Of Light, Life and Liches

[Faithdreamer]

Calamdan

Thick and dull looking stone walls stand firm before you, a gloomy pall hangs over them. You can feel the desperation lingering here. Like a man clings to a rope, suspended over a chasm, and the very last thread is breaking.
A chilling wind blows, and as you look around even the few flowers still here look depressed. Scar and Silt, canny Worgs and survivors above all, look as uneasy as they could be. The road to Calamdan was not closed or barred. Travel was easy, if only you had enough mettle to endure the loneliness. It was a killing silence. A shadow crests the old wall parapet, ostensibly to look down on you.

“Get inside, quickly, before whatever follows you gets you all eaten!”

The great gates of this outermost bulwark of Calamdan swing open smoothly. A crowd of battered people forms around the entrance; they all look fatigued and each looks on with a blank gaze. Some of them start to murmur amongst themselves, wondering if at last hope is come to Calamdan. Hoping something is there take on the burden of hell and to deliver everyone to some better place. All their questions flood your ears in sounds, a tidal surge of noise that drowns any meaning. In moments they quiet down, and the crowd parts only slightly, inviting you inside Worgs in all…

Amos

The light of life sparks alive in your palm. It was like the rustling of wind and leaves, the whisper or water, the sound of the wake of shear speed. It was not warm, it was only tangible and bright. You were inside some sort of tomb. There were coffins, crates, barrels, old troughs and offering bowls, torches -- on the floor was a pile of clothes all folded up neatly.

The glowing runes above the door seemed more vibrant and more important in bright light.