flips through the pages and stops on the Evernight spell.
Yes! That one would do! under the dark blanket of the Evernight, the strength of his spells would increase tenfold! But still...that power alone would not be enough to completely snuff out the light of the kingdom and its people.
The people.
The living had souls. Good, strong souls that would empower the husks of the dead beneath their feet! Yes, yes!
But would that be enough yet? Undead were often quite stupid and were unreliable in battle other than their brute force and sheer numbers. He needed something with brains that weren't rotten and full of worms, as delightful as that sounds.
Zarok's precious demons were imprisoned by that moth-brained king after his humiliating retreat. With the people out of the way and his Evernight blotting out the sun, he could find where the shadow demons are being kept and release them! Perfect!
Zarok idly chews a fetid nail as he scrawls down his plan:
Cast Evernight.
Steal the souls of the living under the cover of darkness.
Enslave the living husks.
Sheep (Nonono stay focused!)
Use souls to raise and enslave the dead.
Find Demons.
Release Demons.
???
DESTROY GALLOWMERE UTTERLY!!!!!!
After enthusiastically dotting the last excited and over-used exclamation mark, Zarok reclines in his chair once more. The ghostly screams of anguish from the living and the raspy moans of the dead ring in his ears.
This plan was foolproof.
Zarok began to bounce in excitement, but the jerking weight of his chest began to make his ancient back ache. Instead, he opted to simply shake his rear in triumph.
Gallowmere didn't have any heroes left to defend it. The unsuspecting citizens were sitting ducks.
He was the monster under their beds and their stupid legs were hanging off the side without the safety of their blankets or bright socks.
They were the unguarded fields of wheat and he was the sheep... (NonoNO! Stop doing that!)
Zarok was too tired to put his plan into motion for now. He was up all night and the sun would be rising soon. How he hated the light that burned his eyes and made his skin smell of bacon.
He doesn't bother to put away his things; the imps don't know how to read and if any of them even thought about touching his study, they knew what misery would befall them.
Zarok turns to leave his study and kicks the still discarded goblet down the stairs and into the snout of an ascending imp. The small, pig-like creature squeals the whole way down the spiral staircase as the goblet clangs after it. The wailing of the imp fills Zarok's dusty heart with glee. He'd sleep well.
Zarok enters his quarters an slams the door behind him. He doesn't take the time to change before flopping face down on the nest of fabric he called a bed. He's elevated by his wizard orbs and his back is forced to arch over them. Zarok grumbles and uses his withered arm to roll himself onto his back. With the pressure taken off of his ribs, he can breathe again.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow those fools won't even know what hit them.
As soon as the sun sets, he will rise and make sure that it never shines again.