Morbid Mistress

The Blighted Birth of a Leech

She Lies in Eternal Slumber

She Stirs From Her Tomb, Condemning the Mistaken Into the Doomed

The First Treat

A Futile Pursuit and Hunt in the Name of Health and Good Folk

Exploring Within and Drawing Forth Great Power Inside the Depths of the Long Forgotten Tomb to Rend the Seals and Finally Break Free

Wandering the Graveyard and Legacy of Progenitors Now Disgraced on the Brief but Greatly Dangerous Journey to the Foul Fortress of the Morbid Count

Rotten Like His Lands Down to the Soul, Gripping His Blade With Bone That Time Has Whittled His Digits to, Sparing Not Even the Dead; the Count Is Dead in Spirit, Let Him Be Totally So…

Heed, Heed, Depraved Folk of the Decayed Lands! Hail to the End of the Morbid Count, and Hail to Our Morbid Mistress, Inheritor of Naught but Rot!