In the secret depths of forgotten realms, where shadows pulse in muted hues, a symphony of silence cries out. The murmurs of ancient wind, caught between strata of time, weave narratives unheard by ears alien to their tongues.
Stray thoughts swirl akin to phosphorescent whispers, each one broadcasting a tale etched in memory's curvatures. The gossamer veil between realities is thin here, almost nonexistent.
Legend suggests that The Beneath was once a refuge for sages seeking eternal truth. Layer upon layer of earthen and cosmic sacrifice have since turned it into an archive of echoes—that is, if it truly exists.