The mist enveloped the dwarf, appearing to dissipate upon touching the cold skin and turning it gray. She worked her magic up and down the entire length of the red-haired dwarf's body. Once the ritual was complete, the dwarf opened his orange tinted eyes and stared at the proud sorceress. Black streaks, much like lightning bolts, shot from the sorceress' black eyes into the dwarfs, turning the orange pupils of the recently deceased dwarf into gray and lifeless orbs. The dazed dwarf rose to his feet. She asked the dwarf what the last thing he remembered was. “Raising me shield to defend meself,” came his reply. “Do you remember where you were?” she continued with the questioning. “In thee desert, attackin' a band of merchants.” The questioning went on for a while as the dark sorceress learned of Fissur's ragtag group of bandits inability to defeat a three-wagon merchant caravan. Halfway through the questioning, when the conversation turned more personal and intrusive, the dwarf realized he could not move, he could not act against this sorceress.
