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[Arakad]

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Laid back upon the throne of bones within the depths of the Lost Lands, a Fallen City known only as the City of the Dead. The ancient warrior King held a hand to the chin of his mask and a palm upon the staff of his scythe while he observed the captured images from his connection to the fallen Matriarch.

True; he was often tempted to flee to her aid but he the tradtions engrained into him could not get over her treachery.

Raising his hand from the scythe laid acros his lap he waved the visions away, he lowered the metal laced mask from his face and rubed the engraved anjur markings branded into his skin.

It seemed to be decades since he had felth the power of Oblivion; then just weeks ago the urge to power called to him; beckoned him to return to the old ways.

These thoughts caused soft pulses of blue to cours through the anjur symbols, the marks of power a birth right and a curse - each eternal wore them proudly - until the half-breed that is.

The image of the Lich Lord flashed through the mans mind, the man claiming the power of the 'Skull' - Darrien.

"We'll have to meet ... the time has come." The rough, scratchy tone of his voice surprised even himself, lifting himself up by bracing against the staff of his scythe, moving from the mound, a silent thrill washed over him at the feel of crushed skulls and ribs beneath his feet.

Slowly he slid the mask back over his face, and with one swift motion of the same hand summoned forth a gate to the Umbran building he alone has claim to.