Greetings From Minshar! Wish You Were Here!

He crossed his arms and stared out a window below, staring at the hundreds, black with mud and decay, some corpses thrown about. Deadly, awful, terrible. Lovely.
He loved it.
His hair was white, frightening all opponents, blinding them with the pale darkness.
He stood there, looking from a palace of his own. They knew he was there, they wanted him to die painfully. They hoped he would die. But it was never to be. Never.
This was his most awesome spectacle, a palace built up from the ragged stones of Minshar, black and mettalic.
This was his palace, his spectacle. He created it himself, with his fingertips. Pointing to the ground, the stones came up from under him and were sanded and cubed, ready to be put into place. This was his place, in the center of the Minshar Plains. They were golden and green, flat with flowers and herbs growing out of them, the sun showing on them always, rain flooding and making the plains looking more beautiful. But now they were red with the life force of many.
Home, he thought. Home.