A daemonic Disk of Tzeentch - given as gifts only to those favored by the God of Change himself - slowly descends, making no sound. Upon it is what appears to be an elf.  Tall.  Thin like most elves, but his dark robes lack the blood splatters and his eyes the frenzied look common to so many others of his kind seen this far North.  His skin is completely white.  Silver hair hangs straight to his shoulders and around his neck hangs a single finger on a golden necklace.  A sword is belted at his side and a wizard's staff juts out over his left shoulder.  His gaze - piercing and calm with one eye of black the other entirely white - scans the surroundings.

With a nod of recognition, he steps from the Disk to the ground and puts his left hand - which appears to be missing 2 fingers - a little off to the side, open and waiting for the wizard's staff that floats gently into his grasp.  Small crackles of red electricity run the length of the staff which is carved with symbols of Dark Magic.  A slight rumble passes through the ground as the staff touches down and the energies are grounded.

"My lord wishes your task to succeed, so I am here.  I am Amartheg the Arcane."