A Most Unnatural Place…

This reek of the Ancients hangs over this place. The foul stench of a site, once natural, unmade by their perversions. Gods know what marvels the natural world might have wrought here before their tampering. The essence of all things pulses through these crystalline halls, and with it, the power of the cosmos. And then there is… <i>him</i>. The Crimson One sought to command this fel power for his whim, believing in his arrogance that he would be spared the awful fate of those who came before. I can only assume death was the cost of such terrible hubris, but… I cannot shake the feeling he remains, in some form or another. The veil between worlds is thin here, and somewhere, on the other side, an umbral entity shadows my footsteps. I can feel it, lurking, just beyond my perceptions; like hot breath on the nape of my neck, making my skin crawl. Varik is determined to be king, and will stop at nothing to achieve the crown of his desire. Attalus, blindly loyal and ambitious, will follow wherever the Warlord leads him, and Halfdan’s thirst for the knowledge of the forge will push him ever-further toward the abyss. Perhaps we shall meet the same doom as those who came before us. I shall pray that Varik will heed my warnings of restraint, for we marshal these powers at the greatest of peril.