The blight that emanated from the shadowed grove spread across Morrathiel like a creeping necrosis, twisting the once-vibrant landscape into a grotesque parody of its former beauty. The twin rivers now flowed with a viscous, black ichor, their banks lined with skeletal trees that seemed to weep a perpetual mist of decay. The air was thick with the stench of rot and a chilling dampness that seeped into bone and soul.
Under the oppressive pall that now hung over Morrathiel, in the deepest crypts beneath the Sunstone Citadel – a place once sacred, now defiled – Queen Selene, her eyes vacant and glowing with the sickly green light of the Hollow Brood, presided over a horrifying ritual. The once-hallowed chamber was now a charnel house, littered with bones unearthed from ancient tombs and shrouded in the same unnatural mist that clung to the blighted lands above.
The Shadow Speaker and several other shadowy figures of the Hollow Brood writhed and chanted around a central dais carved from obsidian, its surface etched with grotesque symbols that pulsed with dark energy. Upon the dais lay the still forms of Morrathiel Lycans, their life force seemingly drained, their bodies unnaturally cold and pale. These were not willing sacrifices, but those who had resisted the encroaching darkness, their defiance brutally silenced.
Selene, her movements jerky and unnatural, her voice a hollow echo of its former melody, began to intone words in the same guttural tongue spoken by the Hollow Brood. Her hands, once skilled in healing, now moved with a macabre precision, tracing the dark sigils upon the obsidian dais and upon the lifeless bodies before her. The thorny amulet at her throat pulsed in time with her chilling incantations.
As the ritual reached its crescendo, the unnatural mist in the crypts began to swirl with increasing intensity, coalescing around the lifeless forms on the dais. The bones scattered around the chamber rattled and scraped against the stone floor, drawn by an unseen force. A low, mournful wail echoed through the crypts, a sound that seemed to be born from the very stones themselves.
From the swirling mist and the gathered bones, something horrifying began to take shape. Skeletal frames, pieced together from the unearthed remains, rose with agonizing slowness, their movements jerky and unnatural. Tendrils of the black mist snaked around the bone, binding them together, giving them a semblance of form. Where flesh should have been, there was only the clinging, decaying mist, and within the empty sockets of their skulls, pinpricks of malevolent green light burned with a chilling intensity – the same light that now resided within Selene.
These were the first Skarnwraiths, abominations born from death and dark magic, animated by the malevolent will of the Hollow Brood and bound to the corrupted Queen Selene. They were the antithesis of life, creatures of bone and mist, their very existence a violation of the natural order. They possessed a chilling strength, their skeletal limbs surprisingly agile, and their touch brought with it a creeping cold that extinguished life force. The mournful wail that had heralded their creation now seemed to emanate from them, a constant lament for the stolen lives they now embodied.
The Shadow Speaker turned to Selene, its crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Behold, Queen of Shadows. Your new legion. They are bound to your will, extensions of our influence. They will quell any remaining resistance and usher in the true darkness."
Selene's hollow eyes fixed upon the newly formed Skarnwraiths. There was no flicker of her former compassion, no hint of remorse for the desecration of her people's remains. Only a cold, vacant obedience. "They will serve," she echoed, her voice devoid of emotion.
The Skarnwraiths moved with an unsettling obedience, their skeletal forms gliding through the mist-filled crypts. The pinpricks of green light in their empty sockets fixed on Selene, a silent testament to their unholy allegiance. They were the first wave of a new terror, a horrifying manifestation of the pact struck in the shadowed grove.
As the first Skarnwraiths emerged from the depths of the Sunstone Citadel, a wave of chilling dread washed over the blighted lands of Morrathiel. Those who still clung to hope felt it wither and die in their hearts. These creatures of bone and mist were a tangible symbol of their queen's corruption and the terrifying power of the darkness that had taken root in their once-radiant kingdom.
The news of these abominations would soon reach the other kingdoms, carried on the increasingly desperate whispers of refugees fleeing the encroaching blight. The Concord of Howling Blood would face not only an external shadowy enemy but a terrifying internal corruption, a kingdom twisted into a breeding ground for death and despair. The firstborn of bone and mist were a horrifying omen, a glimpse into the true depths of the darkness that threatened to consume them all. The mournful wails of the Skarnwraiths echoed across the blighted landscape, a chilling symphony of death and despair.