"It's time to awaken Mother."

Dreary darkness is all that the Shadowmire consists of, blackened pits of boiling ichor whisper in idle chants, the song of the sinister. Death is nothing new here, a machination of the beasts that call such a place home. The Spectre looms, and the shadows grow, condensing as palpable forms. Beings of a more sinister nature than those that dwell within the comforting rays of the sun. Conditions such as these breed the peculiar, and the peculiar breed these conditions in a loop of damnation and death.

Twila and her companions, these fated few seek not mere knowledge or comforting lies.

They seek something far darker, they seek to awaken Nyx.

Bump, this one still seeks a DM.