You enter the tomb beneath the Szarr palace, your senses still slightly numb from your recent slumber.

You had been the house-ghost of Szarr palace for almost 300 years now, constantly haunted by the screams of spawn, watching the cycle of victim becoming perpetrator repeat itself.

As you go from only being able to sense warmth and cold to being able to actually see and hear, you make out a pale elf sitting by the door, scratching his hands raw while desperately apologizing to no one.