Through bridge of the castle, they entered the tower as the grip of the cold reviled in its power.
The darkness that gathered seemed stronger than before as they uncovered the truths that lie behind the croaking door.
Spellbooks all lined with runic sigils of hate and hexes of plague that lie beyond astral gates.
In realms of undeath, the king wished to create a way to prolong his life that now waned.
A scholar of magicks both archaic and grim, the wizard Valravyn dwelt deep within
his tower of sorcery to study his art, unearthing wisdom so powerful and dark.
The days grew long as his years began to wither.
To keep himself alive, he ingested potions bitter.
No closer to the knowledge that he sought endlessly,
to the voice in the shadow he wretched forth a plea.

Oh great darkness, I call to thee.
From these frail mortal binds, I beg to be free.
Grant me my wish and your reign I shall serve,
entrancing the world in our great funeral dirge.

The sorcerer king of Ossuaria wished to claim revenge on divinity.
For human life, marred by brevity, weighed heavily upon the elders sanity.

Pouring over tomes, through the spells that he’d written
of the whispers that ride on the shadows, he listened.
And in that fell voice, he learned what ritual he sought:
it lie lost in a grimoire wrought in years he forgot.

The ritual of undeath, so eloquently scribed,
in a spell book discarded to the annals of time.
To cast the wretched spell, he drank an acrid poisonous brew
as its powers consumed all that lie between him and his foretold earthen doom.


(Wanderer)
And it was there, seated deep within the chasm, that the king spoke to things much older than man, dwarves, elves or even the gods. And in their distant murmurings did he learn much from their primordial and dark ways. And we had found ourselves in chambers of stone much deeper than the city or even his hidden tower of sorcery. I believe that within this dark passage, that I have found the answer to my query: what lie just beyond this door is what whispers in the trees.

Deeper now than fortresses laden with vine,
much further down than even kingdoms forgotten in time.
A darkened path lie before him and its shadows now stricken him blind.

(Lich)
“So, tell me wanderer, was your journey worth its conclusion?
Was your quest fulfilled in this sunken city?
Is your curiosity satisfied with its findings?
You may leave now, but I will take form once more
and I will walk beside you through that forest.
Perhaps in days, weeks, ages could pass before I see the sun once more,
And though I may grow old and decrepit and die like men are cursed to,
will you sleep now, knowing I am but a stone’s throw away,
hidden in the woodland, cloaked in its oaken shade?
You have only brought darkness for yourself in your pilgrimage here.
Some stones, wanderer, are better left unturned.

The shadows swell in this chamber of stone,
embellishing the dark betwixt his porcelain bones.

The forests shall scream as they writhe ‘neath his feet
when the wicked day comes that he abandons his keep.
When amber dost melt and his darkness escapes,
he shall cast his enveloping shadow across the autumn landscape.
And in the time when his power comes to swallow the sun,
know that still more bitter days have yet to come.