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When the undeads approached, Markous already knew they were coming.

He felt it. Grabbing his staff and burning the documents of the Order, he ran outside, facing the enemies with his brothers.

There he was: Negros, clothed in an armor of bones, like Cherass himself. And around him the foul necromancers of Log'thor.

"You will end my life, but you will never have my soul, foul creature of evil!" Markous yelled at him.

"Oh, there is no need to. Your death will be a symbol of my power to this pathetic people. They are too stupid to unite against me - and they will fall, like you will, son of the old Order. Surprised? Yes, I felt your presence here the first day I set my foot upon this island. You and your Manrok cult have bothered the undead lords long enough. But enough of talking! Necromancers, attack!"

With a horrified look on his face, Markous was the first to be slain by the summoned undeads, and shortly afterwards, the whole monastery was burning.

The death of Brother Markous Vaskar.

Descendant of the Manrok Order.

Abbot of the White Flame.

With few expression, a grey cloaked figure steps outside the morning mist, facing the still a bit glowing ruins of the monastery, watching from afar. The elf sighs.
"So this was what we were warned of."
The figure watches the ruins for a while without moving, quietly, hidden by the slightly moving fog almost completely.

This was one of the most downbeating days he had ever experienced, since Virecta passed into the grey mist: The fould smell of death near the house of the druids, 'his' gruesome voice lingering through the air, the eldan monastery burning - and the dead beings, lying there amongst grim-looking tombstones in blood-soaked dirt. One of them was brother Markous, and although he had never met him before, the collective mourning about his passing took Gryphius as well, as the others.

They laid down his corpse at the altar of Elara in the library, where his dear ones could bid farewell to him. But the events had not come to an end yet: After some time had come to pass, the door slammed, and foul sounds from inside the hall flooded the area - some madness did its unholy work inside: As Lady Meryadles opened the door by force, undead creatures emerged from inside - but even worse: Markous' body was gone!

There was nothing left but a cursed, ugly shield - an attempt to destroy it remained unsuccessful, for the shield splitted into many shards - most of them could be destroyed, but one appeared to have been stolen by Gort, the powerful orc warrior.

After a longer chase, he was seized by Lady Meryadeles, Aleytys, Guir, Gildon and Gryphius, but refused to tell anything, unaware of the pain, that was done on him. Finally, Negros' voice was to be heard: »Gort, why don't you just tell them the truth? Come to Hellbriar and get your shard, fools!« Knowing well, that this would be a trap, they did not accept the offer, and released Gort afterwards.

With a feeling of dissatisfaction, Gryphius fell asleep. »Without the last shard destroyed, Markous might never be free.«