“In those days the Larinda still ruled the land, wise and benevolent. These four hills were the towers of their mightiest castle. Not green with grass as they are now, but white stone reaching to the sky, bright in the sunlight, glittering in the moonlight. The walls between the towers were as tall as half a dozen men and guarded by archers whose arrows were unerring. Its gate doors were cut from one great stone wrapped in On’nrilic iron and unbreachable. It was said that as long as one Larindal lived to defend it no enemy could hope to set foot inside it.”

“But where are the Larinda now?”

“Yes, where? We have need of them!”

“Yes, yes we do. None know why they left, but it is said on the rarest of nights, when the silver of all moons’ faces is dark, the fortress can be seen, a ghostly castle traced in cold starlight. That is why we are here this night.”