Under ebon shrouds, the forgotten chants reverberate; spectral whispers curling around pillars of ivy-draped tombs. Who speaks with the echoes of such darkened tones, where the wind shepherds the faceless murmurs above moribund fields?
Glyphs scratched upon sepulchers, indecipherable to the gaze of time's weary eyes, reveal naught but shadows of sorrowed cities—where dreams lay etched on stone skins, scribbled with the pens of ages past.
Thus spoke the elders fraught with the dust of history—martyrs of the tongue long since decayed, yet still they voice the silence mightier than their brief breath: "O wanderer in the shade, might we bestow upon you the cries of forgotten ascensions?"
Their voices wane as sigils wound upon tree bark, symbols fathomed through storms left to calm gentle glades. Indeed, in their illustration, do we find asylum or peril?
Ascend through Silence Labyrinthine Echoes Tome of the Distant Voice