The Soul Drinker knew that he needed to prepare carefully for his attack on Morgan’s daughter. He would need cold-based weapons and bespoke poisons and magical camouflage and a lot of luck. At least the first three he knew where to get.
He might also need the ability to fly, but he had a solution for that which he knew would work quite elegantly. In fact, it was central to his plan.
He travelled the planes until he came to a place that knows only ice and magic and which fuses the two together beautifully. He spent some of the resources Benedict gave him to acquire weapons here.
Next he travelled to the hell planes of fire to find armour. It was expensive but if his initial assassination attempt failed he would need to survive long enough to get away to try again. He spent some of the resources Benedict gave him to acquire armour here.
Next he travelled to the home of the Soul Drinkers and told his brothers his plan. They bemoaned his disclosure and threatened to excommunicate him from their order for agreeing to such a foolish undertaking. “Morgan always wins,” they told him, frustrated and frightened that he would imperil them so.
“Only because Alandra de Winter always sees it coming,” he told them. “But not this time,” he purred in a conspiratorial voice. “I have a plan…” And then he showed them what else Benedict gave him. His brothers at first recoiled, horrified, but then they too came around to the gamble he intended to take.
“You must not do this alone,” they finally decided. “If you fail, Morgan will punish us all. Take these brothers with you, and this,” they offered, and he smiled knowing that now he could not fail. “Let us know when the deed is done. It has been too long since Brother Morgan has gone unpunished for leaving us.”