"Members of the Zharesh Covenant assembled here before us, what do you say to these accusations levied against you?" the speaker occupying the highest pedestal spoke.

"We do not deny what we have done, Elder Vischar… but we do not see these things as wrong."

The man who spoke for the black-robed ones was a tall, gaunt man who chiseled features lent him a haunting air.  While the other figures cowered before the Vizjerei Judges, this man did not tremble, but stood tall and resolute in the face of exile or even death.

"Not wrong?  To explore the dark arts is to bring yourself closer to the mercy of Hell, it is…"

"Foolishness… foolishness not to explore avenues of potentially limitless power because of narrow-minded fear and an outmoded system of belief.  The Necromantic paths are not a guarantee that your soul is forfeit, not if you have the will to control yourself."

"The Necromancy corrupts by merely existing.  It is the spawn of the demons, the magic of the hell-born.  To practice such abomination is horrid, but to stand before your peers, your Brothers, and tell us that what you have done is noble, that is far beyond an abomination.  It is a travesty of everything we as Vizjerei hold sacred… a transgression that can never be undone or cleansed."

"We thirteen beat back over twenty Vizjerei mages, all of which were far above the level of initiates.  There is power in Necromancy, power that we do not tap because of some stupid laws written by people who are dust!"

Vischar was about to speak again when the man in the gray cloak rose, silencing both the upstart Necromancer and Vischar when he spoke with a voice that was wise beyond telling.

"Corin, the Vizjerei Elders created the laws to govern us, did they not?  To protect us and guide us as they saw best, yes?"

"Lord Rathandel… if anyone here can see what I am saying it is you."

"Answer his question." Vischar said pointedly.

"Yes," Corin bowed, "yes, they did.  Created them as they saw best for us.  But…"

"But you believe that such laws have no place today… that the times have changed and the laws should change to reflect that, yes?"

"Yes… that's it exactly."

"Lord Rathandel," Vischar cut in, "you can't be condoning these people?"

Rathandel only raised his hand to silence Vischar.  The Necromancers stood tall; hopeful that the oldest member of the Vizjerei, Rathandel the Ancient, knew what they were doing, knew the message they were trying to say.

"Corin… do you know who Horazon is?"

A susurrus of whispering went through the assembled Judges like an august wind.  It was all but forbidden to mention the name of Horazon, an ancient mage who had been tried in that exact same room centuries ago, on charges very similar to those the Necromancers now faced.  Horazon the Summoner, a name that mothers still used to scare their children when they misbehaved.

"I… I know who you speak of… there have been tales."

"I saw him when he stood in the exact place you do now, I listened to his testament and his defense.  I am the last member of that assembly of Judges, those that brought down sentence upon Horazon the Summoner.  Your words echo his in a way that is uncanny, and very saddening.  The Necromancy is powerful… that cannot be denied.  And it is that power that gives it its danger, its power to corrupt and to confuse.  Cry it off, Corin, and all the others.  It is not a path that leads to the Light, it is a path that leads only to darkness… and to Hell."

"I am not Horazon the Summoner, he was mad."

"And it is the Necromancy that made him that way." Vischar finished as Rathandel seated himself.  His words had already made the Judges' decision, and the Necromancers knew it.

"I call for a vote," the other man, named Zarel, who sat beside Vischar, spoke loudly, "for the sentence of exile."

"I second that motion, a vote of hands." Vischar added.

The assembly voted; every hand save Rathandel's went up, declaring the Necromancers as exiled.  The dark figures balked at this, many of them lowering their heads, some dissolving into tears.  Only Corin stood proud, his face stony and impassive.

"It is done… each of you is an exile.  Zarel, read the names of those who have been pronounced heretics to the Vizjerei Brotherhood, those exiled from its holding and cast out into the void."

"Yes," Zarel picked up the parchment list, reading the names off with disgust, "Corin, Ben-Japheth, Hector, Kavak, Atradei, Zayil, Vencent, Falendric, Malek, Sorush, Samuel, Tahgan, and Borys.  All of you are hereby declared Outcasts of the Vizjerei Order.  Never will any of us harbor you, aid you, or give you drink when you thirst or food when you hunger.  You will never again know safety among us, you are cast out, you are branded heretics."

"I swear… you will all regret this." Corin spoke, his voice smoldering with rage.

"You can't get away with this!" One Necromancer named Malek screamed up at Vischar, "a curse of blood upon your face!  I spit on your decrees and your laws!"

"You have made a grave mistake." Kavak spoke quietly, hissing his words.

"The mistake was yours," Vischar spoke solemnly, "when you took up the Necromancy.  You attack your own sacred Brothers with your hell magics.  One of them will never see again, blinded for the rest of his life.  Would it be that I could see all of you executed, then I would."