Sad song, unwary when the winds came. Forgotten by Magi, forsaken by madness, lost in the winding ways, Cradle-men become monsters.
Ask the bard, Skulk will not sing it to you.
Go we back to the deep dark. Found Madelf who killed in vain. Raised the dead. Howl death and put deep frost in Skulk bones until we spill blood of last survivor. Put him in ground, so city can start to forget.
Many deep dead. Eaters, yes, but more. Ogre. Goblin. Maybe some secrets still left in Cradle, but madelf raise no more. Tower closest Sprigand walk, cleaned out, winding ways beneath, ours.
Ours, tower in Cradle becomes. Ours, foothold has become. Ours, Cradle soon.