"What is a mythal?" Joshua asks, "what does it protect?"

"Has the world above forgotten its history so easily?" the voice despairs. "Long ago, there were no restrictions on magic. Anything was possible and endless power awaited those with the patience to claim it. When Karsus slew Mystryl, she was soon reborn. Her first act was to limit the magical power of the mortal races with her insidious Weave."

"The mythals are ancient spells, cast before this restriction was in place. Most are elven... but a few, like this one, were created by the great Netherese Magisters. They are the greatest magical achievements of mankind, and the accomplishment can never again be attained."

"This mythal powers the ancient wards and gates of Netheril in this region, though it has been tapped more recently by whichever empire now claims the sunlit world."

There is a long silence before the voice responds to Morlan.

"There is no place for me beyond this room," it says. "I am more memory than man now."

"The gates lie unpowered," Joshua says, "perhaps you can help us restore them?"

"The Mythal sleeps now. Its reserves are depleted. In Netheril's prime, it supped on the souls a thousand slaves each season... but now it licks pitifully at the gutter for a few lost grave robbers in a century. The demons and fallen elves are small-souled and do not sate it. There was nothing in your machine to feed upon."

"The needs of its usurper masters are taxing, and the old magicks are dying. Why should it squander its precious fuel on gates that go nowhere, at the behest of no one worthy? By what right would you make such a request of the single greatest achievement of man?"

-gosh-

Joshua is impressed at the skull's passion.

"I thought that was its purpose," he says, "if not, then I am happy to study the great work in awe and try to understand its mysteries."

"Usurper masters? Who or what are they? How did they wrest away control of the mythal?"

"Tam," it responds, the voice sounding venomous. "A petty man who found us here, when once there stood a city overhead... before we were two graves deep in time. It was I who taught him the way to lichdom, though I was little more than old dust even then. He abused us, and made of the Mythal a phylactory... as if it were some worthless gem or icon. It is he and his red-robed ilk who funnel hapless wanderers to us. Enough to continue this meager function, but too few to allow us agency."

"Wanderers like us?" Joshua asks, curious, "because if I'm trapped here to have the life sucked from me I want magical knowledge in recompense."

"Like you in a sense, yes," says the voice, resuming its calm tone. "But willing to accept the pleasant dream in exchange for their essence. The door to this room was a monument once, but Tam thought it would make a fine trap."

"You clearly have nought but contempt for this Tam, who abused you and turned your charge to such a warped purpose. What would it take to undo his tampering? Restore the mythal to its true purpose? Destroy this... phylactery, did you call it?"