The Gra

d him Kael

ckened mail, and a helm with a crack that split it like a jagged wound. A broken blade hung at his side, its edge dull, its hilt wrapped in what mig

ispered voice

-

s with ash-colored bark and leaves like shriveled hands. Rivers ran sluggish and black, and the sky w

red Kael silence and wary glances. Some had seen his kind before-pilgrims

ferent. He didn'

ted an

-

nown for its alabaster bridges and silver

ls stil

e ran

re robed figures stood motionless. Their faces were turned upward, mo

d closer, one

one: "You bear her mark. W

"To bury it. To fin

"And if she welcomes

led in something not quite a smile. "Then I'll whis

acked. The be

-statue

-

nds burning through armor, as he shattered their brittle bodies with hammering blows. Each one he felle

l, Kael knelt amo

he urn, a

damned. Not the mutte

mooth as silk drag

lose, little flame. Wh

ing. He stood,

-

Velmorian Keep, t

ls fused by necromantic fire, pulsing like a heartbeat. Above, on parapets long abandon

n grew

en laughed, then whisper

and to the bone-ga

ate o

-

e throne s

s last blush. She was surrounded by the still-living dead-nob

. "My knig

elm hit

time in decades,

ou

aid. "I was the one

owed. "I left

led-not white, but gold gone sick with green. The so

the Keep

-

Or explore what Kael truly is-and wha