The moon shines brightly overhead, casting a silvery glow over the valley. It’s fixed at midnight – although it’s surely taken you an hour or so to arrive here, at the entrance of the ruined palace.

Those green lights you saw weren’t lights at all, it turns out, but the souls of the dead. Thousands of them, trapped here in the valley by some uncanny magic. As you enter the palace grounds, a few of them float lazily towards you, eager to drain the life from your body.

You clamber up onto a ruined wall, out of the spirits’ reach – although that doesn’t stop them from crowding around you, reaching out their ghostly hands in hungry desperation. Sorry, you think - no dinner today!

You move quickly and quietly along the top of the wall, aiming for the circular stone structure in the centre of the palace ruins. It’s the least dilapidated part of the building – it’s even retained the iron bones of what would have been some kind of gigantic glass dome. You swing elegantly up and drop through the supports onto the ground below.

Inside, the ruin is silent. The ever-present moon beams through the ruined ceiling, casting long, dark shadows across the floor. You move cautiously towards the centre of the room, where you can see some kind of rock sat upon a stone dais. You could almost believe that it simply fell out of the sky – unlike the rest of the décor, it’s rough and unshaped, as though it had just rolled down one of the mountains and settled here. As you draw closer, though, you notice something interesting. What you’d taken to be an odd dent on the front of the rock is a deliberately carved niche, and what’s more, the shape looks surprisingly familiar.

You reach into your Backpack and feel around for the rough-hewn edges of one of your Summoning stones before pulling it out. Cautiously, you insert it into the niche and back off. The stone begins to wobble, and then starts to glow brighter and brighter, until you’re forced to turn away. The floor beneath your feet begins to shake, and there’s a hideously loud scrape of stone on stone. The light dims, and when you look back the dais has moved backwards to reveal a spiral staircase leading deep underground. You take a deep breath. Could this be the Necromancers’ lair?

You grab the Summoning stone and head down the stairs, keeping a wary eye out for any hidden monsters as you go. You’ve had quite enough surprises on this adventure already.

You exit into a small, dark chamber, lit by the flickering light of a few enchanted candles. As your eyes adjust to the gloom, you pick out the faint shadows of four tall, robed figures, each holding a heavy stone tome – and breathe a sigh of relief as you realise they’re only statues. For now, it seems you’re alone down here.

You grab a dribbly candle from the wall and investigate the statues. They’re carefully carved, and strikingly individual – they must have been modeled on real Necromancers from the past. Each statue has its mouth slightly open, as though reading from the enormous books in their hands. Upon closer inspection, you can make out faint lines of writing carved into each tome. Four words:

“Dinok… Faas… Suleyk… Loost!”

As soon as you complete the incantation, all the candles in the room blow out and you’re plunged into near-complete darkness. The only light is a faint glow from somewhere near your feet. You look down and try to understand what you’re seeing. Some kind of occult symbol is carved into the stone floor and as you watch, it begins to glow, ominously.

Whispers crowd your head – unintelligible, but increasingly urgent. You strain to make out what they are saying, but you don’t understand.

You almost jump out of your skin when you feel the cold, bony hand on your shoulder. A grim, rattling breath sets your hair on end.

“Summoner…” hisses the thing behind you, “Why have you awakened me?”

You whirl around, hand already at your sword.

“Who are you?” You cry out, and a robed figure steps from the shadows. Its face is a grim skull, with two pinpricks of green light for eyes.

“I am Fiozor, last of the Necromancers, sealed within these walls to prevent the calamity which befell my people from ever occurring again. Now, Summoner – speak! How came you here, and what do you want from me?”

You explain everything – the Dark Mist, Bane, your quest to find The Herald before they strike again. The Necromancer watches, expressionless.

“I was told you were imprisoned by a terrible curse, and that lifting it will reveal the path to The Herald,” you finish.

“I am indeed cursed,” the Necromancer intones, “ – and so too, are you. This land is shrouded in darkness, an attempt to prevent interlopers from discovering the art of Summoning and using it for their own ends.”

The Necromancer turns away.

“Although it seems that some knowledge has escaped. The very fact that you stand here before me means that you are familiar with Summoning magic – and so I must strike you down, before it is too late.”

“But why?” You exclaim. “Didn’t you hear me? The Herald must be stopped!”

The Necromancer shakes his head.

“Some magic is too dangerous to survive. My people were naïve. When we first discovered Summoning, we found it to be a waste of mana. Why conjure up capricious beasts when you command legions of the undead to bend to your every whim?

“So we sold our knowledge to the highest bidder – a nation with vast reserves of mana, who eagerly set about summoning spirits for all manner of menial tasks. It was all innocent at first, but they became greedy. Soon, they were summoning entire armies, and laying waste to the lands around them.

“But the greater calamity was still to come. These people paid no heed to the spirits’ wants and needs. They sought only control. We warned them, but…”

The Necromancer gestures to the ruins around you.

“They didn’t care. Their apathy was to be their undoing. The spirits they had tormented for their own gain grew discontent, and one day, they simply rose up against their summoners. The city you passed through is all that remains of their great civilisation – and this lonely ruin is all that remains of mine. Do you understand?”

You hesitate. Can Summoning really lead to such destruction? The Necromancer does not wait for a reply.

“All knowledge of Summoning must be destroyed, lest history repeat itself. Now – will you accept your fate?”

You think of the empty, Afflicted City. The stark ruins of the Necromancers’ Palace. The endless wasteland of the Outer Regions, and the grim creatures that live here. You can’t let that happen to Melvor – and that’s why you have to fight.

You raise your sword and assume a fighting stance. The Necromancer sighs.

“Very well, then,” he says, and begins to charge a glowing magic orb. “Prepare to die…”