"I smell something new on the wind, right at the edge of The Crimson Plain."
"The breeze from that direction… it carries the tang of blood. And… fire and wraiths. Why do I feel a flicker of pressure from it?"
Deep within the castle's subterranean vault, a crimson sarcophagus rose from a floor etched with silver runes, unleashing a wave of ancient, malevolent power.
With a series of sharp cracks, the lid shifted. An old man with hair like spun silver, dressed in the robes of a silver-clad lord, slowly sat up. His silver eyes held a strange, elegant mystery.
"Iskar, Perrin. Wake up. We have guests in our territory."
The old man beckoned with his index and middle fingers, and from the depths of the vault, two smaller, matching sarcophagi ascended.
The lids slid open, and two men, also with silver hair and eyes, stirred. They were much younger than the old man, appearing middle-aged.
"My Progenitor, what has roused you from your slumber?"
