Herein lies the murmurs of eldritch whispers, born before dawn, as spectral fingers trace runes unknown. Beneath the facade of light, they weave grim tales, prophecies enshrined in shadows.
Carved in the marrow of the night, upon stones slick with ancient dew, the oracles rise, voicing hymns to things unspeakable.
Enter the House of Vanity Beyond the Forest of Whispers