The Tomb of Abscess IV

In ancient times, before the skies were stained with soot and the rivers turned to sulphur, Abscess IV ruled with an iron fist and a sharp mind. He was no ordinary king – his crown was made not only of gold, but of alchemical secrets and formulas known only to him.

It is said that in his prime, the mighty King discovered the secret of ultimate transmutation. Some say he sought eternal life, others that his obsession was absolute power. Whatever the truth, he ordered the construction of a tomb even before his death – not as a simple mausoleum, but as a shrine of alchemy, a place where forbidden secrets would be buried with him.

The ancients spoke with reverence of his tomb, a pyramid of stone carved into the bowels of the earth. But then came the great eruptions—mountains spewed fire, the skies turned to perpetual night, and the purging of the earth devoured the entire island. When the ash finally settled, the Tomb of Abcess IV had disappeared beneath an even greater tomb: an ocean of volcanic debris.

The Forgotten Treasures

The old storytellers speak of unparalleled riches hidden within the tomb—not mere coins or jewels, but artifacts of unimaginable power. Alchemy manuscripts that could disintegrate mountains, elixirs that could turn flesh to gold, and blades that would never rust. But above all these treasures, one legend stands tall: The Abscess Machine.

The Abscess Machine

In the deepest chamber of the tomb, protected by sigils that not even the dead dare violate, lies the final creation of the alchemist king. A mechanism of living metal, pulsing with hidden energy. It is said that it was built for a single purpose: to consume souls and distill the very essence of life.

The Tombkeepers

Neither suffocating ash nor oblivion have extinguished the king's watchmen. Within the buried corridors of the tomb, beings still prowl. They say that the enemies who betrayed Abcess were melted down and molded into bronze statues, condemned to remain eternally as their master's guardians. Their metal armor creaks as they move, and their hollow eyes still burn with the glow of ancient enchantments.

Others speak of golems forged of mercury, moldable as smoke and sharp as blades. And there are those who say that even the dead of Abscess still walk, not as ghosts, but as experiments of twisted flesh, creatures that should not exist.

The Mausoleum of the Guardians

Few dare to pronounce the name of Surubon, the Devourer of Souls, for even the memory of his existence carries a funereal weight on the shoulders of the living. But there is a place where his name still burns in the depths of the stone, where the steel of the dead still resounds in the sepulchral silence: the Mausoleum of the Guardians.

In times that no longer count in centuries, during the reign of Abcess IV, in an era of darkness and blood, Surubon tore the veil of reality and entered this world. Not as an army, nor as a storm, but as a disease that consumed kings and beggars, devouring souls and leaving behind empty bodies, moved only by his unholy will. No blade could cut him, no shield could stop him. The very air turned to poison around him, and the king's armies were reduced to nothing before they even touched their swords to the enemy.

It was then up to the Crown Guards, the bravest warriors and mages of Abcess IV, to capture the demon. Seventeen men and women set out, led by the archmage Vaedros Murk, bearing anointed weapons, ancient runes, and hearts that would not hesitate in the face of the abyss. For two days and three nights, they fought against the entity in a valley forgotten by the gods, while the stars faded in the sky and the very ground pulsed like living flesh.

Surubon did not bleed, but each enchantment weakened him; each blow driven into his shadowy flesh reduced his fury, until, exhausted and mutilated, the Guardians chanted the last rite, a forbidden sacrifice. With their own blood and the last strength they had left, they used their own souls to seal him. They did not kill the demon—they became his prison.

The Mausoleum of the Guardians was built on the ruins of the battlefield, carved from grey rock, shrouded in sigils so ancient that even the dead avoid its presence. Rivers of liquid silver run in deep grooves in the walls, forming a labyrinth of sorcery capable of tearing the sanity of those who approach it.

The Guardians do not rest. Their spirits, torn apart by sacrifice, remain trapped between life and death, guarding the runes and hunting any fool who dares enter the dark corridors. There are no allies here, only shadows that wield swords and hurl curses with the same voices that once cried out for the king. They are both jailers and prisoners, condemned to an eternity of vigil, so that the horror they fought against will never awaken.

The Tomb of Eldora

In the bleak and inhospitable Plains of Ash, where the ground burns under the curse of the ancient gods and the air is heavy with the lament of this forgotten land, there lies a whisper of hope: the Tomb of Eldora. This powerful woman who lived in communion with nature is a legend that transcends the boundaries of time.

In life, her days were spent among the ancient trees and crystal-clear streams, where she spoke to animals as if they were her equals, and delved into a vast knowledge of herbs and healing.

Considered the last druid in a world forgotten by the blessings of life, Eldora was a beacon of light amidst the desolation. Whenever a traveler was lost or a creature suffered, she was there, ready to offer aid, often at the cost of her own life force. Her presence was a balm to the wounded and a beacon to the lost.

Yet the harmony she cultivated led to fear among those around her. The powerful lords of the neighboring lands, fearing what they could not control, banded together to eradicate what they considered a threat. On a windless night, a horde of warriors, armed with shadows and curses, invaded Eldora's home. Even amidst the fighting, she stood firm, calling upon the spirits of the forest and the animals. However, the strength of steel prevailed, and Eldora was murdered, her body becoming part of the land she loved so much.

Contrary to what her oppressors had hoped, the peasants managed to recover her body. Her tomb, erected on the sacred ground where she had lived and loved, has now become an oasis of life amidst the despair of the Plains of Ash. Where there was once nothing but desolation, now blooms vibrant flowers, fruit trees, and springs of pure water. Rays of light pierce the eternally gray clouds, and the few animals that remain gather around her eternal rest.

Travelers who cross the arid plains are inexorably drawn to this inexplicable bounty, finding food and fresh water, as if Eldora herself were there, offering her aid once more. Many leave offerings of flowers and small tributes, telling stories of their love and gratitude, or simply sitting in her presence, healing not only physically but also in their worn-out souls.

Though the shadow of death has taken Eldora’s life, her strength remains, alive in the variety of life that flourishes around her. Eldora’s Tomb has become a place of pilgrimage and reverence, where all are invited to reflect on the interconnectedness of all creatures and the beauty that can emerge from even the most desolate terrain.

The Tomb of the Twins Lorran and Elran

The day of their birth was marked by a rare eclipse, a phenomenon that tore the sky in two, as if the universe itself were divided between light and darkness.

From a young age, Lorran and Elran showed remarkable gifts. They displayed a kindness that brightened the lives of those around them. They were known in their village and surrounding areas for healing the sick, helping those in need, and bringing hope to the desperate. However, as they grew older, it also became clear that there was a dark side that pulsed within them, a mysterious connection that united them in ways that defied understanding.

The twins shared a deep bond, their very essence intertwined. While Lorran was known for his compassion and courage, Elran harbored a darker spirit, capable of summoning hidden fears and awakening the fury of nature.

One night, in a moment of weakness, they performed an ancient ritual, seeking the power to transgress the boundaries of life and death, without understanding the litany they had conjured. The earth shook, and the heavens opened, pouring flames down upon them. The sacrifice demanded by the powers they had invoked was high. In that same instant, the lives of Lorran and Elran were extinguished, leaving a void of pain and bewilderment in the hearts of those who worshipped them.

However, their legacy did not end. Twenty-two willing disciples, who had followed the twins in life, decided to accompany them on their journey to the afterlife. Each brought with them a fervent devotion and a singular purpose: to serve Lorran and Elran in a realm where only goodness and darkness would coexist.

In the new dimension, the twins became guardians of dreams and nightmares, balancing benevolence and terror in a world without borders. The remaining disciples spread the stories of the brothers, inspiring both fear and reverence.

The legends grew, echoing through time, and their souls, now linked in eternity, continued in a constant play of light and darkness.

Second Level

The Tomb of Elayon Varonihl

In the annals of existence on this island, few names inspire as much admiration and revulsion as Elayon Varonihl. The sorcerer who built walls against the shadows, who saved thousands from plague and famine, yet whose name is still whispered with horror on cold nights. For Elayon was no ordinary man – he was a force of power and contradiction, a paradox of light and darkness.

Born the bastard of a nobleman and a witch, Elayon was rejected by his father and given to the learned monks, where he soon surpassed his masters. His intellect was an insatiable fire, and his ambition burned like a bonfire on a windy night. When his land was ravaged by war and disease, it was he who raised his hand and changed the fate of his people.

He healed the sick, but he also cursed them.

He made rain fall upon the fields, but he also watered them with blood.

He protected his land from invaders, but the walls of his city were supported by forbidden spells, echoing the cries of forgotten souls.

Elayon was generous to his people, providing them with food, safety, and knowledge, but his decadence was well known. His marble palace resounded with whispers of unholy orgies, dark pacts, and experiments that tore the veil between the human and the unnameable. His followers worshipped him as a savior, but feared him as a cruel god.

Yet fate did not reserve a grand death for him. No vengeful army defeated him, no conjured spirit dragged his soul into the abyss. He died alone, in his chamber, suffocated by his own vomit after a drunken binge. When they found him, his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling of his room, his lips curled in a final smile. His servants buried him in a tomb adorned with enchantments, an underground chamber sealed with arcane symbols.

The elders warn: if at night they hear laughter coming from beyond, they should stay away! For Elayon Varonihl may be dead, but his presence has never left this world.