During the early years of the Migration Wars there arose a mighty Torokel warrior known as Coranid. He was a proud and courageous man, capable of fulfilling any of the requests given him by his king, the great Telnori ruler Kalonin. So feared was the sight of Coranid and his lancers that the invading Ishkali tribes feared him as a terrible avenging spirit – when he rode, “Novendo itself shook with fear, thousands did he slay, and thousands more drowned in the blood of the slain.”

From the fortress city of Erisban (?) to the gates of Harmazad (?) Coranid and his lancers chased the barbarian hordes, routing them in battle after battle. From atop his gray mare, Yonath, he commanded his forces, and the mere sight of his great sword, Korif, struck great fear into barbarian hearts. However, it became apparent to Coranid that, even after many victories, there was little he could do to stem the tide. As did many of his kin, he withdrew to haven in the Erodath Highlands.

One night, as Coranid slept, Xydona sent him a vision of doom. In the dream, Coranid visited a fog shrouded countryside, the forms of his men dim in the swirling mists, their horses snorting their fear. Saddles creaked and harnesses clinked lifelessly. A gust of wind parted the fog to reveal a circle of great stone giants and a pile of twisted corpses, atop which stood a hideous old crone. A battle horn sounded and Coranid was dragged from his mount.

Awakening, he decided to move with great haste, for not three leagues from where he camped was a great stone circle known as Serlyn (?). With but a word, his lancers were again on the move.

After crossing the Nuem the prophesy began to unfold. The warriors were surrounded by a fog “unlike any mist they had ever seen” and soon there were wishpers of demonic influence. But, dismounting, they pressed on. After leading their horses for seven hours through the unearthly fog, a gentle breeze carried to them the scent of carrion. The mists parted to reveal a mound of horribly mutilated corpses within a circle of brooding stone watchers.

Coranid called a warning to his forces, drew Korif and laid about to either side. Three times did his blade strike home and three times did assailants fall. “For five days (?) did the Battle of Mists rage and many a Torokel was felled by unknown, shadowy forms. Then, as quickly as it began, the fog lifted and the battle was over. Of their attackers there was no sign, but the toll which they had inflicted upon Coranid’s men was terrible; two score of his lancers lay upon a field devoid of the corpses of their enemies. Atop the hill, under the watchful stones, lay the remains of a party of Telnori archers, their twisted bodies almost unrecognizable, their faces contorted in terror.

Coranid commanded that a tomb be hewn from the stone at the feet of one of the watchers. And so, the Telnori were interred with all their treasures and with the slain of Coranid’s lancers as an eternal honor guard. Then, great wards and traps were left to protect the fallen.

As Coranid and his remaining men departed the halls of the dead they were greeted by an old barbarian crone who proclaimed “Hail Coranid, guardian of the Lost Kingdom! Slayer of Umantari blood at the command of your soulless master! Hear my words and know that thou art accurs’d, doomed to the fate of thy soulless lord, bound to undying death for all eternity!”

Upon delivering these words, she produced a tiny silver sphere and with a speed that belied her age, cast it towards Coranid. He and his steed immediately vanished in a swirling maelstrom of light and sound.

Coranid’s lieutenants descended upon the crone, capturing her and demanding the prompt return of their leader upon pain of death if she so failed. To this the crone replied:

“Doomed is he now, to ne’er live nor yet die. And every seven score and ten years shall he walk the world, and then shall terror be his name, for he shall be a creature of the purest evil.“

At that, Coranid’s men slew the witch and hastened to Lahir-alna to inform King Kalonin of the disaster. Now, every 150 years the spectre of Coranid rides the lands, a tormented soul, and death follows him on his skeletal steed, as he slays wantonly, searching in vain for eternal peace.