“Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ask. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds — justifications, confirmations, forms of consolation without which they can’t go on. To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.”

Tales are told throughout the world of shadowy figures that lurk in dark corners—stories recounted at children’s bedsides feature bestial creatures that come out only when the moon is right, and fireside legends speak of otherworldly beings beyond reckoning, whose very existence is more than the human mind can bear to know. These are the legends that explain where the blood of the family cow went, and why clerics spend so much time ensuring the proper Pharasmin rites are observed at grave sites throughout the lands. One can write them off as simple, scary stories in Seddon’s Landing or Mavramorn, but in Ustalav, everyone knows the truth of the things that go bump in the night.

The year is 758 and a great man, dear friend, mentor, and scholar has passed away in an accident. A letter went out to a special few that knew the professor well and what had started with a simple memorial uncovered a sinister plot that killed the professor and has amibtions to do much more than that.
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