Wraithhold
Slab







The dim torchlight flickers against damp stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seem to shift and writhe. A haunting silence presses in, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through distant hallways. Heavy iron doors, etched with faintly glowing runes, line the passageways, each one a gate into darkness. You can almost feel the weight of despair in the air—a place not merely to hold prisoners, but to extinguish hope in both the living and the dead. This is Wraithhold, a prison of forgotten souls, where the boundaries between life and death feel dangerously thin.