Of Those Spirits of the Dead

Mark you well: there is a place beyond spirit, beyond life which is Darkness, Shadow, and there Shadows dwell.

An island, a fortress, a land of the Dead, I have traveled there through a pathway of doom and I have witnessed the dread king of the Stygian City as he sat at court.

I have seen the faceless hooded ones traversing River Styx. They swarm about us like flies on a putrefying corpse, and like us, feed on fear, ecstasy, and anger.

Dead they are, but undead, and they are closer to us than we will ever know. The Blood of my Brother cries out to me as I sleep as the Sun crosses the sky, I hear my brother, second born Abel, screaming.

Mark well the spirits of those who have died, Know their strength is not your own,

Listen to their words: they carry wisdom.
Listen not to their songs: that way is oblivion.
Do not seek to bind them,
but free them if you can,

Such is the commandment of Caine, who himself has been imprisoned and freed.

— Caine, The Seeker of Truth