Roused from the lands east-to-west, graveyards yielded hosts of skeletons, pulled from their slumbee in dank coffins to parade through the realm with a diligent clack, clack, clack - a tireless stride through the highways and byways to reach all of the Four’s kin. The macabre couriers littered boulevards and passageways east through west, supplying the hands of man, woman and no-good. Each scroll, undoubtedly coveted a layer of stench, one of soured eggs and piss.
When all settled, skeletons filtered into the recesses of the wild, sinking back from whence they came, earthward. Disposed missives read as follows, etched with abject chicken-scratches:
Let this call reach the failed Signholder, Anagenimenos, the Blood of Widkund, let it be known the wheel calls you to its spin again; service and duty. To heed the call of He who titled you, Epleiades. So We, the Faithful might together pursue the Black God’s will - seek to the North-Eastern swamps - a Stonehenge that covets a talking skull will find you our company. Purpose has found our cause again - and duty calls - it be wise to answer.
Hail the Black God.
HIS VILENESS, Father of the Heir to Feldamfir, Tamer of Cloudbreaker, Arch-Lich Soupbone-icus of the Swamplands,
The Bearer of Bones, Daimyo of the Dead, Hexicanum’s Headmaster, Usurper of Adunakhor,
Keeper of the Burrows, Gashadokuro.