In a place of eternal dusk, where the sky is no longer blue, stygian walls of sable forts keep the night at bay.
A former bastion of knowledge, where weeping angels dance, lifeless in its depths.
A dormant stronghold, where forlorn ravens sing, dim-lit by the midnight hues, yet no stars stood.
An endless night, locked in twilight, and bound by the unseen moon.
A place where the fallen king resides... where he sleeps.
This is the story that he made.
Isn't that right... Nonary?