A dwarven worker walks out of the Imperial Palace, wiping sweat from his brow.

The worker turns to another dwarf and says 'Glad that's over. An interesting job. Many secrets to that Palace, which the populace will likely be interested in.'

A dark cloud gathers over the dwarven workers. The dwarves look up in fear and awe.

Lightning and fire pour from the cloud towards the scattering workers.

As quickly as the storm of death began, it abruptly ends. Hundreds of charred corpses lay strewn about the Imperial lands.

The Ebony Warlock appears at the Gates of the Palace, and gazes upon it.

'Fine work,' says Zulghinlour, 'A pity they will not be able to enjoy it... or reveal its secrets.'

A giant minotaur appears at Zulghinlours side, followed by a hobbling, ancient dark-elf.

'Let us see what the workers have wrought' says the dark-elf, as he heads into the Palace.

Nodding eagerly, the minotaur follows, an figure unseen lurking behind him.

The Ebony Warlock nods in satisfaction. 'The oaths have done well. Perhaps it is time to call some of them citizen.'