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[Darrien Church]

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Darrien stoically processed almost ritually to the ancient Mirror of Morgaz hanging ominously in his inner sanctum above a large and ornate altar.

Placing his hands on the altar the energy composing his eye sockets began to glow a deep purple.

Most, when gazing into the ancient mirror which predated Azalin himself, saw what they truly desired, others the future.

But the Lich Lord knew better…

What he gazed into was a portal, the very same portal that summoned the Lich Lord Nizar from beyond the shroud in the early stages of the Second Order.

The chamber filled with a heavy darkness as the mirror seemed to begin to suck all light and color from the room. Then a cacophony of voices…hundreds and thousands of voices speaking all at once in a countless number of tongues broke from the mirror’s surface which had morphed into a swirling vortex of energy.

Then the voice began to merge into one powerful yet light hiss of a voice. Long tendrils of entropic energy extended forth and coiled gently around Darrien who stood with a bowed head in both reverence and fear.

Then it spoke…

“I am the thorn in the foot, I am the blur in the sight.
I am the worm at the root, I am the thief in the night.
I am the rat in the wall, the leper leering at the gate.
I am the ghost in the hall, herald of horror and hate.
I am the rust on the corn, I am the smut on the wheat,
Working man's labor to scorn, weaving a web for his feet.
I am canker and mildew and blight, danger and death and decay.
The rot of the rain by night, the blast of the sun by day.
I warp and wither with drought, I work in the swamp's foul yeast.
I bring the plague from the south, and leprosy from the east.
I am the shrill cold spirit that chills the darkness
I am the chaos that tears the stars apart.
You cannot escape me.
You cannot defeat me.
You can only embrace me.”

“Etheng!” Darrien sharply and excitedly barked.





A loud shriek filled the chamber and the voice from beyond the shroud spoke again:

Chosen son of Sosaria, bearer of the will of the Stygian Empire, vessel of Oblivion, Keeper of the Sacred Dogma, Prophet of Discord, Holder of the Mirror of Morgaz the dark avatar, anointed successor of Nizar, Azalin, Admoreth and Levas...we have been observing you.

You…like those who came before you have grown idle! You have grown useless! We hunger…we hunger greatly for your realm…long…too long have we been inexile…too long have we desired it…and you…like those we blessed before you…continue…continue to fail us.”

A million voices shrieking in laughter fill the chamber and The Lich Lord in a rare display of emotion seems to quake in his robes.

“Do you not wish to rule with your brethren beyond the shroud Lich Lord?

Do you not wish to join with Oblivion…to hold dominion over Stygia?

Answer us Lich Lord!”

“I do my master!” Darrien bellowed

The voice continued…

“Then most blessed one…if you desire to retain your power…your station in Sosaria and beyond the shroud you should begin to make provisions for us…as we have deemed the hour of our return…of the final consummation of that realm and this to have drawn close.

The final age of Sosaria…

The Convergence of Unmaking…

If you Lich Lord are not…open…to this mighty task…if you fail to provide for us as we have provided for you…you shall meet your end.

And the Daemon Lord…the loyal…the powerful Daemon Lord shall be given what is yours.”

A flash of anger overtook Darren…

“No!”

Then his skeletal body was filled with pain…blinding waves of pain.

‘The Convergence must be complete!”


Suddenly the chamber went black…the presence gone. Darrien stood and gazed deep into the mirror and saw a projection of his will or the future…he could not be certain, and he began to laugh.

He would not stop for another hour…

His resolve had returned…and his new plans would see their fruition.