I have had many names... to the Lords of the Septagon, I am Lord Foul the Despiser; to the Giants of Seareach, Satansheart and Soulcrusher. The Ramen name me Fangthane. In the dreams of the Bloodguard, I am Corruption. But the people of Bungie.net call me the Grey Slayer. But I have wasted time enough. Now to my purpose. Heed me well, grovelers of b.net. I have a task for you. You will bear a message for me to the Septagon — to the Council of Lords. Say to the Council of Lords and to High Lord Achronos, son of Dwillian, that the uttermost limit of their span of days upon the Land is seven times seven years from this present time. Before the end of those days are numbered, I will have the command of life and death in my hand. And as a token that what I say is the one word of truth, tell them this: Drool Frankieworm, Cavewight of 343 industries, has found the Staff of Lore, which was lost ten times a hundred years ago by Bungie at the Ritual of Desecration. Say to them that the task appointed to their generation is to regain the Staff. Without it, they will not be able to resist me for seven years, and my complete victory will be achieved six times seven years earlier than it would be else. As for you, grovelers: do not fail with this message. If you do not bring it before the Council, then every human in the Land will be dead before ten seasons have passed. You do not understand — but I tell you Drool Frankieworm has the Staff, and that is a cause for terror. He will be enthroned at Lord’s Keep in two years if the message fails. Already, the Cavewights are marching to his call; and wolves, and ur-viles of the Demondim, answer the power of the Staff. But war is not the worst peril. Frankieworm delves ever deeper into the dark roots of Mount Thunder—Gravin Therndor, Peak of Fire-Lions. And there are banes buried in the deeps of the Earth too potent and terrible for any mortal to control. They would make of the halo universe a hell forever. But such a bane Frankieworm seeks. He searches for the Illearth Stone. If he becomes its master, there will be woe for low and high alike until Time itself falls. Do not fail with my message, grovelers. You have met Frankie. Do you relish dying in his hands? One word more... a final caution. Do not forget whom to fear at the last. I have had to be content with killing and torment. But now my plans are laid, and I have begun. I shall not rest until I have eradicated hope from the Seventh Column. Think on that and be dismayed!