"High atop the misty plateaus, where the frigid air feasts on the lungs of the living, there exists a crypt of ancient masonry. The entrance rests deep within a decrepit courtyard. The arches of the yard are nearly as aged as the hills and have endured epochs of atrophy. No moss grows on the cast stonework and no flowers rest on their embellishments. There is more to this grim courtyard than rock and mortar and more to this chill than a mountain wind.
Among the remains rests a trinket out of time. A ring of gold centered by a dull emerald like gemstone. The masons of older times marveled at the green luster of the mountain stones and crafted the band in their admiration. The devious mineral proved difficult to shape and only one ring was ever made. The ring served as a final gift to the fabled Lost King of scriptural times.
The trinket ring is believed to be a passkey into the ethereal and is certainly a dream to those who covet the acquisition of power. The ring's corruptible sight takes grip of the living. Before of its coercion for you may lose yourself to the stone. Your soul to forever linger on the plateau, haunting in undying service, just as the ageless masons of the past. Just as the Wraiths of Old."