For untold years, King Ostarion built a kingdom from the remains of his enemies. It was an obsessive's errand, done to pass the long eternities of a monarchy that seemed fated never to end. He believed that as long as he built up the towers of his palace, he could not die. But eventually he learned that he had been deluded... that bone itself could perish. Deeply mistrustful of flesh, he sought a more permanent way of extending his reign, and at last settled on pursuit of wraith energy, a form of pure spirit given off by certain dark souls at death. Should he infuse himself with Wraith Essence, he thought he might create a body as luminous and eternal as his ego. On the millennial solstice known as Wraith-Night, he submitted to a rite of transformation, compelling his subjects to harvest enough souls to fuel his ambition for immortality. No one knows how many of his champions died, for the only survivor who mattered was the Wraith King who rose with the sun on the following morn. Now he rarely spends a moment on his glowing throne--but strides out with sword drawn, demanding a fealty that extends far beyond death.