Deep within the prison, two sleeping presences remained, unearthed, as a tall man on a cliff in the TERROR MOUNTAINS overlooked the entrance of the small party to the gates. In his hands, he held a long sickle, his pale hair falling into lavender eyes, a frown on his lips.
Quietly, he leapt from the top of the cliff, following them on silent feat, wary of their possible impending defeat at the hands of monsters. Otherworldly beings could not control the realm of Nightmare, not as fully as they may wish.