The White robed warrior stood on his horse overlooking the plain of Jiron. His quest had brought him to this point. Briefly a glimpse of his last lifetime flashed before his eyes. He saw himself standing overlooking the same plain with a thousand soldiers marching across it towards Hilaron. He smiled. This time He wouldn't fail. Hilaron would burn. He sat down in his saddle, and rode off, following the thin winding road across the vast plain to the City of Hilaron, just over the Horizon.

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Inside the dark dungeon under The royal keep in the heart of Hilaron a purple robed sorcerer wound his hands in an intricate pattern through the air, summoning vibrant humming energies to his command. He pulled forth light currents of purple light, directing it into the ground. Soon, very, very soon, the City would be his. He smiled. This time, they would not mock him. This time, he would not be bound up and thrown off the east bridge into the river. this time, the City would be his. He would be King.

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The Indigo clad Hilrus V, king of Hilaron, made his way to bed. The City was safe. And he was exhausted from anther day of handling a thousand small crises, trials, and minor documents. He smiled as he went to bed. If only they knew, the people who praised him so highly, what he remembered of his last life. He had been a thief, stealing and killing for gold, and the food it bought. Until he had been taken in by a poor bell-ringer in the City temple. He had been fed and clothed, and eventually he grew to love the bell-ringer and the gods he praised. It had been on his death-bed that he had sworn, should he ever get the chance, that he would bring truly fair justice to this city, making it so that there would no longer be thieves. Little had he know he would be born again as the son of a King! He drifted off to sleep and dreams of the clang of bells.

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The Shadows flickered and danced along the high wall of the Church. They moved and played without sources, guided by the magic of the silver-clad magician standing off to the side. On the other side of the alley, children oohed and ahhhed at the unfolding drama of the shadow play. Just a little more and it would reach it's exciting finish. The magician smiled. out of the corner of his eye he caught the steeple of the City Temple, and a memory briefly flooded before his minds eye. He had been a poor bell-ringer, every day rigging out the bells every hour from dawn 'till dusk. He remembered looking down after ringing out the noon bells at the the people milling about in the square below. He remembered being fascinated with the magic of the priests. He had died a poor bell ringer. But this lifetime, he had gone into the priesthood, and had apprenticed in the the art of magic.
His attention returned to the drama he played out on the wall. One final flourish, and it was over in a flood of applause. He walked of into the night to his humble home after picking up his meager entertainers fee.

The Dawn rose over Hilaron. In the streets cords begin to grow around the market and the Place, which doubled as the King's law court. Travelers arrived in the mooring hours from nearby Jiron and Scion, here for the Festival of the winter solstice. Among the traveler's entering the city was a white garbed rider with purpose in his eyes. He looked at the ancient stone buildings, and the new wooden ones beside them. He rode through the streets, making his way to the palace of the king. There was much to be done before his plan could bear fruit.

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The purple robed sorcerer awoke groggily. He looked around his stark stone chamber in the soft early morning sun. He smiled. He glanced at the tattered banner on the wall. It had been recovered after a battle 100 years ago where a thousand strong Jiron army had been outwitted and outmaneuvered by less then a hundred Hilaronain soldiers led by King Jasius III The battle was legendary, the banner an expensive trophy on the surface. But to him it was a reminder of his shame. If he had just succeeded, if he had killed the genius king, and opened the gate, rather then be uncovered, the banner on his wall would be flying above the keep where he now slept. Just one more thing to do, and his plan would be complete. He got up and made his way to the City Temple to set the final spell.

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The children played gayly in the street, celebrating the solstice with sweet treats and happy songs. The Silver clad magician looked at them fondly. However he could not terry long, and hurried on to his magic lessons at the City Temple.

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The City Temple stood regal and majestic in the town square, across from the King's Royal Keep. It's tall spire reached up to scrap the sky, and it's stone walls were covered on stain glass windows depicting both gods and heroes. It's Bells tolled out the hours, and today, it was overcrowded with visitors paying token respect to the gods on this the winter solstice. On it's steps stood two figures, one dressed in Purple, the other in Silver. Both made their way inside. The purple clad figure made his way to the stairs, and down into the underground chambers that housed the relics and food stores. The Silver clad one made his way through the temple sanctuary back to the hidden classroom behind the alter of Asmos, the God of Magic.
The Purple clad figure reached the lowest level of the catacombs, and begin to weave his intricate pattern through the air, summoning vibrant violet energies to him, and working his magic.

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Right at that moment, just as the purple clad sorcerer was beginning to weave his spell, the Silver clad magician sat down in his seat, and begin to wait for his instructor priest. Curiously, as he sat and begin to concentrate in preparation for magic , a distant memory flashed before him. He was sitting in his bed in his last life, preparing to sleep, when a runner came into the temple, shouting breathlessly that a traitor had been caught, and was being taken to the river by the King's men. He had run out to see, and had been just in time to watch the man cursing and screaming a he sank beneath the surface, tied down by a heavy chain.
The sat up in his chair. He remembered thinking as we witnessed the sight that he would never go into the intrigue filled world of politics. He remembered clearly the Jeering and cursing of the crowd, and the stone-faced king Jasius III standing there besides his solders on the east bridge. The man who went into the water had tried to poison the king and had conspired to open the city gates to an Jiron army.

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The Purple-clad sorcerer finished his pell. The enrages had gone into the ground. Now the final one had been laid. In 3 days, on the Kings birthday, he would strike.
As he made his way out of the catacombs into the temple, he looked over the shrines and the priests attending them, and the many visitors. Heh, the naive fools. They had no Idea of what lay in store for them, though of course, he reasoned, perhaps he was the naive one. Always in the back of his mind, he reasoned that perhaps this was just like last time. Granted this time he knew the secrets of sorcerery, but last time he had thought his intimate knowledge of the king, the city and the court would protect him. He busily walked out of the Temple, but as he did, a silvery figure caught his gaze. He looked into the mans eyes, and something didn't quite fit. the man's eyes were so simple, so devoid of deceit, and yet he looked around with such a sharp gaze, seeing everything. Those eye's frightened him. Quickly he hurried on. Now to wait for his plan to come to fruition.

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The Sliver-clad magician gave the retreating back of the purple clad sorcerer a sound glance. Interesting how his eyes looked so guilty. Always shifting back and forth. Well, he probably had stolen an apple or something of that sort. Nothing to worry about. He thought as the Walked about. Strange, the temple's energy flow feels different. Perhaps it's all the visitors? Sudden;y something in the back of his mind clicked, and like a flash an ancient memory came flooding back. As a long gone city made of wood and mud-brick burned, a figure raced out of the gate, through the crowd of simple peasants. The man's eyes Had been just like the purple wearing man's and in the memory the figure had been holding a torch.
Quickly he turned and raced into the streets to find the man, but in the sea of faces he saw no purple. The man was gone. He turned back to the Temple. I wonder what exactly he did? The magician thought to himself as he sent out a pulse of energy through the temple. I can't sense any lingering spells….. perhaps I should tell the priests. His mind made up, he set about to do exactly that.

King Hilrus V climbed the steps of his intricately carved throne in his full Indigo regalia. He sat on it, overseeing his throne room, just now beginning to fill with people seeking his judgment in matters large and small. The morning sun peaked through the thorn room's high windows, casting rays of light on the western wall. Today he would be paying special attention to his duties, because some of his judgments would effect the subjects of foreign Kings, here for the Solstice Festival. It would be a long day.

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In the town square between the Royal Keep and the City Temple, A white-clad figure made his way towards the Keep. In his hands rested a petition for King Hilrus V concerning sheep incase he was questioned by the guards. He smiled as the Temple bell's called out the hour, nine o'clock in the morning. He remembered in a flash the sound of those same bells tolling out noon on a scorching hot summer day 100 years ago, His army had been drawn up. It was all arranged. The man in the Palace would assassinate the King early in the morning ,then open the gate and let his army into the city. The Hilaronan's had already sent their soldiers hunting bandits a day up-river. Once the Gates were open the city would finally fall. He remembered as clear as a ray of sun the shock of seeing King Jasius III march out of the gate, still very much alive and well, with a hundred men behind him. But still it was not enough, and the King would make a fine hostage to open the city gates with. Now he smiled at his impatience. He had ordered a charge right into the Kings trap. When his force neared the walls, peasant bowman had stood up on the walls and cut his force down unprepared. Then the King's men had decended on them, and the rest was history. His anguish as he died in that summer heat stood clear in his mind's eye.
But this time, he held the trump card.

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The Purple-clad sorcerer slowed down his pace as he reached the walls of the Royal Keep. He nodded back as the relaxed guards nodded their recognition. He turned, and made his way to the Royal Law court, where the King was beginning to hear the days cases. As he walked he reflected on the irony of his being the Court Sorcerer. A much higher position then he had held last lifetime as the King's personal clerk. He smiled. The Stage was set, the banner ready to be unfurled. He took his place beside the King, starring deep into the eyes of the various subjects here for judgments, searching for any sign of untruthfulness.

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The Istructor Priest looked at the Silver-clad magician for a moment. "So, you believe that something has been done to the temple, by this, stranger in purple?"
"Yes, I sense a change in the temple's energy balance, something has been shifted, but I sense no buildup of energy that would indicate a spell." Came the reply. "Are there any spells that would not leave a trace instructor?"
The Priest starred thoughtfully for a moment. "I know of no spell that would have the effect on the spot where it is cast just as you described, and yet would leave no trace or lingering effect. However, my knowledge is limited ,as all our is. There might be some law of energy of which I am ignorant, or perhaps the energies released by the spell-caster where channeled through her on their way to another place, perhaps some other building." He paused, and glanced at the Alter of Asmos. lit up now by the candles placed under it as offerings. "I would advise you to conduct a through search for this man you described. Such a sorcerer would be dangerous if motivated by ill-will."
"Thank you for your time Instructor. I have an odd feeling about this man. If you discover anything about what he might have done, I would be happy to learn it." With tat the Silver robed magician stood up, bowed, and walked out into the Town square. The clear sound of the 9 o'clock bells rang out across the city, echoing off the high walls. But their was still no sign of the purple clad figure. He set out to search the city. Something about that man's eyes had spoken urgently to him about the dangers of delay. Again the memory of the Burning city flashed through his mind.

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Long ago, in days gone by, the City had no walls, mused The Indigo clad King. But then, with the growth of the city and the increasing bandit raids, they were built under Krisius I a thousand years ago. Sense then they have grown into an institution. They have seen much bloodshed on Hilaron plain, and much heroism beside. The have seen the rise and fall of kings, and of the City itself. His musings drifted towards the streets. Out there there are hundreds, maybe thousands without food, perhaps without home. It make take a thousand years, But I have faith that one day, dawn will break over a Hilaron without crime, and without injustice. And the road there begins one case at a time. His attention turned back to the White robed gaunt man giving his petition about unnecessary duties collected from travelers. Suddenly, in a flash he remembered a hot summer day at noon, stripping armor off corpses to sell for a few coins. He remembered the half-dead eyes of the soldiers who still breathed, staring out at him. For some reason, the eyes of this man in-front of him reminded him of that day. The same determination, but now, tempered, focused, wiser. He shrugged off the memory. a hundred years had passed. He glanced at his court sorcerer. He was still standing impassively, giving no sign that their was anything amiss. The King returned his mind to his duties.

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The purple clad sorcerer starred into the eyes of the White robed warrior. He smiled, and saw the fait trace of a smile in the man's eyes. He gave a slight hand-signal. Three days. The man nodded slightly while listing to the King explain the necessity of travel regulations, and not letting travelers into the city at night. When the King was done, the warrior bowed, turned and left, facing a signal behind his back. The plan would be carried out on as planned, all was well. leisurely the White robed figure left the throne room, a glint in his steely eyes.

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The Children sang and danced in the streets on ancient cobble stones, bringing a more festive atmosphere to the morning air. Though many travelers would leave after tonight, a few, a very few, would stay for the Kings birthday three day's hence. It would prove to be quite a celebration.

Night fell on the festival of the Winter Solstice. The travelers had gone back to their inns to rest before heading home in the morning. The peasants busily packed up their stands and festival entrainments, preparing the city for the resumption of everyday market life. The bells of the City Temple rang out the hour, 7 o'clock. High in his tower, the King was content. He relaxed in-front of his fire, unwinding after another day's work. His mind free from worry he drifted off, but as he fell asleep a dark dream descended on him. He would sleep badly this night.

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Near the bottom of the Royal keep, the tower of which housed the King, an accomplished sorcerer took off his purple robe and laid it across his bed. He grinned openly now. The Man in white he had seen at court had confirmed it for him. Jiron still thought he would hand the city over to their vengeance. They had even sent their best assassin, whom he had just contacted, to aid in his plan. Once the King is dead and the streets are mine, I will kill or bribe him, and the city will be MY kingdom. He mused in his head.
The spells were all cast. All he needed to do was activate them, and the streets would flood with his soldiers. The Old Prison, the King's Keep, the City Temple, the Ancient Catacombs, the Old Cemetery the Town square (that had been difficult to set) And the Old Temple. At the right time, after the spells had sunken in he would raise an army unlike any seen sense the shattering of the world.
However, he still had one thing to do. He would cast one final spell before he slept tonight. One final addition to the plan, that was not in the White robbed one's script. He busily set about preparing the energy currents in his room. weaving through the air the pattern of a spell long unused and forgotten.

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The SIlver robed magician walked home exhausted. He had searched in vain for hours for the purple cloaked man with the guilty eyes. But to no avail. He could not enter the Palace or the Army barracks. He was but a poor student. It was about time to do a performance to fix that. He spotted out of the corner of his eye a little child alone sitting in an alley starring hungrily at a nearby fruit stand. Smiling the silver-robed magician walked to the stand and bought a piece of fruit with his meager savings. He walked over to the child.
"Here, would you like this?" He said with a smile and a kindly stare.
"How much mister? Nothing's free ya know."
"Think of it as a gift, gifts are free aren't they?"He smiled as he handed over the morsel to the waiting hands of the child.
The Child looked at him wearily as he ravaged the fruit. "Thanks mister." he said between bites.
The Silver -robed man smiled. "Would you like me to tell you a story. It happened long ago, and I assure you that this too is a gift."
"Alright, sure." said the child as he finished with the fruit. Then he stared in astonishment as sourceless shadows cast themselves on the wall, taking the forms of human figures and a giant city with a spire jutting up from it into the sky. The Shadows begin to act out a story to accompany the magicians tale. He begin to weave a magnificent tale of heroism and sacrifice as a crowd begin to gather around the alley to listen to it. The shadows danced and fought. Shadows fell and shadows rose. The crowd oohed and Ahhed, and more then a few coins were tossed his way. He decided to give most to the child. He smiled again. It was only fair after all. This child had once been King Jasius III, the very man he was telling this tale about. He knew the child was Jasius from the moment He had seen the sharp glint in his eyes. The exact same as Jasius III as he had stood on the East bridge, watching a traitor drown. The Tale came to a dramatic end with the defeat of Jiron's 1,000, and the saving of Hilaron from certain doom. The Silver-robed man got up, and walked away after leaving the child with the meager earnings. He continued on down the deeply shadowed and deserted street to the Alley across fro the City temple, where he would earn his nightly wage with a paid performance.

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The White robed warrior wandered the dark night streets. He saw standing in an alley near the City Temple a silver robed man narrating a shadow play. He glanced at the shadows. His mind drifted off as his feet caried him to the back of the crowd. 'Hmmm, the signal hinges are happening rather quickly. the sorcerer in purple is not trustworthy.' He thought as he summoned before his mind's eye an image of that man's eyes. 'Anyone who would sell out his own King would sell out anyone, including his original buyer. Never trust a traitor. luckily, I have a counter plan to his master plan. He believes that on the Kings birthday he will create a distraction in the streets, raising the lifeless shells who are buried to serve as puppet soldiers, terrifying the city and distracting the guards. Then I would kill the king in the confusion, and he would then pretend to use his sorcery to 'banish' the vile undead that walked the streets. Then he would take the crown from the dead king and rule. He also probably plans to betray Jiron, who funded his experiments to discover this spell to raise the dead, and are funding this whole operation, in the hopes of exacting tribute from Hilaron when it's all over. His plan probably includes killing me or paying me off. But it won't happen like that. Instead, after the King is dead and the undead terrorize the streets, i will kill that sorcerer, and escape into the mountains. There will be chaos in Hilaron. Jiron will feel slighted of course, I am their best assassin, but this is about destroying Hilaron, serving Jiron is but a means to that end for me, and nothing more. Once the sorcerer is dead, and Hilaron is in Chaos, Jiron will probably send an army to "save" the city from the undead, and occupy it. In the meanwhile, Hiaron will burn, and it's people will flee. By the time The Undead are re-dead by Jironese swords this city, which has stood for over a thousand years, will be empty. And no-one will live here. The stigma will be too great. All i have to do is wait for the Purple clad sorcerer to summon his Undead, and kill him. Then my revenge will be complete.' He smiled a triumphant smile as his thoughts returned to the play. It was the classic story of creation, being expertly narrate and summarized by the Silver- robed magician.
"Long ago, there was a great city called Alti. In it lived a powerful King who ruled all the world and everything on it from the trees to the people. One day this King was holding his court, and decided to hold a contest. 'I tire of ruling' he said 'I will divide the world equally amongst those who pass my test.' So he gathered all the finest, the strongest, the smartest, the most outstanding and unique people in the whole world to Alti, and when the had gathered he told them 'I will give each of you a vast domain if you but answer one simple question. If you had my power, what would you do with it?'one answered 'I will make the world more beautiful, that it may please better the eye' Another said 'I will kept Justice among all' another answered 'I will demonstrate the secrets of reality.' The King was greatly satisfied. with their answers, and gave them each a portion of his realm to manage. He gave onto a magnificent warrior domain over all warriors. Onto a artist domain over all landscapes. Onto a writer he gave the responsibility of language. Each of the worlds things he gave over to someone else, until he had made 100's of appointments. Yet there was one appointment that no-one seemed suited for. And so he kept it for himself. As his final act as king, he used his tremendous magic to transform himself and the others whom he had appointed into gods. And to this day they each tend their responsibilities and functions. But the King, now all but powerless sat back and watched, with the one power left to him. He alone Knew the secrets of reality, He alone knew the answers to why things existed. Why things are the way they are. He alone controls knowledge."
As the story wound down, the silver-robed magician glanced at a strange figure standing at the back of the crowd. before his eyes moved on, he caught a chill on the back of his neck. The White-robed man quickly turned and walked away, leaving the silver robed magician wondering what was going on in this city recently. First the Purple-robed man, and now this white robed one. Far to many suspicious characters. Perhaps he should bring it to the attention of the King. He would know what was going on.

It had been three days sense the winter solstice. Already, as the sun peaked over the horizon the city of Hilaron was once again in a festive mood. Today was the King's birthday, and no expense would be spared to celebrate. The streets were relatively emptier then they had been for the solstice, but that was because the foreign travelers who frequent Hilaron's solstice celebration had all gone home. Starring out of his tower, the King who's day it was, Hilrus V, stared uneasily at the preprotations. He flashed back to his dream 2 nights ago.
He had been out on the river, fishing, when a giant shadow came towards him, agitating the water and blocking out the sun. It was a giant shield hovering in the air, and on it rested a familiar figure besides a strange one, or perhaps not strange? He didn't remember who they were, but he knew, KNEW that he was aquatinted with these people. And they had come to kill him. He rememberd shivering in terror, but a blue sphere of energy force currents had protected him… and then he was falling, falling, through time and space. He had been sitting at the council chamber of Alti, and it was his turn to speak before the King, he had said…. something, he couldn't remember what, but he saw the King smile, and it was done. And then, he was surging through water, under the sea, before breaking up into the cool night air. And there stood the shield….. and behind it a faceless nameless army, glowing a sickly purple. It was here that he had awoke. The next morning, a student of magic at the City temple had come to him, robed in silver, and warned him about two suspicious characters that he had seen, perhaps laying spells amidst the solstice festival. He had mention one of them had been robed in Purple. The news and the dream had set him ill at ease. worse still, because purple was such a prized dye, few wore it, only one person he knew did, and that was his trusted court sorcerer….. no, it must have been a wealthy traveler from Scion or Jiron laying those enigmatic spells, and not his most trusted courtier. He quickly dismissed the thought as he made his way down fro his tower. It was his birthday after all, and he would celebrate in the Hilaronian custom, with a day-long festival of song and dance!

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"Is it ready?" whispered the white robed one in the alley.
"Yes. Give the word, and I will activate it. The city will belong to Jiron." Whispered bcd the purple robed sorcerer. Their eyes locked. behind each of their eyes, schemes played out. 'You think I only set the spells I told you about, but little do you know, when you kill the king, it will mean YOUR life as well. I wonder what you would think if you knew the money borrowed from your precious Jiron to help me research this days spell also helped me research the spell that will end your life.' thought the purple robed one.
The White robed warrior smirked. 'you think you will survive, after the King dies, you will join him, and both by my hand.'
"Commence the plan and activate the spells at the stroke of 10 o'clock, that should give them enough time to become entranced by the festival."
"A little hasty are we? Alight, at the stroke of 10, the dead bodies will rise, and fill the streets."
The two adjured without another word, each preparing for the next step in their schemes.

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The festival air was lively, the children danced and the bards sung. The King sat in his council, celebrating with dance and drink.
Then the ten 'o'clock bells rang out from the City Temple's steeple.
And all Hell broke loose.
The ground shook violently for a moment, like it had never done before in the history of Hilaron. Then there was complete silence for a moment, before pierced by the first shriek. Hurriedly the King glanced around, but he couldn't find the reassuring presence of his court sorcerer. A sense of forbidding flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away as he ran out of the court into the keep. The sight that greeted him was straight from a horrific fable not yet written. In the streets skeletons and half decomposed corpses stood and moved…. and killed. The streets were beginning to be bathed in blood. Already the city guard had turned out, and was holding it's own in one corner of the square, trying to push it's way towards the keep. But in between them there were many walking corpses, and many more civilians panicking and seeking any escape, house, alley or shattered festival stand. And all thecorpses glowed a sickly purple. Damn! If only his court sorcerer was here.
The King moved to draw his no not-so-ceremonial sword and join the few, but one of his courtiers caught his arm.
"Sire! we would do well to go back inside and barricade the door! Those abominations will not reach us in there!"
He took one look around his court, and remembered his place as a symbol of calm. If he didn't maintan his facade, the court would degenerate into panic, and most likely be killed.
"Alright! proceed back in, and barricade the door! you and you, fetch swords from the royal wardrobe, go quickly!"
As two nobles and a few servants moved the feast tables up against the doors, he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a glint of steel. He reacted almost instantly, dogeing down and to the left, while simultaneously dragging out his blade. His Eyes met his assailants, and for a second he was caught in shock, a petitioner, no! The man from the nightmare! That split second of hesitation almost cost him his life, but the assailants thrust was to far right, and stabbed into the King's sword arm. Already a servant had charged and tackled his assailant to the ground, but missed, instead finding his guts cut open by the white-robed man's dagger as he fell to the ground. The assailant turned again to the king, and their blades locked in a fit of sparks. The King crumbled, his nobles standing white faced with backs against the wall. 'perhaps required military service for nobles would be a good idea… ' he thought as he grinned and sprang back up just in time to divert another thrust. However, the blade slide int his left arm. leaving him crippled. He fell to his knees, still clenching his blade, with blood streaming down both arms and a grin on his face.
"heh, it's been a long time sense i died in battle." he mused as the final assault plunged into his heart, killing him. As his consciousness faded, the image of his white-robed attackers eyes seared into his mind. "Such…. hatred." He gasped as he fell to the ground.
The white robed worrier with a bloody blade moved to flee the scene, when suddenly a purple light sprang up from the Dead King's chest. It flashed through the air onto the dagger wet with the King's blood, and stabbed into the white robed man's chest. He felt the constriction on his heart, and collapsed. "Curse him.. that sorcerer!", where his final words.

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When the First sheik had rung out, the silver clad magician had been sitting in reflection before the alter of Asmos, god of magic. He had shot up bolt straight as he felt the strange purple energies surging up from below the city. And.. THERE! H felt a mass of purple energy slowly disputing! Someone must have just finished casting a powerful spell. He Shot outside, and stared in horror at the sight of terror that he beheld. He bolted back inside. No! he wouldn't flee like a coward! On the other side of the square, in an alley was the swirling mass of energy. He had to get there before the perpetrator was too long gone. Slowly he concentrated. He knew a spell for teleportation….. at least the motions….. He waved his hand through the Air in an arc, then a circle, finally a point straight ahead …. concentrated on the alley… and in a flash he was there. Before him, in shock fro his sudden appearance stood the Purple robed man with the guilty eyes. Only now they weren't guilty, but that mix of terror and determination that marks a criminal committing a horrible crime. The Silver -robed man called out to him. "Stop this now! you still, can I know it!"
"Heh, I will, once they have destroyed enough of the city for the people to be truly thankful."
"What? That's madness beyond measure. Stop now, or I will stop you, and them!"
"Heh, you, a simple monk, or is it priest?" Said the Purple-robed man as he pulled back his hands and danced a simple pattern through the air with them. The pattern summoned a ball of violet energy, humming with power. And launched it at the startled target. Quickly brilliant sliver threads of light coerced into a shilled, splitting the ball of energy in half, and redirecting it into the alley walls, both of which exploded in a shower of splinters as both magician and sorcerer weaved protective energies around themselves.
"heh, I see you-" The purple robed man's tount was cut off by a fierce blast of slivery light sparks, weakening his protective energy shield.
"Why you-" He said as he spooled together the remains of his energy shield into another ball of violet light.
The silver clad magician took several steps back as he weaved more energy into his shield and busily tried to think of a plan. He didn't have long. Just as he had noticed the guard pushing their way across the square the alley opened up to he saw the ball of violet light crash into the side of the alley a few stories above him, burying him in a rain of debris that bounced off his shield, but obscured his vision of the alley. When the dust cleared, the Purple robed sorcerer was gone.
"where did he go?" He panted as he tried to figure out the answer to his question. He looked up. There he was! floating a few meters above him at the entrance to the alley. Their eyes locked. And in his heart the silver clad magician knew their was only one way to win, and to save the city.
Quickly he begin to weave a pattern through the air, chanting prayers to Asmos, god of magic and Urlil, god of Justice. There was a brilliant flash of sliver/violet light, eclipsing the sun for a moment. And then it was over.

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The soldiers picked up the ruins of another building. This one had formed half of an alley opposite the City Temple. it had been two days sense that fateful battle where the dead had risen, and tried to storm the city. The King had died in combat with an assassin, though it was only rumored how the assassin had died. The City had mourned.
But that was not the most astounding thing that had happened that day. Just as things seemed most desperate ,as more and more corpses had come froth to fight, from this very alley had come a flash of Violet silver light, and tendrils of sliver light had run out from the alley spreading to every purple-glowing zombie, everywhere the energies met they annihilated each other ,and whatever spell had been sustained by the purple energies was cancelled. No-one was quite sure what had happened. But it was generally agreed that whomever or wherever those energies had come from, it had saved the City. In the alley they had found nothing, not even a body to point to as hero or villain. And now with the King dead without an heir, and so many Hilaronians killed by the zombies. their would be much strife for Hilaron in the years to come. But even so, it was good to live, even if it was just for today.

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The wind whistled through the forest outside Hilaron's walls. Among a thicket of evergreens, a small child stood, starring with clear eyes at a group of stones, piled on the dirt. Quietly he placed a used apple core and a single copper coin onto it, and as the wind breezed through the trees again, whispered a chant to Urlil, god of Justice. 'Oh lord, This good man, let him be made King.' And the wind, if but for a moment, was silent.