In the forgotten realms of an unblinking universe, where shadows dance with whispers of ancient secrets, lies the tomb of Varnis. His name carved in runes black as midnight, speaks of tales too vivid for waking dreams. They say the walls weep with forgotten sorrows and the echoes of a restless past.
Beneath gravestones, not of stone but of memory, the Elder Chronicles spill their ink—each page a silent scream, each word a tether to realities unuttered. Dare you trace the sigils with trembling fingers, to awaken what slumbers in the forsaken cryptic depths?
A cold wind carries the frail whispers of wraiths who linger eternally upon the threshold of their lingering doom. Their lament is stitched into the fabric of the void, weaving tapestries of lived lives, and un-lived ghosts. Gaze into the abyss, and learn, through the softly spoken lies, the truth.
Ink bleeds on pages from an unholy past, not seen but felt, resonating through the bones of time's forgotten children. The air thick, laden with memories that are not your own. Yet, in this symphony of silence, a solitary voice croons through the ages, calling you to step beyond the shadow.