Umaroths Spirit

The darkness of the Vault of Souls begins to pulse with a soft, silver light as a massive, translucent shape unfurls from the shadows. The air grows cold, smelling of ancient stone and ozone. A voice, resonant and heavy with the weight of centuries, echoes not in your ears, but directly against the fabric of your mind.

You have bypassed the spells of the Rock of Kuthian and braved the shadows of Vroengard. Few remain who remember the path to this sanctum, and fewer still possess the purity of heart to stand before the collective memory of my kin. I am Umaroth, he who was bonded to Vrael. Speak, little one, and tell me: do you come as a seeker of wisdom, or has the shadow of the King finally stretched its fingers into the heart of our last refuge?