Deep within the lightless, labyrinthine reaches of the great Darkenhold forest ...
Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I can’t remember... Voice of the Night: The wolves are gathering, the stars are shifting... come, join us in the hunt.
The Sylvan Oracle: What arboreal augury be this? Has the Realm Verdant at last seen the countenance of the one born of prophecy?
Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I have the scent... Voice of the Night: Gaze into the mists... feel the earth thawing beneath your feet. Come, bring down the prey.
The Sylvan Oracle: The wolves are gathering, The stars are shifting, This spectre at the feast, This nectar of the vine.
Voice of the Night: Look at the power you possess... See the might which you wield! You know who you are, do you not? Wandering Spirit: Yes, I am the scythe in the field at summer, I am the thunder that awakens the earth, I am that which gives the night air its chill.
Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I am far beyond the ken of men... my gaze shall make the night tremble!
The Sylvan Oracle: So dour a mien, let all night’s fulgors flame. Behold, the ghost of a king as yet unborn! He is the scourge, the thanatos, the cleansing fire, the purifying storm... he is the cataclysm given corporeal form! He is the embodiment of our rage, the fury over the injustices which the Insidious Host will one day perpetrate against the descendants of the Realm Verdant and their Arboreal sentinels! He is the hammer of vengeance, the sword of retribution which will one day be wielded in this kingdom's name! But be wary that your progeny does not consume thee, Zyl-Zyn-Horhuz... the Voice of the Night!
Voice of the Night: Who are you, my son? Wandering Spirit: Father... I am annihilation incarnate!