The wizard peered into the pot. Certainly he could prepare it now, it was ready. But there was something missing. The land was… not nearly evil enough. Too nice. He couldn’t do that. He had to prepare them for what came after, what was really going to happen.

“Need… more and more… tainted misery,” he murmured to himself, as the twisted sorrow poured forth from the ladle. It splashed softly, and was absorbed by the thin surface.

“Bleed… battle scars… chemical affinity,” he continued, cutting himself in the finger to add the true essence of blood, of permanent, binding ties.

“Hooked into this deceiver… need more and more,” whispered as he stirred the pot, mixing his favorite plagues, famines, and disasters into the cauldron. He looked positively ecstatic, despite the terrible cruelty of his actions.

“Into the endless fever… need more and more… " were his final words, as the sadness, hatred, and fear spilled over the side of the cauldron, engulfing him in an unstoppable wave of black despair.