Upon Yoros there fell an icy breath,
From the outermost gulfs of cosmic space,
Each person touched, quickly fell into death,
Expressions of fear on each whitened face.
Bodies stood frozen with wan luster gleaming,
Giving the appearance of those long dead,
Mages conferred in socerous scheming,
But no spell could halt this force in its stead.
None knew the secret of cause, or of cure,
Some said from Achernar it had arrived,
But there is one fact of which we are sure,
A necropolis stands where men once thrived.
Prophecies old and those recent as well,
Foretold of The Silver Death's icy hell.