One by one, the flames of war will consume you all...

Dust roiled across a blood strewn battlefield, icy winds howling between the lonesome peaks as the mutilated remains of men and Accursed alike were left in the dirt and hovel of what was a devastating battle for both sides. The clouds overhead, swirling slowly were thick and heavy, hung low in the sky as they passed ominously around the mountains peaks, just as the first falls of snow began to again dance through the once more still, cold air. The thick, coppery scent of blood so heavy in the air you could almost taste it, painting dirt and stone a dark and angry red.

In the distance, retreating from the overcast realm of the mountains, training hazardous peaks and treacherous roads, many of the survivors made their way home, returning to the warmth of Kaelon in hopes of regathering their forces and sorting out their losses. Far too few remained after the massacre to hold their own against anyone, and with the continental barrier of The Summoner down, the vastly weakened kingdom was at a loss; cornered between the sea and surrounding countries, it was simply a matter of time before they were finished off, one way or another.


After The Summoner’s initial appearance, followed by the creation of The Accursed, the two kings fought desperately for aid; despite the original complacency of the Accursed, they drew back from the people and instead things turned dark; these beings that once protected, now hunted, and the simple forces of the massed populace could do nothing against it.

Several years after the initial Summoner incident, strangers from untold lands arrived, taking stead amongst the people of Forrell, powers, strengths and abilities unmatched by anyone; they are The Summoned, brought to Forrell by some untold force, believed to be playthings for the Mad God.

Banded together, the first few Summoned came together in the names of the polar kings of Forrell in order to fend off against the Accursed forces, bringing about an uneasy settle in Kaelon, and later across the rest of Forrell. Accursed attacks continued climbing, perhaps trying to overwhelm the Summoned forces; banded under the name ‘The Shadows’, but for every fight fought, friends were made, and more Summoned were revealed.

Months of continual preparation could never have prepared them; in an overnight onslaught, the entirety of Akinia; people, place, and even its King were slaughtered - a semi-continental annihilation that wiped Akinia and its people off the west of Forrell. This sparked a surge in force and backed the rest of Forrell into a wall; at only half strength, they had no idea of how, when or why. All that the people of Kaelon knew was that they were gone, wiped out swift and silent, leaving half a continent to fend for itself.

Making haste, Kaelon brought their armies to the northern headings of Forrell, past the wastelands of Grimgar and between the icy caps of the Syrean Pass, the only connection between the Twin Kingdoms, and the rest of Forrell. Blood was shed and magic burnt in a maelstrom of force and fury, but as the dust slowly settled over mounds of bodies, few were left to remain. Maxwell Coronian - Commander of the Shadows in the name of the good king of Kaelon; King Roulf, had lead a charge alongside the king against the invading forces. Pain, loss and anguish flared a spark of furious strength in the people, but even that was not enough. In a final spark of hope, the commander bound part of the Mad God into a blade; part of his power sealed away.

Outraged and weakened, the Summoner vanished in a hellish cry and a swirl of phosphoric smoke, disappearing from the battlefield, Blade of the Mad God left behind in prize. With The Summoner wrought of some of His power, the continental barrier that barred Forrell from the rest of the world was gone, opening horizons of opportunity. With the border to Syre, the northern neighbour continent to Forrell open, and the seas and beyond unbarred, it is simply a matter of choice; Do the Summoned stay to help Kaelon recover? Do they expand, traveling past these unlocked borders in hopes of aid? Working against the clock, the weakened forces were set to make their choice, and make it fast, before the borders closed and left the crippled Forrell to fend itself against a renewed and enraged Mad God.

* * *

Many of Kaelon’s inhabitants chose to flee and search for help in foreign lands, sailing off in boats or riding in wagons, watching as their homes burnt under the spreading darkness. A feeling of helplessness washed over them, sweeping away the last specks of hope. What chance did they, the ones that were left, have when the Kingdom’s best and full force could not prevail? How could other lands stand against such darkness and power when it took the full force of an entire kingdom to simply make The Summoner falter? The strongest generation of mages and warriors Forrell had ever had, had failed to finish this war of hatred. Those same warriors felt just as helpless; weakened, and ashamed. They had failed, and some felt they were responsible for the countless lives lost. After all, not everyone had escaped. Families had watched as their loved ones were stranded. Children, elders, parents, and siblings were left to the ravenous hordes of Accursed. The lucky ones could only watch and despair as the forsaken met a gruesome end. Some had foolishly chosen to stay behind, to fight for their homes; these brave but foolish few were wished good luck, and marched out to hide on the continent.

A dark wave washed its way over Kaelon in the coming tides; With The Summoner down, His darker forces were left to ravage the land while the Summoned were too weak to fend against it, barely able to stand their ground at border posts and the Capital City. Many outstretch towns and villages were consumed in flames, others overrun and taken for Accursed stead. A bitter shadow washed over Kaelon and the bleak remains of the once prosperous Forrell.

Although it felt as if it was, all hope was not lost. The survivors had the chance of fleeing to the other continents and regions. The Syrean Pass leads through the Cayas Mountain Range to the region of Syre, a land largely ruled by the Confederate Tribes of Syre, a collection of tribes that follow the final word of their chosen leader. To the southwest, across the Geln Ocean, is Sivusea, a dense forestland rumored to host fae and ancient creatures of the elements. Seeking shelter in those same forests is the Empire of Thearus, a great realm of elves. Directly south of Sivusea is Cenuria, an expanse of sand. The land of Cenuria is barely known by most of Kaelon’s people, and what makes home there remains unknown. Also to the south of Forrell is Vecuria, a land of mixed races and strife. To Forrell’s west is Mosateron, a forbidden land guarded by holy mages, covered in ice and snow. The mages that guard that white land used to come to Forrell to spread warnings of heresy amongst the people. Now, the war with The Summoner and various other conflicts has led them to give up hope and remain in their homeland.

With King Roulf gone, slain in the battle, the survivors were left without a leader, and Roulf’s bloodline had died out; the man had never taken a wife. The leaderless survivors' chances of escaping alive shrink with every passing moment. In the chaos of evacuation, the fact of their leader being gone lost importance; the survival of those that are left taking priority. The Shadows are depleted and weary, nearly half having given their lives in the mountains to buy the others the time to escape. Even then, over half of Kaelon’s main army has been decimated. Indeed, this once proud Kingdom is defeated.

The Summoner was last seen in the mountains, disappearing with a cry, but even now the mages of the Kingdom can feel the presence of a dark force; an aura of barely repressed rage and bloodlust. The fear it struck into them was primal; the cornered fear of an animal. They could feel it becoming impatient, watching their every move as if waiting to be released like a hound to tear them apart. Whether or not this aura is The Summoner or not is uncertain, but the mages are still anxious to leave as soon as possible. Even with their own godly power, the cold fear they felt was enough to convince them to flee.

The dark horde of Accursed draws closer and closer, forcing those who chose to leave to choose a continent to seek refuge on. Families, platoons, and squads are being forced to split up. The commanders of the Shadows had ordered their soldiers to accompany them to Sivusea. The elves had been the closest to the Kingdom before The Summoner had arrived, bringing gifts and warm smiles. Those who leave on the boats leave with spirits crushed, and eyes lit up with the flames of the burning continent. Insanity took hold of many, leading them to strike out at those around them, and scream of the eternal darkness. These people that knew each other for many years, fighting and killing one another because of the deeds of a mad god. Hatred and fear of The Summoner are woven together amongst the survivors. Many swore revenge or prayed to their gods, but oaths are meaningless to a god and their prayers go unanswered.

Some were struck with a sudden revelation; the war was useless. If the Kings had not been prideful, loved ones could have died together, but now they die alone, leaving their loved ones to mourn before dying themselves. Some just gave up entirely, collapsing to be taken by the Accursed or sitting quietly on the boats, eyes fixated on something far away. Most had realized they had to fight through this, but their hearts were heavy. They choose to fight, but remember the horrors they have seen and what has happened. Very few retained actual hope, fighting with utter determination and devotion. These brave few are regarded as heroes, being treated with the utmost respect, and being chosen to lead the survivors to safety as guides. Their strength inspires their comrades, spreading hope of victory.

With hopeful eyes, the survivors of Forrell look to the other continents. They had lost, but the power of countless others lays at the ready to continue the fight. The powerful mages, warriors, and beasts of the foreign lands will surely bring a new edge to the power of those who resist the mad god. With the guidance of Fate’s hand, the embers of hope will be reignited.

“How does it feel? Knowing your chosen have failed. That those you trusted with your lives were nothing more than cowards as weak as you are. Seeing those you love die, and the life draining from their eyes. Although, all your pain and effort wasn’t for nothing. You have managed to delay the inevitable; to scuff my proverbial boots. So cling to your hopes. Run to find help. Cry wolf and bring the entire village here. Except, the wolf will not be hiding. It will be waiting. And when you raise your pitiful imitations of weapons, it will strike you down. Excuse my usage of your species in my metaphor...Your faith in your “pups” was not misplaced. Together, they would have posed a threat. However, place a traitor among them, a warrior infested with self-interest, and they crumble like the pillars of fallen empires under the sands of time. This is the beginning of my emergence, Lokisson, and I will watch your pathetic excuse for an army dissolve. Cling to your hope, your loved ones, your precious children: the sonomancer and the demiangel. I will tear everything from you. Send your “Shadows” and your “Guardians”. The darkness will be waiting to consume them....”