A dry, rasping voice begins to muse “Can it be? So long ago, it is hard to remember, before. But how many spellcasting imps can there be in the world. I remember that bitch, and her skanky clothing and her whispering. Always whispering, trying to get them to be more selfish, more greedy, less caring. Then, they all vanished, never to return. Gone, when they were needed most. Gone, when troops needed a general.”
The small figure idly picks through the ashes that were once Titus Oberigo. While most of his possessions have been utterly consumed by the fire, her skeletal fingers grasp a heavy book bearing a pentagram on the cover that is completely unhurt by the fire. “Interesting. The White Walker will want to examine this.”
“Now, which way? Probably best to guard the vampires, they will be vulnerable until tomorrow’s night comes. And when they are renewed, they will be able to watch as Lord Asmodeus answers our questions”
Turning toward the pit, Bishop Fiosa raises both of her hands. Bolstered by the negative energies surrounding her; she incants the words that cause the dead to rise, as she has so many times before. But this time, this time was special.
The massive beast had died in the war, and it no longer mattered what side it had initially served. As she watched the bones form into the shape of a massive draconic creature, it was clear that it now served Asmodeus, as she herself did.
As she floated down atop the creature, it began to stride off into the distance after the vampires.
“And our first question will be: Has Viggo Blackbriar finally returned?”