Varythax and the Black Spire

In the elder days, when the world was yet young and the stars burned colder in the vault of

night, a shadow stirred in the deep places beneath the earth. This was long before

the crowns of men rose in pride, before the great kingdoms carved their borders in

blood and stone, before the old songs spoke of heroes and fallen thrones. The world knew only

scattered tribes huddled around hearth-fires, and the vast wilds where ancient things still walked.

Far in the frozen north, beyond the reach of any map, stood the Black

Spire of Varyth— a tower of obsidian glass and living bone, thrust upward from

a chasm that breathed cold fire. Within its lightless halls ruled Varythax the Unnamed,