In the shadowed halls of Eina, a tension thick as the ancient stone walls themselves hung in the air. Intruders were uncommon within these sacred chambers, and yet today, an ominous figure stood before the great archaic doors. Clad in midnight armor that seemed to swallow the light around him, Rheodus, the feared Son of Necromanč, faced the house's solitary defender.

“Necromanč!” Rheodus's voice was a snarl, contempt dripping from every syllable. “Let that name taint your lips again, spawn of mortals, and it will be the last breath you draw. You dare to belittle the Sovereign of the Void? Would you gaze upon your severed head adorned upon the spiked gates of Sylitith's stronghold? Choose your next words with care; they may spell your end.”
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