Deep within the bogs, hollowing screams reverberate from the caverns far below;
Dreadknights, Inferis, and undead alike, brought together by the Dreadlord Akhortep.
Ludwig van Wick, a snide, cowardly being seen standing before the small army, shaking in his boots before the large menhir,
its low radiant blue glow illuminating the man's sunken face.
Akhortep walks forth, a sword in hand before the menhir, pointing the tip of the blade at the boulder's front.
He readies his gauntlet forth, dragging a foul beast from its home, its blackened skull stunted by its large figure.
Akhortep stood back as his army converged onto the awakening apparition, the sight an amalgamation of fire and steel, all headed for the ghostly figure.
The battle was long as the apparition is brought to its knees, only an ounce of its strength remaining as Ludwig, trembling from fright,
slams his blade into the apparition's back, falling into the sarcophagus with the phantom in tow.
Sounds of struggle and anguish muffle through the stone as the entrance is sealed by awaiting Dreadknights.
Ludwig's fate was then sealed, yet his journey had only begun.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”