The demon Imelstar left his physical body on the steps of Tyfereton palace. He felt much more comfortable without a physical shell. This way, he did not have to feel the sand, which was otherwise impossible to escape from in this city. The sand moved with the wind, finding its way under his shell and scratching at the tentacles. Tomorrow, his forces will head North. It is humid there, there is fog and cold, all that which he was accustomed to in the lower planes, and which was sorely lacking in the ‘cursed’ baronies.
Even if one could forget about the unpleasant aspects of a physical existence, Imelstar was not in the best of positions. The enormous magical rift, which was left on the body of this world since the times of an ancient war allowed demons to move unrestricted into Signum. But the further the demons were from it, the weaker their powers became. The rift could be fed, opened further, but this would take decades, if not hundreds of local years. Those who created the rift took the secret of the ritual with them so deep into their graves, that even necromancers would not be able to find it.
Vampires, believing themselves to be the masters of these lands, were leading armies of undead North and West, desiring to expand their territories. But Imelstar and his servants took part in this war for other reasons. He took little interest in the pointless bickering of mortals for their land and power. Any grains of knowledge about the ancient ritual were, on the other hand, priceless. To recreate the ritual, to create a new rift, to empower himself and further increase influence over this world. That was the goal. But better it transpires somewhere North, where there is no accursed sand.
The demon caught himself thinking that the feelings which fill this world worried him more than the plans of the masters. This world was full of them. The heat of battle, the screams of the dying, the ringing of swords, the heavy scent of rotting flesh… With an act of will, the demon brought his immaterial body back into his physical one. The despicable scratching of sand under his shell filled him with hatred. Enough thinking about feelings which he can simply go and get! A magnificent war awaits!