Anuinchelmin's Grimoire

A Coffin Throne Orbitted by Murmuring Books. Dressed in his finest, with bones etched and bejeweled. Floating in a chamber aflood with Amberchrys.

The air crackles with energy that stands your hairs on edge and mashes your molars together. Touch the tips of your fingers together and you can feel the energy arcing between them.

Before you hovers a book some 3 meters in height and 2 in width. On its cover, bound to the many masterwork rivets and filigree of its metalwork frame, a skelton is bound in the crossed-arm repose of death, sunken sockets baleful as they consider their intruder. Jutting from his brow, a crown curling, pointed horns wreaths his head—like stone serpents entertwining.

As you approach the skeleton's head angles towards you. Though his jaw does not move, words emanate from between teeth etched with gold and jewels, echoing commands in ancient Pheraeai "Halt, and go not farther.".

As the tome rose, the contents of the library flew off from their shelves, glowing like lanterns as they orbitted it. Sparks of electricity arced between them, and the water of the moat began to pace around the lip of the arena like a hungry dog, snapping at the heels of any who approached with sharp flurries of icy fangs.