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Again Tyranthraxus sat in one of the dimly lit corners of Hanse’s Hostel. This time, though, it was not without reason. He had visited the oft crowded tavern quite frequently since his first encounter with the strange man from Umbra. Tyran was very displeased with the results of this first meeting. In the end more information had been inadvertently given than received. “Never again”, the necromancer muttered under his breath.

Little had happened since that night, though. The man whom he sought wanted information on the Order of the Ebon Skull. Tyran thought it odd, considering that the Order had crumbled nearly 9 years past. Malas had just been discovered and he found it hard to believe that anyone from Umbra could have heard of it. He had thought that perhaps the Umbran had heard the tales of its destruction, but the questions that the man posed led on that he knew far more than could be learned from such fairy tales.

Tyran closed his eyes to try to piece together what the man had said. To see if there was anything hidden in his words. His attention was diverted, however, to a face he recognized from the past; the face of Galnor Bloodmoon. The two exchanged stares as Galnor entered the Hostel. The necromancer smiled to himself. “How quaint”, he said. “Won’t you join my, my old apprentice?”

Galnor sat across from Tyranthraxus and gave a respectful nod. Galnor had served him in the Order and in the Children of Morgaz. They spoke briefly of the times after the Order had disappeared. Although Galnor had once called Tyranthraxus master, he was now commended on his growing power and influence.

It wasn’t long before they began to speak of things of some relevancy to Tyran’s current troubles.

“Yeeeesss I know of them…” the shadow elf teased. Tyranthraxus leaned back in the chair he was sitting and crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you would care to tell me of them? Perhaps somewhere a little more private?” Galnor nodded. “Yesss…of course.”

“I know little of them, but I do know the name of one” he said, right as they sat down. They had moved into one of the private rooms of the Hostel. “Admoreth is his name. He rarely gives it out, usually using a fake one.” Tyranthraxus couldn’t help but smile. “And you’re sure that is his real name?” Galnor nodded. “Good, good. And what is it that they seek? What is their purpose?” The shadow elf instinctively looked to the door, then back to his former master. “They seek it.” Tyran nodded grimly. It was as he thought.

“You will keep me informed if you learn anything else?” Tyran asked. “Yesss… of course… but… a question?” Tyran nodded. “What happened to you? We thought you dead.” Tyranthraxus took a moment to ponder the question. “I foresaw my own death, and took the necessary steps to prevent it. The Church of Morgaz was an unfortunate casualty.”

“Indeed.”

Tyranthraxus nodded. “Walk in darkness.”

As the necromancer prepared for the journey home, he spoke aloud. "We shall find this Admoreth, and he shall not be happy man when we do."