In the Hall of the Beast

Tales told in firelight, late in the evenings, tell of the remote moors deep in the hinterlands. A traveller who visits there on the night of the blood moon may see a strange, distant lantern through the twisting fog. Those that follow it, heedless of the enveloping mist, find a gambling den where none should be, where the barkeep is the Devil Themself. Those that dare enter find it is a place where anything can be wagered: fortunes, loves, souls. They say that you can get anything you dream of there, even the secret of Immortality. But they say to be careful what you offer, because a wager or a deal once completed cannot be reversed. There are those who claim to have been to this hall, who woke up on the moor at dawn with wild tales. But it’s also said that not all who enter ever return.

Many dismiss these tales as superstition, no different from the stories of the monster who stalks the moors and eats unruly children.

But not you, for you have followed the lantern, and now you are here, in the Hall of the Beast. And a scroll in your hand offers you potential beyond your imagining.