The Lord of Misery

A figure stepped out of the mist clinging to the upper part of the mountainside, stubbornly resisting the sun's power.

"Apologies, brave adventurers. I should announce myself." The figure threw its arms wide, revealing bone clawed hands wrapped in parchment skin. "I am the Lord of Misery. His unholiness, Lord Marakel." It screeched before a withered arm swung about to point directly at the group. "And you are not only trespassing, but you have somewhat upset me by destroying my local forces. What the bloody hellfire are you doing on my mountain?!"

"Uh oh." Mumbled Skaran, quickly gathering his things.