Oh Piercer King! Cold and dark. Always patient, all seeing. 300 years waiting in the underdark‘s highest dreams. 300 years amassing your mass, one long fall to dethrone the dark lich and feed on her black heart. Bestower of the divine trépanation, infuser of gravity, may your grace fall on me and make me your knight. Fasting under you, my stone blade on my tights, I wait.
A sharp stone needle fall from his crown, embedding itself into the skull of of the supplicant knight.