{necromancer}

Leather bound books surrounded the Necromancer as the darkness crept through the windows that surrounded the libraries parameter. He hadn't been here long, no his plan was to stay here as little time as possible for he knew whom the castle belonged. not that he had ever met the man (or beast) of which the legend told but he had heard the tales of men being ripped limb from limb with just the wave of a claw. Now, no where in Mozenrath's mind did he think that he couldn't take on such a creature but if he could avoid confrontation that would be the ideal.

 He quietly closed the portal behind him and stepped close to the library walls. Mozenrath moved quickly and without sound, a trait that he learned to take advantage of throughout his life. Stopping only to reach for the door nob upon his arrival. With a Sharp twist Mozenrath cracked the door and peered down the dark corridor. 

If it was for the small flicker of light he would have kept going, down the hallway in search of this magical rose. It was said by legend to be a prized possession of this castles owner- though no one knew what power it possessed. At the very least it would be something that he could take back to the Black Sands and look over, perhaps use manifest its powers into something else. 

Roger cocked his head at the strange, dark man before him. It didn’t last long, though, before the rabbit broke into a grin and spoke up.

"Am I?! I’m stranded, marooned, left for dead!" The toon cried theatrically, if not a little melodramatically. "Do you know you’re way around here?"

Disgusted Mozenrath let out a sharp hiss and flipped back the tales of his cloak, This fur ball had the audacity to bump into him and then ask him for directions as he dismissed him. The market place was booming with people and of course for a man who never left his domain and of course he was the one that this- this thing ran into. 

Beginnings are such- strange things, especially when it comes to people. To think that one day, you could be something so small, so meaningless and then rise your way up the ranks and become something so powerful that even the most dangerous sorcerers dare not speak your name. It was such that the necromancer rose to his throne in the black sands. Once an orphan, left dead in the streets to rot until Destane took him in oh but that was just the beginning of his mistakes. The Dawn of his downfall if you will. 

It didn't take long for Destane to take a liking to young Mozenrath, from the moment he took him in to clean up the citadel Destane saw something- something growing deep down inside of the young boy. A thirst for power, knowledge and everything in between. It was then that Destane took Mozenrath under his wing

Though the real catalyst wasn't until Destane taught him to read, oh boy was that a mistake. After that the scrolls in Destanes library became Mozenraths only friends. From the sleepless nights staying up through the late hours of the night reading about magical incantations the likes of which no one understood. It all fascinated him beyond anything else that he could have learned from his mentor. These pages told him of great power- power that Mozenrath longed for. 

Of course, when Destane returned with that gauntlet, that was when he knew it was the real beginning for him. A gauntlet that provided so much power to its wearer that they could never be stopped or so the legend told. There was no other way around it, Mozenrath needed that gauntlet even if he had to pry it from Destane's cold, dead hands.

Mozenrath lusted for the gauntlets power, so much so that it would often appear in his dreams before him and tell him exactly how to take the artifact from his mentor- who was too afraid to bear its power. 

When the time came and Mozenrath and Destine fought to the death their powers were near matched. Mozenrath only beating him by slight wit and less determination. 

The only regret was that the gauntlet didn't come with a warning sign, at least some sort of magic aura that said "will drain life from its wearer-"but in the moment that its thick leather touched Mozenrath's right arm he could feel the skin being ripped from his bones. His flesh melting away as if someone had drenched his hands in acid. The shriek that fell from his lips had always haunted him in his dreams from that day onward. He could feel the power, feel the magic pulsating through his bones and shaking everything inside of him. The very power he longed of he now possessed. 

This was the tale, the tale of the rise of the all powerful sorcerer Mozenrath- the one that strikes fear in the darkest of hearts, whom no mortal man would ever dear to face. And as he sat back in his cold rock solid throne kicking his feet over its arm and laughing to himself at the thought of those that dared disobey his rule, something continued to tell him that this was still just the beginning. 

but was it the begging to his rise of power over all of the seven deserts

Sand. as far as the eye could see. That was what Mozenrath was used too. There wasn't much else to the seven deserts, though Mozenrath had traveled far and wide in search of magical artifacts that would help him gain control of his homelands. This place was much like everywhere else he had been, or at least to him it was. A large castle centered around smaller buildings and of course the fountains, what would a small port trading town be without a fountain? Everything was so- nice and the thought of that disgusted. 

It didn't take long for him to arrive at the castle. He knew what he was here for. It was said that the Queen of Arendelle had powers over ice, enough so to send her entire kingdom into an eternal winter. These powers could of course be of use to him. 

As he reached the gates he raised his right hand to knock, while using his left hand to tighten his gauntlet down. A guard opened the door with a questioning look but did not speak a single word. Mozenrath gave the man a half formed smile.

"The pleasure is mine, now I do require you to point me in the way of Queen Elsa. We have a meeting of sorts you see and I would hate to be late" He lowered his hands to his side, waiting for the guard to speak- he didn't, instead he simply turned and walked Mozenrath down the corridor towards the room where his queen resided. 

The guard opened the door and Mozenrath stepped inside, He glanced back to dismiss the man that had walked him here though it didn't seem that he took the hint. Mozenrath stepped farther into the room. His stride was slow but confident in a way that screamed that he had reason to be here.