I would not venture too close to our mountain; fight the urge to explore it, no good will come of your curiosity. Many others have gone to investigate Ysivnia but none have returned from our mountain alive. We find their bodies, usually days later, usually torn apart by some ravenous scavenger. There were two we have found whose faces were not mangled, and the mask of fear they wore have furthered to confirm our belief Mount Ysivnia is haunted.

Ysivnia has always attracted attention, as far as anyone can remember. Our oldest stories are of our people coming to this land and settling around its base, and here we have remained for countless generations. The first thing that attracts our visitors is its shape, being more of a column or spire than a mountain, yet towering above the lands, higher than any other peak. It is whispered that from its top one can see the whole world spread out below, and that no other peak of any other mountain is as high. For most this is enough, just a natural curiosity to look at, but not much more. However, the observant ones have noticed Ysivnia stands in the exact center of a ring of plateaus, none taller than its neighbor. Who knows why, but our mountain is a flame and we are but moths drawn to it, helpless, but hopefully lucky.

In our most ancient tongue Ysivnia means "Beacon of Death", a name forced upon it after a terrible incident in our history. This same incident opened our eyes to the terrible power of this mountain, and brought hints about the specter which haunts it. It may not look it, but our civilization once thrived, employing stone masons, carpenters, goldsmiths, and all manner of artisans. Many would come to see our mountain and we flourished because of it. We soon became wealthy, respected, and feared. At that time we had a king, a great man who lead our people to great heights.

Our city was not lacking in holy men, sorcerers, seers, nor shaman. We were teeming with religious activity. Some lived peacefully together, others were constantly fighting, competing to gain the king's ear. All men have faults, and our king was both arrogant and spiritually weak. For those who sought to be his spiritual advisors it was a never-ending struggle to remain in his court, for one week he would embrace a shaman, and the next he would eschew him in favor of a holy cleric or monk.

At the height of his glory and power a rather unscrupulous sorcerer convinced the king he should carve his image in the side of our great mountain. He said he could enchant the likeness offering the king the longevity of the mountain itself and allowing him to see what the mountain could see. Being an arrogant man he quickly made preparations.

There was a small group of men, disregarded by many, who revered the mountain itself. They had some power among them, and they were able to divine that death would come to any who dared to defile the mountain in such a way. They attempted to warn the king, fearing some dread imprecation would be brought down upon him and the kingdom should he continue. The king laughed at them, mocked them, and in his anger at their impertinence toward his great power had them bound and put under guard until the relief was finished.

As can be seen it was never finished, indeed it never started. The day the workmen ascended the mountain a strange plague descended upon them. They died a swift death, and perhaps it was too swift, for as their bodies fell from the mountain the king merely assumed they lost their footing and plummeted to their deaths. He ordered a second group of men to the mountain, but they too met with a swift death. It was not until the third group of men died that the king began to fear the warning he was given was accurate.

The sorcerer urged him onward, along with a cleric who promised to bless the next group of men. The king ordered them both to accompany the men up the mountain. This time the death was not so swift for all. The sorcerer was struck down in a brilliant flash of light; two of the workers ran screaming in a panic and lost the footing brining about their own deaths. The remaining workers and the cleric escaped to the base of the mountain. They did not escape death; first one man complained of a fever, then burst into flames and died shrieking. Soon the others began to die in the same fashion.

The cleric could do nothing for them. He could neither calm the flames nor break the fever. Before he succumbed to the fever he wrote down all that had happened and sent it to the king by way of bird. Days later the king himself came to their camp to check on them, and found only piles of ash and scorched furniture. In his anger he cursed the mountain, and that proved to be his undoing. In that moment the wind screeched as if a banshee were let loose on the land, and before he could tremble in fear he burst into brilliant flame.

From that day on the mountain has been called Ysivnia, and it is believed to be haunted by some specter or minor deity. I have come to know the mountain over my years in this valley and the name suits it. It is a beacon of death, a mysterious tower which calls men unto itself only to plunge them into the depths of the underworld. They were right to give it such a name. But it is not haunted, not by some wraith or god. I am its specter, and you have crossed my threshold.