Long ago, and high upon a mountain, far from the prying eyes of any lord or lady, there sat a lone priory. Holy men, under the order of Prior Grimoald, lived high up there, constructing a simple priory from the stone and earth, as well as the small sum of wood they had brought with them. Mist and clouds hung ever-present in such a high place, the lone priory standing in an eternal hazy darkness. Plants hardly grew in such a place. Light hardly pierced such a place. One could hardly view the stars from such a place. Though this may seem backwards to the want to grow closer to the gods, it was indeed by design. Grimoald Priory was not a place touched by the gods, no matter how it may have presented itself, its underbelly was dark and decrepit. Buried below the stonework and floorboards of the above level lay the truth of the priory, a dank and decrepit undercroft with which to practice toward other gods, less popular to many, the worship of some in fact deemed illegal by the courts of most the lords and ladies of the council; but this was of no consequence to Grimoald, whose care was to further knowledge of all things metaphysical. His peers understood themselves to be quite similar to he, yet as time passed, they slowly realized their aims to be more mad than good, yet it was all for naught. To this day nobody truly knows what happened to Grimoald Priory, only that it is a place of evil, that any adventurer, no matter how quick-witted, will call their grave upon entry...
