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Like the fabled sirens of the high seas the trio of flaming orbs swirl entrancingly through the fog, bathing the hilltop and henge in their eerie glow. Many stories are told of the body that lies beneath them. Some tell claims of an ancient wizard king who once ruled these lands before catching the ire of a coven of cultists, others of a lonely traveller who sat down to rest to never rise again. Regardless of assumptions of the identity of these bones one thing is agreed upon, nothing good can come from disturbing their rest
The same sickly green light emanates from down the ramp, drawing unwary travellers downward towards the door and the under-henge, and whatever eldritch horrors make their home beneath this cursed soil.
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