Mini-story. Gorak Spartacus, mage, villan, Immortal, entrepeneur. He stood silently in the low box, looking up at the many High Lunicians above him. For once the court was silent, and every eye in the audience was staring at his face. An eerie whistling blew through the seats, and a breeze bristled through the floorboards. He was standing on the dusty ground of the desert terrain, his feet bare and bleeding. Draped across his left shoulder, only just covering his privys, was a scarlet red robe. The edges were tattered and ripped, and the back was severely burned. A man in a bland shirt,pantaloons and a powdered wig stood in the highest box and shouted out what seemed to be a list of crimes.