The Fall of Emberheart
Ah, gather round, ye weary travellers, and fill yer cups, for this is no tale for the sober! Nay, this be a story of fire and shadow, of noble blood spilled upon sacred stone, of a cursed night where the heavens wept, and the earth itself trembled beneath the boot of a Lich’s foul wrath.
Emberheart Sanctum
Proud, mighty, eternal. A fortress nestled high in the Draconian Peaks, where flame-blooded scholars and warriors alike kept the secrets of the dragons in tomes older than time itself. Their halls shimmered with sorcery, their voices rang with the songs of ancient wyrms, and their very breath carried the fire of their ancestors. Ah, but even the strongest flame may be smothered if darkness seeps in unseen…
On that cursed night, as the twin moons bathed the peaks in silver light, a great shadow swept across the sky. Not a storm, not a dragon, but something worse -
A Lich
A twisted, skeletal fiend, draped in robes black as midnight, his eyes burning with a hunger older than the mountain itself. Malice dripped from his very presence, and in his gnarled fingers he clutched a staff forged from the bones of kings. He had come for knowledge - no, for power - and none in the sanctum would yield it willingly.
The Slaughter
And so, it began.
With a whisper like the breath of a grave, the Lich spoke words older than time, and the sky tore apart! The stars flickered and died as a great black maw opened in the heavens, spewing forth a tide of the damned. From that abyss crawled wraiths and spectre’s, hollow-eyed and screaming, their twisted fingers reaching hungrily for the living!
The Emberheart warriors, oh, they were fierce! They met the tide with steel and spell, their war cries shaking the stone walls! Thalric’s own brother, Vaelin, stood at the forefront, his great spear wreathed in golden flame. He struck down the first wave of horrors, his fire searing their spectral forms into nothingness.
The mages of Emberheart wove spells of blinding radiance, golden glyphs spiralling through the air as they called upon the dragon gods themselves! Firestorms erupted! Lightning crackled! Wings of molten fury unfurled from the hands of the arcanists!
But the Lich… oh, the Lich was patient.
He raised his staff, and from the tip of that unholy relic poured a tide of green-black magic, a curse that turned flesh to dust and bone to ash. The bravest warriors withered where they stood, their armour crumbling as their souls were ripped from their bodies! The walls of the sanctum - once indestructible! - shattered as a wave of necrotic energy swept through like a plague.
Mothers clutched their children, only to watch them rot in their arms! Scholars screamed as their minds were unmade, their memories stolen and twisted into whispers that would forever haunt the ruins!
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