Skaar awoke from his meditative trance, his heart beating rapidly as he staggered to his feet. Sunlight streamed down upon his unclothed form, illuminating his lean, muscular body and the grotesque scars which spread across his skin like the stitching of an overly enthusiastic surgeon. He grunted, wiping a hand across the sweat which gathered at his brow, fingers tracing over the burnt tissue which made up half of his face; one half burnt and blackened, the other bearing a long, jutting scar which tore down across his eyelid to the chin. If it weren't for these blemishes, he would have been rather attractive, in a cold, cruel way.
Brushing aside the thin, ragged mane of raven black hair which fell across his brow, he set to work, quickly equipping his grotesque set of skull-fashioned armor and throwing on the whispersilk shroud, before finally tugging on his intmidating skull-helm. A pale, corpulent light shone within the glaring sockets of his helm, an eerie glow which suffused the mountain side about them. The spirits had whispered to him in his sleep, showing something most disturbing....
A ragabond party approached the Mountains; even know, they made their way through the steepened, harrowed paths of the Mount. Normally, this would not have bothered him, and he would have let them pass by unmolested; but the spirits told him that this group would be different. Exactly how, they were in disagreement; some urged him to slaughter them all, while others that they were nothing but innocent travelers on the lengst of some quest.
Skaar did not like listening to them bicker amongst themselves, so he silenced the spirits with a pyschic growl, before turning to exit his lair. He would find out for himself just who these tresspassers were, and why they dared enter His domain.
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A fell hush descended over the party as the traveled. A fog thickened about them, clouding the road ahead. Every now and then, a rock would tumble in the distance, or a lone crow would caw out a lonely call, never to be answered. A pervasive, inexplicable sense of dread accompanied the unnatural mist, heightening the parties fears and subtly making them succeptible to a prying influence.
Every now and again, something would move in the mists, on the periphery of their vision; a shrouded thing which moved like smoke amongst the fog.
