Since ancient days, Dragons were the terrors of the land. They cast incomprehensible spells, fought with unrivaled strength, and plotted with terrible cunning. These beasts did as they pleased, slaying men, stealing maidens, hoarding treasures, and destroying towns. Their malice made man despise them, and in the crusades, the dragons were defeated until the few odd beasts stayed dormant in fear.
Ages passed, and the last of the beasts was slain by the treachery of its familiar. At this calamity broke out, the clouds froze all the land under their blanket, the sun burned all under its gaze, and storms prevailed for months on end. Lakes dried, and rivers froze, else sank into the fissures of a rent earth. Among this chaos rose The Overlord, whose greed led it to the great capitals of man, where it unleashed its magic, stolen from Dragons. The elements were conjured and bent to its will, space contorted, and light was succeeded by darkness. And when such destruction was wrought, none remained within the walls of the ruined capital, for its king and his heroes had fled, its citizens had perished, the spirits had been banished, and the land had been conquered.
The Overlord ruled, shattering what resistance it met in its quest for treasure. Artifacts both sacred, and cursed, were lost or forsaken by their protectors who destroyed them, cast them into fire, or fed them to the sea. Grudges cursed the land and tortured souls filled the realm, breeding monsters who fed upon them. From the mountainous passage to hell, The Brimstone Songstress called lost spirits through the smoldering fog with her siren’s wail, and unleashed shapeless demons upon the land to capture the living. The Corpse Weaver consumed flesh and soul to feed the abyssal appetite of its evil mask which spewed cursed blood and hateful plagues from its orifices. Abominations crawled forth from its mouth, stitched together from the flesh of its prey and they scoured the land for tribute to their undead master.
Mankind fought to survive. Heroes battled through the days, sorcerers relied on their crafts. The faithful pledged their lives to prophets, and mad men swore their oaths to beasts. Tribesmen climbed the frozen peaks, and sailors took the sea. But chaos breeds chaos and the world had hemmed them in. Blizzards raged, avalanches chased man from the cliffs, and the coldest ice ever known settled upon the mountainside by the will of The Winter Emperor, who sailed through the midnight skies, hiding the moon with its colossal wings while barring all from its domain. And by water, no ships or sea creatures escaped the titanic Sea King who ascended from the ocean depths and clenched the land with its fangs, crushing mountains and flooding forests, sucking the very earth into its maw. Its tentacles spun whirlpools along all the coast, and its brood invaded the land hunting live prey.
The land is now torn between Great Beasts and man wanders lost through their dominions. Friga, The Winter Emperor encases the northern mountains in a shower of snow from its icy wings. Infernne, The Brimstone Songstress entraps man and spirit in a forest of smoke within its volcanic lair. Tantum Tandus, The Sea King consumes the flooded swamplands of the south while its wretched spawn scour the region for life. Strigoria, The Corpse Weaver sends its patchwork legion to gather sacrifices into the fleshy catacombs in its corrupted woods. And Skelus, The Overlord watches its scorched plainslands, collecting treasures and slaves for his gold-clad castle.
Such is the state of the realm, and mankind is trapped, left to struggle for survival, aided only by the tired heroes from a forgotten age, the shattered constructs of their ruined kingdoms, the mystic tellings of elusive sages, and the waning spirits of their ancestors. But adversity breeds ambition, and ambition raises heroes. Still, man cannot, by wisdom or faith, know what lies ahead, for beasts can dream as well.