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[Grignag]

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Scrapping his fingers across the caked and corroded sigils he had carved there all those months ago, Izrem withdrew his hand and looked over the strange filth specutively. Wasted. To be expected, however. Without him or the other necromancers there to maintain them, it was inevitable that they would fall into disuse.
Remanants of an aborted ploy at invading and subduing Sanctus, all that remained in the void island was a strange scent that only one who had spent too much time near an Entropic artifact of some sort would recognize. Exhaling slowly, Izrem tilted his head back, his eyes emerging as they rarely did from beneath his cowl as he scanned the remains of the failed assault. Operation Void Cloud, he had called it. An attempt to expand that Entropic Miasma that permeated the Stygian Grove and parts of Umbra into Sanctus in preparation for war. But it, like so many other things, never came to pass.

But that was just one of many thoughts that moved through Izrem's head. There was another, more interesting one. He no longer felt the bond of the Lich Lord upon his mind. Like Azalin, Admoreth Nazduin and Norture before him, the Lord Darrien Church appeared to have departed from the sight of the faithful. Izrem doubted he was dead, perhaps in remission. But his departure had lifted the veil from his mind as it often did when the central pillar of the Order departed. For the fourth time Izrem felt the sense of abandonment and for the fourth time in his life... he didn't care. The Lich Lords were powerful, yes. But Oblivion was more than the Lich Lord. Oblivion was more than the Ebon Skull. Oblivion was more than the Order.

But Izrem needed a place to start. Something to draw him forth again.

Turning his head west, Izrem began his walk across the void bridges that connected the islands, strolling into Sanctus proper. He had heard rumors of how silent things had fallen there, and was interested to take a look for himself. Stepping up to the gates of Blackgard, Izrem took a moment to observe a head on a pike that he had never really bothered to consider before. The sign hanging below the partially rotted skull spoke reason enough for the man's, evidently named Dayhawk as Izrem would soon learn, demise.
"The punishment for treason, hm?" Izrem asked to no one in particular.
It was then that a strange ghost decided to make itself known. The fact that a ghost was allowed to so freely haunt Sanctus spoke volumes to their inattentiveness to the place. After exchanging words with the vengeful apparition Izrem began to feel the tickle of inspiration he so often rode on his path to enlightenment. Drawing the ghost of Dayhawk back to Charnel Hill, Izrem began the speech he had given to dozens before. Reminders to others of the path the Order followed. A path of destruction and murder. A legacy that pre-dated that of most any other that had dared to stand on stage of history. And like those dozens of times, he was speaking to himself as much as he was to the listener. As the conversation continued, Izrem promised the hapless spirit two things. A murderous purpose...and a second chance.

As Izrem dismissed the ghost to its hauntings, he turned his mind to the preparations of the necessary rituals for its rebirth. Thoughts turned to Bryelle, the last one he had transformed into one of the Eternally Unliving. Perhaps he would make use of her to see to the proper induction of this new hopeful. As old rituals began to swim back into his mind, Izrem once again let his mind wander into the dark and forever-broken places of his soul. There, deep within, he felt the eternal taint of Oblivion that desired to consume him. The eternal taint that desired to consume everything. And as assuredly as it promised his ultimate destruction tt promised the ultimate destruction of Sosoria and beyond. For all was caught in the consuming whirlpool of Entropy.

And, as always, the wheel turned. It did not matter what form the Order took, if it was the Order it all. Oblivion was waiting. And it's faithful? They were ready.
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