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[Darrien Church]

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The time had come…with the loss of the sacred relic the Mirror of Morgaz to Tyranthraxus Darrien would take the Skull by force, become Lord of the Order…yes it was the only way…but no something had gone horribly wrong, spinning now in the abyss beyond the Sosarian realm the remnants of Darrien’s essence swirled and twisted bent in pain, his mind shattered and warped, but he thought…and he pondered amid his madness.

No…he sat there on the Lich’s throne…no My throne! Bailos sat on my throne! My order…they belong to me!

Images of the battle flash through his mind, Bailos falling to a powerful blast sent forth from Darrien’s spell book, a spell Darrien wrote himself to weaken the wraith. Bailos being thrown about and Darrien sitting upon the throne laughing manically…that girl summer. Charging him, how he enjoyed throwing her into the Brazier’s hot coals.

‘Bow before me and I shall spare you Bailos!”

Slowly he crawled before Darrien and bowed…but no wait…something was wrong. With a thrust of energy he shot Darrien from the throne…they grappled and they fought, the lesser members of the Order simply watched unsure of which side to take.

Then it happened…

Darrien felt it wrapping around his very essence…tendrils of energy tearing him from the realm, he screamed…not because of pain or anguish, he screamed out hatred.

Then in moments he was gone…his bones fell to the ground with a thud, his energy trail vanished from the face of Sosaria….his pale skin, his perfectly short black hair and his green eyes a memory save for the portrait which hung in his old classroom at the Moonglow Lyceum.

Hissing madly his rage creating a momentary surge of purple light in the vast infinity of the void surrounding him he began to scream out…no he could not fade into obsurctiy like this…impossible, a second flash of energy envelopes him as a horrible wave of mental pain overcomes his essence.

Meanwhile in Sosaria:

Ilshinar…peaceful and tranquil compared to the other facets, untouched by human hands for the most part, a young mage walks through what they now call the “wisp dungeon”…he has been felling ill, he has been having horrid dreams here…he begins to sweat and collapses near a large marble table his eyelids closing heavily over his bright blue eyes.

Moments later a much older mage…perhaps his teacher in shock runs over and after a fewmoments the boy seems to come to…

‘Are you alright?” The older mage asks. ‘Those nightmares again? No worries…he is gone, Moonglow has not seen him in months, you’ll be alright..”

The boy slowly opens his eyes…bright green, almost haunting, parting his lips into a small smile he speaks:

“ Indeed…”