Spiritual Succession

[Galion]

"Two little successes have swollen that head of yours like a fat pig's belly, hihi. I'll tell you what, though.

We enjoy fun games, such as:

Chess.

Pin the Tail on the Faeborne.

Theatre

War.

That is all you are. A really silly man about this silly little game, who has not a clue as to this purpose.

I'll tell you what. If you wish to tango with me once more and forever on, then prove something to me."

On one exceptionally normal night, accursed yet fleeting whispers behold to those Spiritmancers of the Gloomlight.

A shade chases a black cat through the nooks and crannies of a broken down old home. A Nethradin is ball dancing with a lifeless skeleton, a step, step, twirl to silent music. A wraith despairs at a sky blackened like coal, screaming, breathing, and screaming again. Twin revenants play catch with a human skull. Around every corner of this city's streets is theater, where specters trapped in purgatory reenact grand tales of malice. The Bell Tower tolls each night for the grave. The bowels are cursed for the many hel pacts that have been forged.

To those who draw their gaze in the same direction as Lyco Corbin, they may see it for those skies cast in crimson- a hideous stain upon these beautiful lands forged by the divine.

Sheol, the City of Revelry remains in a state of devastation & tragedy. It is a desolation akin to the likes of Lyra Moore, a place where dread and malice runs free in abundance. A living nightmare who's population is only of the shadow.

"Follow this course, and perhaps they will have it.

This is my offer. Those brave and willing may come and study my works, and let this history meet its end."