Not all of Morag’s once-great empire entered into the Sourcestone’s sleep, however. As she fled north, she did so with her royal house. With her came her petty warrior-kings, her high priestesses with their shriveled and fading glory, her loyal servants, her precious Wordslaves. These became the ancient ones, the wretched ones, the exiled Old Ones who took shelter from the cold in the northland’s rocky depths. Meanwhile, to the east rose the human empire of Netheril that drew its very power from the rites and incantations first discovered and scribed by the high priestesses of Morag’s reign. Yet quietly and slowly, the Old Ones had their revenge and they lured the great mages of Netheril to secret schools founded in the west. There, the Old Ones trained them and made them powerful, fattening them for the slaughter. By feeding on the blood of the mages, the Old Ones drank their power, building their own strength and rendering themselves safe from the ravages of time. The centuries passed and Netheril fell to its own vanity and thus was founded the city of Illusk, again a home to great magics on which the Old Ones could feed. Then fell Illusk at the hands of the Elven Lord Halueth Never and so the Old Ones waited patiently until their hunger overtook them. Thus was Luskan founded and the Arcane Brotherhood that is so entangled in its history. Power there, and magic, and under it all, behind a thick veil of terror, are the Old Ones, forgotten but not gone, waiting for their prophesied Awakening.To read the full document follow the link below.
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