Nax came and found me, as I requested. I made him tea, yet he drank alcohol. He is uncomfortable here, around the more mindless minions. Most do not have minds nor personalities, and are simply things, yet occasionally one will come over to lean down and try to read over my shoulder. I think I have heard Sigmah refer to that one as Jeff.

Nax does not like to be reminded of what he once was, and here surrounded by the mostly mindless or weak willed undead he remembers. I was not Scourge, so he is correct in that I do not understand. I want to, though. He asks why I submit myself to our once Arbiter of War the way I do. I cannot say. There is a compulsion to serve, and the lich has proven itself to be intelligent, logical and cool headed when performing its duties. Maybe I am not as strong willed as I would like?

Since being brought back, I have felt the need to be a part of something greater. The crusade to justify our right to a place in this world has a very strong appeal to me. I want to help, so I naturally gravitate towards my own kind, the dead, to help them.

While we sat, and before I could suggest poking at the elf captive with a stick for entertainment, both Sigmah and the Warmaster arrived. My fun, again, had been spoiled. Instead we found ourselves witnesses to a psychological profiling, in the form of questioning our prisoner.

It was pleasing to watch our Warmaster work. He is not a cruel beast, but he stabs well with words when he wishes to make an impression. It worked, although I had to remind Nax constantly to remain quiet and to learn. There is much he does not understand still. The art of war is fought in many places, and the battlefield of the mind is probably the most subtle, yet the most difficult to conquer.

I realize of late I have been paying too much attention upon the here and now, immersing myself in my duties and strategies. I revel in them, so I often forget that others need to see the vision and remind themselves that what they do serves to better this world.

When we returned home, he all but told me this. He missed me, what he had fallen in love with in the first place. Why he chose to follow me was because of my words, and my vision of freedom and the peace they created for him. He begged to hear them from me again. He needs guidance. He needs to hear why we do what we do from my lips.

This is what I learned tonight from watching. We need to be visionaries, and show the others the correct path. We need to speak out and influence the followers that our goals have merit. If we are successful, then we will win the battlefield of the mind.

I started simple, reiterating my desire to walk hand in hand with him into the city of our enemy, and be honored. I showed him the future of the living respecting the dead as the keepers of everything important, knowledge and power and faith. We would be leaders of men, advisors to kings, guardians to riches, the most enlightened keepers of ancient wisdom.

I drove the point home by telling him my plans to rebuild Ambermill, to make Calithos proud to have both a population of living and unliving residents again. Our grain and boars would feed both orcs and trolls and man and our magic would be used to ease the burdens of all.

The words worked their magick quickly enough, and he was again wholly devoted to the cause. To my cause. To me.

It is time for me to return to speaking out, and using my true weapon.