Thunder rumbled ominously overhead as the sky hid its face behind dark, angry clouds. Lightning crackled in between rolls of thunder, illuminating the sky with its jagged streaks. A storm was brewing. The rainfall would be heavy. The damage to crops would be great. There would be no escape from the wrath of the heavens.
Down in the valley below, a village of humble farmers scrambled to put up measly barriers to protect itself. Sheep and cows were quickly herded into safer accommodations, and children were swept behind their mothers' skirts as they were brought inside. Fearful faces cast wary glances at the sky, as though sending up silent prayers to some deity to protect them from the storm.
High above the valley, on a craggy hill known to the villagers as Death's Head, a lone man sat astride a large black stallion. He paid no heed to the thunder crackling above his head, nor to the whipping wind that tossed his cloak and stung his cheeks. His own powers were far greater than those of a pathetic little storm. His lips twitched up in a small grin at the thought of the power he had already gained.
One hand went up to stroke the misshapen amulet hanging about his neck. The old stone bore the broken image of a tiger, and writing encircled the beast. The man's grin faltered as he felt the rough edge where the last two pieces should have been, adjoined with the first three. The amulet already provided him with great power, but he craved more. There was much more power to be gained, and he, Lokesh, had long ago made it his life's goal to piece together all five fragments of the amulet - and take the power for himself.
He moved his gaze from the pathetic village below and stared out beyond the valley, where a kingdom awaited him. An entire empire, which would soon bear his name, and where peasants and merchants alike would fall to the ground and make obeisance to him. Not Rajaram, the current king of Mujulaain, but him - Lokesh. He would rule with absolute power, and expand his rule to all of India. With his son by his side.
Lokesh frowned as he remembered his deceased wife, whom he'd killed when his child turned out to be a baby girl. He narrowed his eyes at the palace in the distance, where he knew without a doubt that Rajaram was likely sporting with his wife, Deschen. Lokesh grunted and stroked his beard. Now there was a woman with fire, with spirit, with... Passion. His own wife had none of those. She was merely an empty shell, obeying Lokesh without resistance, but Deschen... Lokesh grinned. He would enjoy breaking her.
The sorcerer sighed in resignation and turned his horse back down the path when large raindrops began to pelt his body. Kicking his horse in the flanks, he set off at a fast-paced gallop down the hill.
Obtaining power over the kingdom would have to wait, he supposed. Yet he would gain all the pieces of the amulet, and he would have Deschen for his own bride.
Whatever the cost.