**The Whispering Winds of Despair**

As the last wisps of sunlight fled the desolate highlands of the Slough, Prince Cormag and his trusted companion, Sith, trudged through the barren wasteland, their footsteps echoing off the skeletal remains of long-forgotten trees. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and death, and the wind carried the mournful whispers of the Raiders of Never-Ending Misery, their ethereal wails like a dirge that seemed to seep into the very marrow of their bones. Cormag's eyes scanned the horizon, his gaze lingering on the jagged silhouette of the mountains that loomed in the distance. He had heard tales of the eternal relic, said to lie hidden beneath the grave of the last emperor, a treasure that could grant unimaginable power to its possessor. But it was also said that those who dared to touch it were forever changed, their mortal forms lost to the void. Sith, sensing his master's unease, nudged him with a reassuring elbow. "The whispers grow louder, Cormag. We draw near to our destination." Cormag nodded, his jaw set in determination. He had a purpose, a reason to brave the perils that lay ahead. His father, the king, was destined to meet his end at the hands of King Takeo, a fate that Cormag was determined to prevent. Trapped in the temporal grasp of the past, he knew that he had to find a way to the future, to warn Master Fantuji of a looming prophecy that threatened to unleash a malevolent legacy upon the world. As they walked, the shadows deepened, and the wind began to howl, its mournful cries growing louder, more urgent. Cormag felt a shiver run down his spine, and he glanced at Sith, who met his gaze with a steady, unwavering look. "What do you propose we do, Sith?" Cormag asked, his voice barely audible above the rising wind. Sith's eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity. "We make a deal, Cormag. A deal with the Raiders themselves. They are the guardians of the relic, and they will not give it up easily. But I have heard that they can be... persuaded." Cormag's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "What kind of deal?" Sith's smile was a thin, mirthless line. "A deal of blood and shadow. We offer them something in exchange for their assistance. Something precious." Cormag hesitated, weighing the risks and the rewards. He knew that he had to find the relic, to claim it before it fell into the wrong hands. And he knew that he could not do it alone. "Very well," he said finally, his voice firm. "Let us make this deal. But be warned, Sith, I will not sacrifice my soul for this quest." Sith's laughter was a low, menacing rumble. "Your soul is not on the table, Cormag. At least, not yet. But your future... that is a different matter altogether." As they spoke, the wind died down, and an oppressive silence fell over the landscape. Cormag felt a presence, a malevolent force that seemed to be watching them, waiting for them to make their move. And then, in the distance, a figure appeared, its form indistinct, its presence like a cold wind that seemed to seep into Cormag's very bones. The Raiders of Never-Ending Misery had come.