Sepulchral Veil
The twin relics of the Sepulchral Veil are all that remain of a mourning ritual long forbidden. In a forgotten age, grief-stricken souls sought to pierce the boundary between life and death, weaving a shroud of magic over their loved ones’ graves. It is said that the veil allowed the dead to whisper through, their voices trapped between worlds. But when the ritual was used to summon back a lost king, something answered that was not him.
The veil blackened, the air soured, and the dead did not return in peace. Those who performed the rite were found hollow-eyed and breathless, their souls siphoned away, leaving only the stain of sorrow behind. These dice are woven from the lingering remnants of that veil—the mist of yearning, the creeping decay of what should have been left undisturbed.
To cast them is to risk hearing the faint murmur of voices long gone, whispering through the void, seeking one last chance to be heard.
The twin relics of the Sepulchral Veil are all that remain of a mourning ritual long forbidden. In a forgotten age, grief-stricken souls sought to pierce the boundary between life and death, weaving a shroud of magic over their loved ones’ graves. It is said that the veil allowed the dead to whisper through, their voices trapped between worlds. But when the ritual was used to summon back a lost king, something answered that was not him.
The veil blackened, the air soured, and the dead did not return in peace. Those who performed the rite were found hollow-eyed and breathless, their souls siphoned away, leaving only the stain of sorrow behind. These dice are woven from the lingering remnants of that veil—the mist of yearning, the creeping decay of what should have been left undisturbed.
To cast them is to risk hearing the faint murmur of voices long gone, whispering through the void, seeking one last chance to be heard.
The twin relics of the Sepulchral Veil are all that remain of a mourning ritual long forbidden. In a forgotten age, grief-stricken souls sought to pierce the boundary between life and death, weaving a shroud of magic over their loved ones’ graves. It is said that the veil allowed the dead to whisper through, their voices trapped between worlds. But when the ritual was used to summon back a lost king, something answered that was not him.
The veil blackened, the air soured, and the dead did not return in peace. Those who performed the rite were found hollow-eyed and breathless, their souls siphoned away, leaving only the stain of sorrow behind. These dice are woven from the lingering remnants of that veil—the mist of yearning, the creeping decay of what should have been left undisturbed.
To cast them is to risk hearing the faint murmur of voices long gone, whispering through the void, seeking one last chance to be heard.
