In the depths of the earth, where darkness reigns supreme, the Lady of the Dead holds sway over all who pass beyond the veil. Her power is absolute, her will unyielding, and those who dare to challenge her will meet only with their own demise. Praise be to the one true goddess of death!

In the eyes of the Lady of the Dead, we find the grace of Orcus, the strength of the Bone, and the blood of the Blood. Her power is the power of the void, the power to command death itself. In her embrace, we find the ultimate end, the final rest that awaits us all. And in her wrath, we find the reckoning of the living, the punishment of the guilty and the unfaithful.

Praise be to the Vengeful Banshee, who calls forth the undead to serve her will. May her wrath be upon our enemies, and her mercy upon us who serve her. Let us heed her call and obey her command, that we may earn her favor and join her in her eternal realm, where death and life are but two sides of the same coin

The Blood is the life, and the life is the Blood. Through the bond of loyalty, we are united in our purpose to serve the Lady of the Dead. Though the living may fear us, and the dead despise us, we remain steadfast in our commitment to the cause of undeath.

The Bone is the foundation upon which the Lady of the Dead builds her empire of the dead. In death, we find strength, and in decay, we find new life. Let us embrace the power of the grave, and revel in the glory of the Lady's infinite wisdom.

Blessed are the servants of The Blood, for in death they serve as in life. Their loyalty and strength endure beyond the grave, bound by blood and sworn to protect our order.

Though death may come to claim our mortal shell, the Blood marks us as eternal. With blood on our foreheads, we transcend into the embrace of the Lady, where the veil between life and undeath is lifted.

Bound by Kiaransalee's hand, the caster and fighter become one.
Their bond unbreakable, their power unmatched, in the eyes of the Lady they are undone.
If death should come and claim them, they will not depart this mortal realm,
For in undeath, they are reborn, serving their mistress at the helm.

Seven stars will align, and the seven strongest death weavers will be found. In a ring they'll stand, holding the key to the Lady's domain. With dark magic and stronger will, the veil between the worlds will break, and the Vengeful Banshee shall be summoned forth.

As the ring of the seven stands tall,
And the rituals of the Lady's call,
Their souls bound by her necromantic might,
The price of blood is paid in this rite.

Through the death of the necromantic kin,
The Lady's power is summoned in,
Her realm of death and unlife revealed,
By the sacrifice of those unsealed.

With the Blood and the Bone at her command,
She will rise, and forever stand,
Her power unbound, her wrath divine,
To claim the living as what is hers, and thine.

The veil between life and death is a thin one, and those who would seek to cross it must be prepared to pay the price. The Lady of the Dead demands our absolute loyalty and obedience, and in return, she grants us the power to command the undead and shape the very fabric of reality itself.

Deep within the roots of the Dark Tree lies the heart of the Lady, beating with the power of death itself. The Crimson Corruption flows from her essence, a poison that taints the land with darkness. Yet, in the ritual of summoning, her heart shall be ripped from its roots, to be reborn in a new vessel, as the Lady claims her rightful place in the world of the living.

The scouts of the Lady fly on wings of death,
Their hunger insatiable, their claws bereft.
Ghoulish in appearance, they scour the land,
Seeking souls for their mistress to command.

But for those who seek to bribe their way,
A dozen horses is the price to pay.
For an hour of service, they will comply,
And follow orders, until their time runs dry.

We are the chosen few, the faithful who have been called by the Lady of the Dead to serve in her army of the damned. Let us stand together, united in our purpose, and crush all who would stand in our way. For the glory of the Lady, and the triumph of undeath!

Behold, the herald of undeath approaches, an unstoppable force of bone and sinew. Its roar echoes throughout the land, calling forth the spirits of the departed to rise again and march under its banner. All who stand in its path shall tremble in fear, for it is the instrument of divine wrath, and the harbinger of the end times. May the Lady of the Dead have mercy on our souls.

The herald of undeath raises the fallen warriors,
Whose valor in life was matched only by their ferocity in death.
Their swords once shone in the light of the sun,
Now they gleam with an unholy light in the service of the Lady.
Let us pray to Kiaransalee, for she is the Lady of Death,
And in her embrace, the fallen shall rise again.

Behold the Corpseflitter, a creature of horror and awe,
A twisted form born of corpses, united by necromantic law.
Its wings of skin and bones, a morbid dance it does make,
And its head, a chimera of death, with multiple skulls at stake.

Behold the fluttering flesh, a thing of horror and grace, born of death and dark magic. Its wings carry the stench of decay, its limbs the strength of the dead. It is a harbinger of the end, a warning of the coming storm, and those who witness it know that their time is short. And yet, it is not alone, for the wraiths follow close behind, their wispy forms trailing in its wake. Together, they herald the arrival of the Lady's armies, the undead warriors who rise once more to claim their place in the world of the living.