From one side of the throne stepped forward a corpselike male figure; clad a demonic armor, his lips dried back onto his skull of a face in death mask that made Sigwulf shiver. What little he did know of the darker powers told him in an instant that this was some kind of lich. Skulls adorned the armor on one shoulder, and with him came the stink of death and decay. From a dais covered in glowing embers beside the Draelunen's throne, the lich warrior retrieved a branding iron and stepped close to Sigwulf.
"Pledge yourself to me, now," Draelunen cooed, "or die."
Sigwulf grimaced as he said the words. "I... pledge myself... my fealty... to you, Draelunen, in service of the Ihll-Dhinnadow that I may know it's secrets!"
As he spoke, the tentacle armed creatures who held him pulled open his shirt. The lich thrust the hot brand into the flesh of his chest. Sigwulf cried out, but then felt an icy cold come over him, then all went black.