Welcome to the Initiation Ceremony where shadows breathe and echoes weep. Here, under the old archways where the stone meets velvet night, we gather to listen to the murmurs from beneath the roots.
As the moon casts pale tapestries over our assembly, we speak the words that have lingered in the crypts of our ancestors. Each syllable a stone, each phrase a corridor winding into the caverns of our forebears. Listen quietly, for any utterance may unfurl mysteries unbidden.
Those who linger within this circle: mark the sigils you trace in the air with trembling hands. They are maps to places forgotten, names spoken only in dreams steeped in ash.
The light flickers as we delve deeper, and the murmurs grow louder. Are they voices of the forsaken? Or merely echoes of our own whispered fears? The question lingers like smoke, refusing the morning light.
The Silent Staircase waits ahead, icy and tempting, promising revelations wrapped in orts of marbeled dusk.
The Chamber of Tears where forgotten cries weave a tapestry of sorrow stitched with the black thread of bygone shadows.