An inter-continental effort; they had gathered the scraps of spell books contain the long forgotten magic. Every creature killed in pursuit of this, every bit of treasure given & taken for this moment, every mortal who wouldn’t shy away from evil for coin. To Free the world of the horrible single light that “graced” them. The great undead lichs gathered one final time; each reciting words of power, more arcane & dead then them. *somatic, verbal stuff here* then *really cool intense description of the sun blinking out then darkness with just pricks of distant stars or something* The Weave itself would bend to their will so darkness could reign. – Requested by (Alias: Potion802)