((CLOSED TO METAL DRAGO))

A 21 year old Max Dirks sat on a log in a forest arena within the Citadel. Adorned in his trademark attire, a pristine white jumpsuit and a pressed black trench coat, the criminal looked very out of place amongst the flora and fauna of the woods. It was fitting, as this younger, renewed Dirks was a man out of time. The lively woods were an appropriate venue for today's encounter. Dirks sought an old friend, or at least his shell. The warrior Scorpius devoted his life to the spider god, N'jal, and when Lorenor betrayed him, he became an undead lich.

Dirks had no means to contact Scorpius. Instead, he borrowed the magic of the monks to create this arena. Here, the aura of the living was overwhelming. Anyone with sensitivity to life, or a craving to devour it, would certainly feel its pull. Once life in this area was consumed, it would make its diner incredibly powerful; however, in contrast it would also make them crave more of it. Dirks had no such craving, but Scorpius', he hoped, would be impossible to satiate.