--Chronicled by Arris Sethrampranick
Scholar and Historian of the Moon Mage Guild
Journeyman Researcher for the Celestial Compact

It is already well known that the execution of Tezirah allowed her spirit to escape to the Plane of
probability and Dreams.  The night of her death was the first appearance of the bat winged skull in the dreams of Moon Magi and mystics everywhere. Since then every time a mystic gazes into the realms of probability we risk an attack from her disembodied form as she struggles to return to our world, to live again.

Currently it is being argued that Tezirah wasn't so much evil as over popular. From the histories we find that Denim I often targeted those whose popularity grew too large or who seemed to pose a threat, real or imagined, to the Imperial throne.  However, no other such occurrence of disposal of political enemies was quite as famous, or infamous as it were, as the execution of Tezirah.

In the years following her death and the Progeny's signing of the Lunar Accord the cult has fought against public opinion and dissension in its own ranks.  Finally, the "evil" faction of the cult was, to the best of our knowledge, destroyed.

To date the members of the cult that once struck fear in the hearts of many remain one of the greatest branches of influence in the Moon Mage guild with their excellence in research and innovative spells that deal with moonlight manipulation.  They have also produced the bodyguards of the High Council, the enigmatic Y'shai.  The predictions that they draw, often using their mirrors to mimic the one used by Tezirah herself, are among the most powerful and far reaching of any diviner.  The tales of their necromantic researches still remains a tale. Given the proclivity of some of the members, however, it is not entirely surprising.  To date, though, it does not seem to have caused any problems with other members of the guild.

But to end this digression into one of the most historically rich sects of our guild, it would appear that there were side affects of Tezirah's death and the escape of her soul to the Plane of Probability that we at first did not know about.  From data that I have recently collected while searching the ruins
of the Imperial City and upon my being granted access to the sealed archives of the Moon Mage High Council I have learned of things that were of tremendous impact upon the Seven-Pointed Star Empire and upon the history of our guild itself.  What disturbs me is that much of this information seems to have been suppressed over the centuries.  I am not sure why, but I am gleaning clues to parts of the guild's history that I would never have imagined before.

From the histories I have found that within a few months after Tezirah's execution the first disturbance appeared in the Imperial City.  We know this disturbance in this day and age as Death Spirits, but they were a new aberration to the empire at the time.

After the spirit ruthlessly slaughtered over a score of the city's citizens a deputation of clerics and paladins were dispatched to destroy the shade.  Of the six that went into the confrontation, only three returned.  The survivors were said to have gone made shortly thereafter, their psyches scarred by the
confrontation.

With the spirit destroyed the authorities and the crown did their best to smooth over the affair and declare it a freak occurrence.  At least everyone prayed it was such.

Alas, it was merely a herald of things to come.  A week after the battle that claimed a cleric and two paladins, and driving the survivors insane, reports from the surrounding countryside and towns began trickling into the Imperial City.  There were frantic tales of more grey, ravenous spirits as well as  ghouls and skeletons stalking the trade routes.  These ill tiding continued for the next several years.

Most disturbing were the tales of creatures that looked like other humans, elves, eloths, halfings, gor'togs and s'kra mur, but were not truly of the mortal stock any longer.  At first, reports of these creatures were sparse, but as time dragged on they became more and more frequent.

There were three kinds of these abhorrations that resembled our mortal fellows.  The first were people who wandered the byways and highways of the land in bedraggled clothing, sunken skin and eyes.  These creatures attacked all living things that they saw; be they pack animal, cattle, inkhorne or mortal being. Most frightenting was that they drank the blood of the creatures they killed.

Thankfully, these creatures were quickly dispatch with use of clubs, pitchforks, the occasional rusty sword or crossbow.  Heeding the tales told them when they were children, they beheaded the monstrosities and burnt the carcasses of both the walking dead and those that they had killed, scattering the ashes to the winds.

But there were more.

The second group of creatures that resembled mortals also acted like mortals and were often described as being very charming people.  Some of these creatures were even accepted into communities and a few married.  But once they had the trust of their prey they struck and brought down tragedy, leaving
newlyweds dead in the bridal bed, slaughtering families down to the last man, woman and child.

These were harder to kill and soon the clerical population of the empire was spread thin as blessed stakes of wood were required to defeat these creatures who, when confronted, showed inhuman strength, speed and stamina.

Soon roving bands of hunters scoured the countryside searching for these creatures.  I am sad to say that no doubt many innocents were killed in this extermination due to overzealousness and stark paranoia.  But were we to be confronted by such a thing today, would we do any better? I fear not.

And finally, there was the most horrible beast in mortal skin to walk among the living.  These were creatures of the undead who were well versed in the skills of magics, clericism, barding, fighting and stealth.  I have read the accounts that were recorded at the time and I shudder to think of them now.
But to fulfill my duty as a historian I must pass on this knowledge to you, despite whatever travesties there are to be found herein.

Of the undead mystics there were those who moved from village to village, giving predictions and prophecy.  Most often such foresights proved to be false.  One instance tells of Hetris of the Black Eyes who preyed upon the love sickness of a young man.  She told him that if he waited in a flowered glade near the town then the object of his desire would meet him there by happenstance and that love would blossom between them like the opening petals of the tenderest of roses.  The lad was found at
the end of the day amongst the white roses, his blood staining many of them crimson.

Clerics traveled the roads and visited the chapels, shrines andtemples that they came across.  Most of these clerics worshipped only the dark aspects of the Immortals or Urrem'tier exclusively.  One mad praeter of damnation declared that he had found Fostramor and that he would lead the way to paradise.  An entire village was found slaughtered in a marsh fen, beatific smiles on all of their faces.

Bards journey the roads as part of their wanderlust and to collect stories of heroism and deeds.  But there were those among the monstrosities who played beguiling enchantes that brought ruin upon towns.  Families fell to bickering in the wake of the music that they heard.  Babes died in the womb even as milk curdled in the udder.  Wild festivities of drink and dance and carnality also followed in their wake, often with a number of deaths as the result.

Amongst the creatures that called themselves paladins were those who championed the causes of Trothfang and whose armor was charred as black as their hearts.  They used very little guile in their methods except to challenge the champion of any particular village or town and to kill them without mercy and often with much suffering.

Thieves are thieves and have always posed a problem to the fair realms throughout history.  This period of troubles was no exception as suddenly no home or fortress or even bank was found to be safe and many a person died in their sleep as these thieves were not so pleased to merely take away the silverware and last few coppers of the home, but to steal the lives of the inhabitants as well.

There were no accounts that I could find of either barbarians or traders, though the professions did exist at the time.  The barbarians were not as well thought of then as they are today, but they most definitely did exist.  However, if they attacked the individual clans instead of hamlets, then it is possible
that the clans dealt with the matter in their own way. Barbarian shamans are nothing to be sneered at and the Moon Mage guild itself traces some of its lines back to shamanistic culture, as does the Warrior Mage guild.

And thus, speaking of the Warrior Mages, we come to the cruelest and most horrifying of all these creatures.  Those who carried sword at hip, shield upon arm and armor upon their bodies.  From their sigils sprang forth the most potent of elemental magics.  Fields were incinerated as well as farm
communities.  Tidal waves swept over coastal towns even as the earth shook and drew the helpless down to oblivion.

The most infamous of these undead war mages went by the moniker of Frostweaver.  He left homes and small villages encased in a glaze of ice.  Those who were once among the living were found
in these frozen prisons much the same way as the giant beisswurm in the Lairocott mine is today.  All of his victims were pale as ghosts and were found to have been drained of their blood.  The most horrifying testament, though, is that all of his victims were caught in their every day activities.  A farmer reaping wheat, a wife darning socks, children playing with pets or climbing the tree found in the town center.  All were caught in grim visage of icy cold death.

The state of the empire was quickly disintegrating about Empress Souska II, who had succeeded Denim I to the throne.  Her resources were stretched to the breaking point as she dispatched all but her Imperial Guard to try and quell the rise of the undead in the lands.  The populous, unsurprisingly,
were frantic with fear and many were crowding into the larger cities of the empire.  The Imperial City itself was besieged by peasants from all parts of the empire seeking shelter, safety and hunting the abominations, too often hanging or burning a living soul to feed the fear that they felt.

In desperation Souska called upon the most devout of clerics, the most learned of mystics, scholars and magi and the most courageous of paladins.  None could provide an answer for her.  Some even demanded that the scattered remains of Tezirah's cult be rounded up and all burned at the stake.  Souska dismissed this desire as she knew the true reasoning behind Denim's actions and had no desire to follow in them.  Burning a hundred cultists at the stake would mollify many of the people, but
would not solve the problem.  For the time being she sent out word to the farthest reaches of the empire for any with the knowledge and wherewithal to combat this multitude of menaces to come to her and save the empire and accept her rewards.

It was upon the evening close of another session of the court, during which time a hundred different ideas for eliminating the menace was put forth and rejected by the empress, that a bard was presented to the imperial majesty.  He spoke of an enchante that he had created that would return the undead to
the grave once and for all and began to the play it for the court.

His delicate music and voice, though, was filled with the most awful of deceits.  As his enchante wove about the assemblage the members of the court became hypnotized and lost awareness of the world about them.  As his voice, with the soft melodiousness of a parent's lullaby, brought even the Imperial
Guard into nodding oblivion he began to make his move towards the empress, hoping to slay her and feast upon her life's blood.

As he bent to bestow his awful kiss upon Souska the doors of the Imperial Court were thrust open with the force of righteous wrath.  From the doorway spilled blinding light of the whitest purity.

"Who dares?!" shrieked the unliving bard.  In turning, he was transfixed by the light even as horror filled his face.  The source of the illumination moved into the court chamber and resolved itself to a crystal orb held in the hand of a man clad in robes of the richest velvet.  Upon the borders of his robe
were woven, in silver thread, each of the symbols of the Immortals and their aspects.  He held the orb in his left hand.  In his right was a staff of polished ash wood.

The stranger came to the bard and raised the orb to the bard's brow.  As he did so the shriek of the damned filled the hall and awakened the charmed spectators.  The orb flared its blinding whiteness again and when it subsided there was merely ash where once the undead minstrel had stood.

Souska's guard immediately closed ranks about the empress even as the stranger who had saved her placed the orb back into his robes.  He raised his head then and gave a grim smile to the empress.  It is said that his eyes were like that of no human, eloth, elf or halfling.  In their beguiling depth was held a
forbidden knowledge of sights that mortals were never meant to know.  His features were thin and angular, as of aristocratic breeding.  And his skin was as smooth and pale as alabaster.

"Wh--who are thee?" the empress stammered as she struggled to recompose herself.  The guards before her fidgeted in fear of having nearly failed in their most basic of duties in guarding the empress in her own throne room.  And the man before them  had already shown that he wielded power unlike any before seen.

"You called forth for help in ridding the lands of its current menace, did you not, Empress Souska?  I have come to answer the call."  The man's lips curled tightly at the corners of his mouth with his words as his gaze passed the shield of guards and bored directly into her.

"I did and it seems that finally we have before us one who can save us from our present circumstance.  Pray thee, will you not give me a name to call thee and to honor thee?"

"I am known as Desecrates, Your Imperial Majesty.  And I have traveled far in response to your summons.  I can rid your lands of the vampires that plague it as well as the other creatures that plague it; the shades, fiends, skeletons and ghouls."

"Your name is both strange and disquieting, Desecrates, but I care not of that.  Merely of a way to save the peoples of the empire and to put a stop to the rampages of the damned.  Tell me, do you know what it was that has brought this present plague upon us?"

"The death of Tezirah," Desecrates said simply.

"Aha!" cried one of the empress's advisors.  "I told thee that the best thing would have been to burn the last of her bedamned cult upon the stake!  They have summoned these monstrosities in revenge for their mistress's death."

Desecrates' head turned and his vision focused upon the imperial advisor.  The man halted his tirade and gasped as he looked into the depthless orbs of Desecrates' eyes.

"Tezirah caused this only inadvertently," Desecrates said in a meticulate voice.  "It was the basic desire of survival that strove her to her final extreme, casting her soul in boundless limbo.  That casting caused, in turn, a rupture in the fabric of dimensions that are beyond mortal ken.  Through this minuscule rupture the first of the shades and spectres slipped into this realm.  As time passed, the rupture was widened by the workings of the creatures on the other side until it burst
like a dam that cannot withstand the torrent of a tempest.  That is what you have before you here.  Not the work of Tezirah or her cult.  But the final outcome of Denim's political paranoia."

The advisor, whom the histories name as Jefrin Theriscroft, blinked twice in bewilderment and then frowned in anger.  "You dare to lay accusation for these current troubles upon the brow of a ruler who is not present to defend themselves?  And how do you know of these things, you who name yourself after desecration?  How are we to know that you are not, yourself, one of these same vile creatures that just now tried to slay our empress?"

In mute response Desecrates' brows furrowed and his eyes bore deep into Jefrin Theriscroft.  Jefrin shuddered once and then turned away, racing out of the throne room.  The histories tell us that three days after this encounter he entered a monastery and took vows of silence that lasted the rest of what was to be a very long lifetime.  It is speculated by some that Jefrin saw into Desecrates' depthless eyes and was filled with both a knowledge and a fear that he dared never to share with others.
Thus his vows of silence.  It is also recorded that he first showed signs of palsy, uncontrollable shaking, a week after taking his vows.

Souska cleared her throat and drew the attention of the court and Desecrates back to herself.  She swallowed visibly twice before she continued.  "What do you desire from us, Desecrates?  What may we do to assist in your labors?"

"I have need of thirteen mithril bells all crafted to my specifications.  The crafting to be done by the finest of dwarven smiths to be found in this land.  Thirteen clerics shall attend me and to the bells.  Each cleric shall be professed to one of the Immortals themselves, not to one of the aspects of the Immortals.  Even a cleric of Urrem'tier shall attend me.  I shall have their instructions prepared for
them by the fall of twilight.

"A pavilion shall be placed at the highest level of this city. There the bells shall be placed in a circle and the floor of the pavilion must be inscribed in the crushed dust of the mystical gems that I prescribe in the pattern that I prescribe. This inscribing will be done by the most learned of your mystics.

"A specialist of each college of the elemental arts will ring the pavilion and focus upon their art that I might draw power from it.  Also to be in attendance must be an orchestra of bards with both instruments and voice to provide the chants that I will need."

"And paladins?" asked the Captain of the Imperial Guard.

Desecrates looked at the captain in his resplendent armor plating.  "Your duty is the most important of all, Captain.  The paladins must remain out of whatever fray befalls the casting.  It will take all your discipline to remain away.  But I think that you shall have your hands full as it is."

Desecrates turned back to the Empress before the captain could utter a retort that would satisfy his honor.  "And I have but one need of you, Empress Souska."

"And what is that?" she asked, her composure regained, her stature as the ruler of the Seven-Pointed Star Empire filling the court.

"When this is done and my promise fulfilled to your satisfaction I will require you to pay my price, nothing more, nothing less."

"If you can do as you say, Desecrates, then any fortune in this realm will be yours for the asking," the empress replied.

Desecrates nodded to her and gave a curt bow.  "Then in five days hence upon the fall of the eve I shall lay the restless to rest."

With that he took his leave of the court.

Upon the next day the plans were set in motion per Desecrates' orders.  There was one mistake, however.  No one had deemed it necessary to inform the now burgeoning populous of the Imperial
City that they were about to be saved.

What the peasants did hear and know was that a great pavilion was being built at the highest point of the city.  The finest dwarven craftsmen and metallurgists were smelting every last piece of mithril that they could find for the creation of thirteen resplendent bells.  There was an orchestra of the finest bards in the lands were being gathered.  And all of this at no small cost to the imperial treasury.

To the peasants this was a sign of largess and foolishness. Was the empress planning a fete in times of darkest turmoil? Did she think the people to be such cattle that a single extravaganza would lay their fears and anger to rest?  Did the lords and nobles of the lands know nothing of the hardship that the people had gone through?  Whilst the innocent died at the attacks of the foul the upper class toasted the day with wine and merriment?

This civil unrest started on the first day after Desecrates' appearance as a quiet buzz amongst the populous.  On the third day the pitch had risen to something that resembled a hornet's nest.  On the fourth day the riots started to break out as the displaced peasantry began to surge towards the palace and grand estates of the city.  In their wake the rioters left broken homes and shattered shops.  People died from fighting and from trampling.  The city militia were called out and sent into the streets to combat the rioters and to hold them back from the site of the pavilion.

During the night of the fourth day the first fires broke out and began to eat away the lower residential section of the city.  Attempts to combat the blaze were hampered by the rioting of thousands of people who had grouped together into a mass of seething unrest.  Even as homes and businesses burned around them they pushed forward, trying to get to the pavilion in hope of tearing it apart.  This effectively blocked anyone from attending to the fires, which in turn caused the fires to spread on the light evening breeze.

By the time the dawn had risen upon the Imperial City the first lines of the rioters had been broken the entire reserve of elemental mages dispatched to fight the fires that now raged in the lower city and threatened to spread to the upper estates and the palace.  The rioters were by now tiring and retreated
to what had once been their lodgings.  Said lodgings were now gone, swept away in the blaze.  Also swept away were the very young, the infirm and the elderly.  As this knowledge fell upon the former rioters they began to shed bitter tears.  Alas, many of them also shed hateful tears as their gazes moved back towards the palace and the pavilion.

As evening was beginning to fall upon the city the riots started again, this time fueled by a deep resentment and hatred as those who had lost valuables and loved ones turned their blame and rage upon the empress and the pavilion.  The militia's attempts to hold back the rioters and safeguard both the palace and the pavilion were hampered by the direct order of the empress to go to whatever means necessary to forestall injuring, much less killing, any of the peasants who were rioting.  Many of the militia, those filled mostly with fear and anger over the events and in fear of their personal welfare
in the face of a mobbing sea of angry peoples, would later claim never to have heard the order and lashed back at the mob.  This, in turn flamed the rage of the rioters.

During the past five days, it should be noted, Desecrates was nowheres to be found.  Upon giving his orders and specifications he had disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.  Now the empress found herself in dire straits.  If Desecrates did not return and perform as he had promised then she would have to admit to following a charlatan.  This would not mollify the crowds outside the palace gates in the least.  Furthermore, it would mean that no solution had been found to the problem of the undead and vampires that had brought such disquietude to the empire.

Were the seat of government to fall in this way there would be nothing left of organization to hold back the tide of ever growing undead and the fear that they spread.  The total anarchy would rip asunder the races that had come together to forge the empire from out of the sea of strife that they had lived in.

By the fifth day, Souska had confined herself to her suite and was said to be in fervent prayer to all the gods of benevolence.

As the appointed hour arrived a contingent of the Imperial Guard ringed the pavilion and stood as the last line between the rampaging mobs and the ceremony that was to take place.  All the clerics, bards and elemancers that Desecrates had required were in attendance, though they stood their grounds
uneasily.

As the mob broke one of the militia line and began storming towards the pavilion and the paladin guard that offered last resistance, the captain's hand moved towards the peace knot woven around the hilt of his sword, his fingers nervously beginning to play with the loose ends of the cord.

"Tut, tut, Captain," came a low voice that rang clear in his ear.  "That would be defying the Empress's orders."

The captain turned to face the robed figure of the man who had set this all in motion from the crafting of bells to the calling of bards to the rampage of the mob.

"You!" the captain snarled.

"I did warn you that you would be busy, Captain," Desecrates replied mildly.  The robes hid Desecrates' visage from view except for the alabaster pale skin of his left hand, which held onto his ash staff.

"You're to blame for this!" the captain spat as he thrust a finger at the surging mob, which was gaining ground on the line of guards.

"I am not to blame for not having spoken with the masses, Captain.  In the excitement of the court no one thought to take a moment to inform the people that salvation was at hand.  They were left to draw their own conclusions.  Lack of information is a wondrous device for chaos, don't you think?"

As the captain attempted to bluster out a reply, Desecrates patted him on the shoulder and turned to face the pavilion. Making a circuit he checked upon the condition of the pavilion, the orchestra stand filled with its bards and the line of elemancers that ringed the pavilion.  Nodding in satisfaction he climbed to the top of the pavilion itself.  Here he took the moments to thoroughly inspect the bells crafted from purest mithril and the arcane mandalas traced in the crushed dust of precious gems.

Nodding to himself he moved to the center of the inscribed patterns and bowed his head.  Around him the air tingled as the light continued to fade from the day.  Above him the first quarter of Yavash moved ponderously across the sky.  Katamba, at three quarters, fell slowly towards the horizon as Xibar, in fullness, reached the roof of the heavens.

The shouting of the mob crescendoed as Desecrates lifted his head and smiled out upon them.  In the gleam of dying daylight, moonlight and the firelight of the burning city many were able to see his teeth revealed and the long, sharp incisors that lay upon his bottom lip.  A general wave of panic broke through the mob as they bolted in every direction at once.  Some ran back into the inferno that was once the lower city.  Others ran into the side streets and the lines of militia stationed there to bottleneck the mob.  Others pushed ever harder towards the pavilion in a fury to rip Desecrates from his perch and then sunder his body to every corner of the empire.

The paladin guards began to chant their prayers to call upon forces of the battle gods to halt the mobs in their tracks and call upon glowing banners of peaceful truce to quiet the people.  But only so many could be affected even by the power of the Immortals.

Desecrates motioned to the first of the clerics and the cleric struck the mithril bell with a flat headed hammer.  A peal of mithril music washed from the bell in a clear, vibrant note that swept over the pavilion and was not entirely lost upon the mob.

With the striking of the bell the orchestra of bards took up their craft and raised the twined music of instrument and voice to the occasion, letting the notes float upon the fractious air and lilt towards the heavens above.

Surrounding the pavilion the elemancers began to summon their elemental magics and channel it through their bodies.  As they did so it dissipated into the air and was caught upon the chant that was born of the striking of the bells by the clerics and upon the resonance of the voice of Desecrates as he began his work.

Time warped for those on the pavilion and around it.  The voices of the bards did not crack nor go dry as they continued their songs.  Their instruments played no chord out of tune nor did any bone or drum break.  No string snapped as the music was forced from them.  The clerics continued in their striking of the bells and the chants of their prayers even as the elemancers called up forces of the elements that they channeled through themselves.

All this time Desecrates continued his own chant, his voice never wavering as it rose and fell in pitch.  He held his staff in his left hand and in his right he held the crystal orb.  From the depths of the orb a radiance began to shine out over the pavilion.  It started like the flicker of a candle and grew in intensity until it was as bright as Yavash above.

No one could remember when the mob stopped its throes or when the paladins stopped their prayers and turned to look up at the pavilion and upon the man in the velvet robes with the symbols of the gods and their aspects etched upon its borders in silver thread.

Then Desecrates' voice crescendoed out over them and the orb in his right hand flared bright and began to levitate into the air of its own accord.  Then the flare changed to a rhythmic pulse, as of a beacon in the night.

And some feared then that the man who had come to save them was in actuality here to destroy them by calling the undead hordes to the Imperial City to lay to waste that which the living had not already destroyed.  And their fears seemed to bear fruit as first the skeletons marched into the streets and
towards the high pavilion.  They were followed in turn by the ghouls and then the spectres and their shadowy armor.  Next came the grey shades of the dead as their cries howled and moaned through the
streets.

The lines of the mob broke, but did not scatter.  Instead they made way for the visages of the damned as they walked the streets towards Desecrates and the pulsing strobe of the orb, even the paladins broke rank in unison to let them by.  And as each of the undead came upon the field of elemental power created by the elemancers their forms wavered and were lifted into the light.

Every skeleton, ghoul, spectre and shade rose in this way into the light and were sucked into the orb.  They were followed by the lesser vampires who gazed at all and nothing from their sunken orbs.  Then were the vampires that walked and talked and acted like the mortal, but who were not.  They strained
against the pull of the light, but their strength was wanting and they, too, were taken up and away into the brilliance.

And finally the greater vampires who wielded prayers, enchantes and magics were drawn into the city and towards the pavilion. They fought and screamed with a vigor that the living could never match.

Some even clawed at the cobbles of the streets in their desperation to break free of the beacon that called them to it.  But each was drawn in, one by one, even as Desecrates held the final, commanding tone of his chant in the air.

It seemed that all had been drawn in and away into the brilliance and slowly Desecrates let the final note of his chant drop away like the setting of the sun.  And with that note went the light of the orb which had flared brighter than Yavash or the sun.  The orb fell back towards the terra and into Desecrates' right hand and then it disappeared back into his robes.

At that moment there came from the direction of the city gates a blast of air so cold in its arctic chill ran the length of the city that hundreds were frozen in place instantly and died where they stood, lay or huddled.  Screams of panic fell from the mouths of those who had once rioted through the city as
they broke from their revelry and ran for shelter.  The arctic air swept and howled after them with the scream of a banshee enraged.

"Come," called Desecrates from his place on the pavilion. "Come, Frostweaver, and let this be done. Now is your only chance to free your brethren from my bindings.  For without them you will be hunted down and destroyed."

And then Frostweaver was there, riding upon the arctice air, in armor of coldest steel and a shield of frigid ice.  The long broadsword that he wielded looked more like an icicle than true metal and it cut the air with the cry of a thousand yeti.

The bardic orchestra broke from their stands at the same time the clerics jumped from the pavilion.  The elemancers, drained of all of their strength, slumped to the ground even as the paladin guard raced towards the battle.

Frostweaver's blade struck out quick as light but met only the ash staff that Desecrates carried with him.  The man in the robes parried blow after blow that Frostweaver rained down upon him.  He spared but a moment to fix the captain of the guard with his gaze and then turned back to the battle with Frostweaver.

The captain called back his paladins and massed them at the foot of the stairs.  When his subordinates looked to him in bewilderment at his refusal to join the fray he merely shook his head once, emphatically.

Frostweaver continued to hammer at Desecrates with his icicle blade and called upon the coldest of elements to assail the robed man.  A hail of frostscythes rained down from the sky and were either batted from the air by the tip of Desecrates' staff or were caught in a ripple of air that pushed them aside.

Patches of ice formed under Desecrates' feet but still he stood, with the limber agility of a cat.  Frostweaver roared and the coldest of arctic winds and sleet rushed from his throat and into the rippling shield that  surrounded Desecrates.  In response Desecrates called the glow of the moons into solid beams of burning light.  But this was refracted by the ethereal shield that Frostweaver wove about him.

Frostweaver called jagged storms of ice to fall upon Desecrates and met again the rippling shield.  Ice chunks rose back into the air and flew towards Frostweaver and broke against his armor, shield and magic.  Brilliant flares of light flashed from each was and was prismed in the ice of Frostweaver's
shield and sword and rippled over Desecrates magical barriers.

Desecrates bore into Frostweaver's mind with spells of the psyche and Frostweaver backed away, putting shield and sword between himself and Desecrates as he struggled in his own psyche to loose Desecrates' mental barbs.

Finally, Desecrates struck out with his staff and Frostweaver instinctively parried, blocked and dodged the blows, beads of freezing sweat springing out on his forehead.  Frostweaver's lip curled back and his crimson stained teeth glowed dully in the light of Yavash.

Desecrates' staff struck to Frostweaver's left and Frostweaver leaned to the right.  The staff struck to his right with the speed of a viper in a killing strike and Frostweaver leapt to the left and into Desecrates' defenses, shield between them and the icicle sword raised for a killing blow.

Desecrates' right hand struck with the silent speed of death and as the hand completed its arc the Captain of the Imperial Guard could see the four long blades of lunar light that stretched from each fingertip.

The icicle blade fell to the ground and shattered with the tinkling of glass.  Frostweaver's legs buckled and he fell to his knees.  His mouth dropped open and the wail of a thousand winter storms broke forth from him.

The captain of the Imperial Guard drew his cloak around himself as the cold bit through his armor and cloth padding.  The air that he gasped in froze his lungs and suddenly darkness claimed him into oblivion even as Frostweaver's head fell from his body and ice crystals spewed from his neck in place of blood.

When the captain awoke he was in the barracks again and was being tended by the empaths who strained to keep him and hundreds of others alive.  Frostweaver's final cry had killed many with its chill and many had already lost limbs to frostbite.  The screams of the afflicted and the empaths rose and fell in a harmony of pain and suffering.

The captain was no longer in his armor and for that he was glad.  Pulling the blankets about him he stumbled from his bed, passing a sea of faces and the tears cried by the suffering.  He staggered with pain in every joint and limb towards the court and the Imperial Throne.  He was not at his station and he had to be there to safeguard his charge, the empress.

His guards snapped to attention as he came to the court doors, though they eyed with a mixture of uncertainty and respect. Very few would have forsaken their convalescence to see to their duty.  Few would have had the strength to drag themselves this far to see to the safety of their charge.

The doors fell in from his hand and he beheld the throne room with Empress Souska seated and Desecrates before her.  All was silent in the room, even the most gossip mongering of courtiers held their tongues as they beheld the man who had driven the undead into his orb of light and defeated the
warrior mage vampire who had wielded ice as his deadliest of weapons.

"My price, Empress, must now be met," said Desecrates in hislow, smooth voice.

"I remember my promises, Master Desecrates.  Of that have no fear.  You have saved the empire and her people.  What you desire shall be yours."  She smiled upon the man that was being hailed now as savior and protector of the empire.  The faces around them looked on in approval.

Desecrates wet his lips and nodded slowly.  The captain noticed that the ash staff was nowheres to be seen, nor the deadly hands that could wield blades of lunorlight.  Desecrates held his hands in the folds of sleeves before him even as the hood of his robes hid his features and the sharp fangs of his mouth.

"Then I ask thee of one thing, Empress.  What I have done this day will not last for eternity.  The bindings that I have built and the walls I have raised will fail in time.  Such a time may be during my existence and it may not.  But to ensure that there will be someone there to hold back the tide of damnation I require an apprentice to train in my arts.  The apprenticeship will be long, lasting centuries as mortals count time.  And she will not be seen by her peoples again.

"I call upon you, Empress Souska the First, to give unto me your only daughter to me to be my apprentice--"

"No!" the empress cried before Desecrates had finished speaking.

Desecrates continued.  "Only she in this generation has the gifts of sight and magic and open mind to receive my training--"

"No!"

"To thwart the curses of tomorrow."

"And thrice I say unto thee, no!"  The color of the empress's cheeks was vivid in its scarlet.  She glared down into the depthlessness of Desecrates' eyes and she did not flinch.

"You may have anything else, but never my only daughter.  My life you may have first."  She punctuated this statement by striking the arm of the chair.

"I ask one last time, Empress.  For no fortune matters unto me. Not even the fortune of your life.  Merely the necessity to fulfill the prophecies and to ensure--"

"Ask not again or I will have your tongue stricken from your mouth!" the empress raged.

"--tomorrow..."

For a time the two glared at each other.  Both were born of strong will and duty.  The Empress had her duty to the empire and her only child.  Desecrates had his duty to hold back the tides of darkness that even now were hammering against his enchantments.

Desecrates nodded then as he accepted Souska's decision.  He drew breath and a cry ripped from his throat.  His hands shot outwards from his arms and in doing so he slashed his own flesh with the blades of lunar light that he had called.  Dark, thick blood that belonged to no living being sprayed across the
empress and those closest to her as Desecrates threw back his head and hood and his auburn hair flowed free.  From his roaring mouth the wicked teeth shone bright.

    "This I prophecise
    With the pricking of my fingers
    A time will come
    When the moons eclipse the sun
    And the darksome angel will spread its wings
    The time will be ripe for bitter things
    And the Madness will descend
    The slumberer will rouse
    No music will still its restlessness
    The damned shall be free to walk the realms
    And the Guardians will fade to naught
     No living thing will yet walk the lands
    When the angel, darkness be
    Falls to terra again!"

And with that the orb flew into the air and began to pulse its brilliance.  Upon the face of the guard captain the silhouette of Desecrates jumped and fluttered like an angel with its wings spread.

And then the light was gone as were both the orb and Desecrates.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note:  We have never heard this tale before in the histories of the Realms.  I have a hypothesis as to why.  The times described above were some of the darkest and most troubling that the Empire of the Seven-Pointed Star had faced prior to its collapse.  I put forth two conjectures.  Firstly,
that Souska may have declared that all trace of the history be destroyed.

She was considered to have become bitter during the rest of her reign.  The histories point to some unknown happening within the Imperial City, but never describe it fully.  Secondly, there were many different schools of scholarship, magic and devotion during this time.  Yet none record any of the
happenings described herein.  It may be possible that Desecrates' orb took not only the undead and Desecrates away in its glaring light, but slowly sapped the memories of the people of the time as well.  The notes that this tale has been taken from were written during and just days after the events
happened.

As we know, the undead have come once more into the lands. Death Spirits plague the Forest of Night and the grounds of Dunshade Mansion.  Fiends also plague Dunshade Mansion and have been seen from time to time as far south as Shard.  Skeletons have invaded the crematorium of Dirge and Ghouls
sit not far outside of the fair Crossing.  Then there are the fae who grow ever more plentiful day by day.

Have the magics that Desecrates wove weakened in the millennium since he cast his great binding?  It has been over 700 years since the empire fell but only in recent generations have the darksome creatures come to plague us once more.  Has Desecrates, who was himself doubtlessly one of the greater vampires, been destroyed?  Has he faded away like an elf who has reached the end of hisyears?  Has he lost his magics?

I cannot make answers to any of these questions and the multitude of questions that have also arisen in my mind.  This was the first time that Desecrates was referred to by name in the histories.  But it is not the last.  I am currently compiling the information needed to trace the roots and history of the man who called himself Desecrates Duvalier.  More often than not I am teased by some obscure piece of
information that, upon inspection, has no pertinence to my inquiries.

Most disturbing of all is that members of this guild, the guild that prides itself upon its scholarship, are working to hamper my researches.  Even a member of the High Council has thought to give me a post of honor.  But it is a post that would not allow me to continue my work on this subject. Had it not been for my mentor, who has taught me and raised me since I was a child, I would have been diverted from this important work by now.

But no more.  I must return to my work and forward this manuscript to be published into the Asemath Academy.

I wish you good fortune, bright moons and eternal inquisitiveness.

--Arris Sethrampranik