Maestro of the Macabre

“ …that phantom bard treadin' the forgotten edges of our decaying lands, endlessly huntin' for a masterful tune to free his sorry soul. Elusive and meandering like a wisp, he strolls the border 'twixt life and the lost n’ he a spirit ya not best mess with. When the midnight's veil slinks in, ya might find yerself hearin' his spectral serenade in the distance. The sound o’ his prized lute wails haunting melodies, echoing through the desolation like the howl of a drunk ghost. Some say it feels like the air itself gets thick with the sorrow n’ even feel like they drownin in the music. Same fools might think him a pittiful spirit lost and wandrin’, but mark me words, dread follows that sorrowful melody like a plague.

It’s them that follow, the Swarm—the Jitterbugs. Little buggers come in his wake to consume n’ grow the brood. When their master starts playin', they go into a frenzy, breathin' a farce of life inta the forgotten and tossed aside. Makin' corpses shamble and shudder in an endless macabre dance, mandibles yankin' at muscle and sinew, turnin' 'em into a parade of flesh and bone puppets. And mark me well, they'll cast their eyes on ye, a fresh feast for the Swarm. So keep yer wits about, me mates, for the Maestro and his Jitterbugs might just have ye joinin' their ghastly dance. “