Thunder crashes in the distance. The elements lash at the window of your tower room with unforgiving claws of sleet and ice. You sit, bathed in the amber twilight of the single candle atop the oaken slab of your desk as you pore over the ancient tomes and half-disintegrated scrolls you've collected from your many sojourns into the eldritch dark of forgotten libraries. The old clock strikes midnight with a mournful peal that shakes you to your very bones.