To wake.

There are lessons to be learned from some cults of ages passed. Some whose time has come or will one day, or had been before the age of far flung legend was young or in a time one day to be.

The rings.

From deep in memory lost long before the dream of life had sprung, so those mists were skies of clear and ever present blue.

In hopes of waking.

It was a nightmare all at once. One not apparent on first viewing as the worst of such horrors go.

Of specters [archive].

They roam where defeat and victory are forgotten whispers which changed from one side to the other. Where the damned were left confined by hopeful will and tragic force. This is where they linger now, cursed in one way or another. Always aware, forgetful of all but for those moments which brought them there.

The Conusk of Ethersol [archive].

About the world there are so many things whose presence and calls when heard send chills and shivers down the spines of any and all who have heard the stories. Yet there are those others who should create such a response, but are so legendary that any sane man or woman would think them just a fable.