And a poem, too.

Neurull’s Coming




Deep in the barren wastes of the Darkland,

A lake exists.

A lake so foul,

Even dragons fear it.

A layer of blackness, shrouding the shell of the lake;

Septic corpses of urgals and trolls rot within.

Deep in the murky, deadly sea,

A whirlpool sucks in the mangled bodies.

A whirlpool with teeth,

A whirlpool that is alive.



Rumbling, the lake trembles,

Creating waves of despair.

Black charred bones,

Disintegrated skulls,

Scraps of sinew and

Strings of flesh upon its shores.



The lake,

Damned by gods and people alike.

Elves, the most sensitive of all,

Are confounded by its taint.



Black magic,

Wreaths the lake in rot and corruption.

The lake, an abomination,

is named Zagan the mirror,

for it reveals death in life,

And life in death.



Many an adventurer laden with his fallen comrade,

Wishing to gaze upon his live face once more,

Arrives at Zagan

Only to be claimed.

Claimed by the waking evil,

Claimed by Neurull,

The god of death.



Tendrils of decaying flesh,

Fetid and rotting,

Writhe from the lake.

The adventurer is grabbed,

Pulled into the acidic waters.

Then he is thrown out,

Melting,

The hissing flesh of his face

Distorted into an eternal scream

Hungry for redemption.



They are the Deathly Wanderers,

For they travel the unsuspecting world,

Killing all in their path.

And the only thing in the way of the Wanderers,

Are the paladins,

Warriors for Heironius,

God of valour,

Who battle the wanderers wherever they traipse.

But Neurull peers at the paladins and plots,

The tortured demise of the paladins

So that he can come forth,

Forth from his unholy imprisonment

To wreak havoc upon the peaceful world of Faerûn

We prophesy Neurull’s waking!