Foladen smiled grimly as he strode through the deserted streets of freeport. No one was out this night. In fact, they had all fled hours ago vainly hoping to reach safety by ship, but there was no escape. The apocalyptic doom of this night had been foretold a millennia ago. Sighing, he strode through the gates of the city out into the plain ahead, towards the campfires that awaited him. He hailed the guard around the camp and made his way to the center of the camp. there was no cheer tonight, no singing, no dancing, no bardic tales of lore. Instead, all could be heard was the sound of whetstones upon blades already so sharp they could slice bone. Occasionally, the chant of a cleric could be heard as they prayed to their deities for strength and salvation on this night of doom. As he reached the center of the camp, he blew upon his horn to call his guildmates near. The time had come.

Hours later, they were all lined up upon the hills of the commonlands. He glanced at the sky and noticed the position of the moon declaring it almost midnight. He looked back at the ranks of Seekers behind him. Each face was a friend and a memory. Tears welled in his eyes as he glanced upon Trinitii, the young druid who was to be wed 2 days hence. He wondered if any of them would be alive then. Bracing himself, he addressed his guild mates, his friends.

"Tonight, we fight not for honor but for all of Norath. If we fail, everyone dies. Look at those next to you, many of them will not be here when the night is done. Know that you are the only thing that stands between your families and annihilation. Know that for each one of us that falls, another will rise. They say that the armageddon comes and that we are doomed. I refuse to accept that! We WILL fight!"

Slowly he began to chant the Seeker oath and the others joined in with him." I am a Seeker. My sword is my guildmates weapon. My life is his shield. I live for honor and glory and the pursuit of knowledge. For without those there is nothing. We are Seekers. We are one." Foladen pulled his lute from his back and played a dirge to fallen comrades as the chant ended. He continued to play as the ground trembled beneath him and the sky split apart, heralding the coming of the end. He continued to play as the foretold bane of the world arose from the ground and glared at them. He continued to play as the creature that even Nagafen feared, the Y2k bug marched towards them. Well over 100 ft high it towered above them, venom dripping from its mandibles. where the venom hit the ground, it ate through the earth. Swords and spells were held at the ready. Not one Seeker fled. Yet Foladen continued to play, for he had swore to play till the end.

Onward came the beast, the proclaimed end of the world. And with it came the denizens of the underworld. By the hundreds they scrambled from a fissure in the earth. Clawing and climbing over each other in their eagerness to spill blood. The seekers braced themselves for the impact as the horde rushed onwards and slammed into them with the force of a hurricane. dozens died in the first few seconds alone, yet more came to replace those who fell. Again and again the unholy horde pushed the warriors only to be shoved back as the seekers held their ground. They had nowhere to run. they would die here tonight.

Yet even as the seekers rained death upon the demons, the Y2K bug caused mayhem itself. Shudders went through Foladen as the bug , picked up an elven warrior in its mandibles and tossed his broken body to the ground. The warrior's screams of pains were quickly cut off as a cleric ran to his side using what little art he had left to heal the man's wounds. The most serious of his wounds healed, the warrior arose and limped his way back to the battle line, leaving behind the cleric who has lapsed into unconsciousness.

And so it went through the night, the demon horde rushed them and always were pushed back. The screams of the dying, the clash of steel, and the thundering roar of fireballs filled the night. But somehow, the music was heard above it all. It envigored them and urged them onward in a futile battle they could not win. And hours after the battle began, Foladen fell to his knees and stopped playing. His voice had gone out hours ago and his fingers bled. Begrudgingly he prepared to face the end. It had been a good life; he would not regret the way he had lived it. He closed his eyes and prepared himself. But it was silent. Startled, he wearily raised his head to look upon the field of battle. Through a body numb with fatigue and pain, he watched the horde retreat to the nether world. He watched as the Y2K bug came crashing to the ground, and atop its corpse stood a single warrior. Trintii, the young maid who would still be married 2 days hence, raised her sword triumphantly from where she has slain the creature. And off her blade glinted the first shining rays of the dawns light.