“The Hollow Spire does not rise. It waits. It remembers a time before light, and it will drink the sun again. All who enter leave pieces of themselves behind… and what remains belongs to the Dark.”
— Sythravel, Mouth of the Void
Atop the jagged obsidian peak, darkness bleeds from the mountain like smoke from a dying star. Twisting tunnels carve their way through black stone—some spiraling toward the summit, others plunging into the heart of the world.
This is the Hollow Spire.
A cursed sanctuary where light dares not linger, and the Death Moon Cult gathers in silence and shadow. At its core reigns Sythravel, cruel celestian and chosen mouth of the Great Dark. Cloaked in reverence and fear, he demands obedience—not through fire, but through stillness. His will is simple: to smother the world in eternal dusk, where no stars shine, and only whispers remain.