Outside the MagCave

Standing atop a small rocky outcropping, the brooding form of the resident elven necromancer watches the distant chaos resulting from the encroachment of Armageddon. He watches the grandiose figure of the high priest of the Great Old Ones march toward the mountains, his crimson gaze hateful and discontented.

The necromancer had always anticipated that the End of Days would be caused by the machinations of some eldritch beastie whose mere appearance hailed from a place far beyond mortal comprehension. He had studied them, observed them, even spoke with a few of them (he had even hoped that he would get a chance to stand at the forefront of the apocalyptic force, but that's neither here nor there). And yet he still wasn't ready to see it all unfold out before him. Something about this felt incredibly wrong. Now, any rational person would probably say that there's something incredibly wrong about all of reality being devoured by a big monster from beyond the stars, but even to the corrupt and depraved sorcerer known as Saurous it felt wrong in the sense that it shouldn't be happening. It was a mistake. Something had gone wonky with the order of things.

Even his reaction felt foreign to him. He should be out there, reveling in the destruction and mayhem brought about by these monstrosities. Possibly even trying to cut a deal with one of them to see if he could get a slice of power, or at the very least gain the right to not be eaten on sight.
On this day, however, he felt he had something more important to be doing than indulging in his own malevolence.

The elf drops down from his little perch and heads back into the MagCave.