Awake O Dead, for there can be no rest for ye beneath the earth. Let the splintered bones burrow from the grave pall. Let cold fingers grip time-worn blades, and unseeing eyes survey the fields of slaughter. For your time has come once more.

In the God-forsaken land of Sylvania, ancient evils stir and armies long dead marches to war. Raised from mass graves and desecrated tombs, gather among de ruins of this forsaken and cured realm. Upon fen and moor creatures that have haunted mens dreams for centuries break free from ancient cairns and age old mausoleums. In the eternal gloom can be heard bone on bone, the mindless moans, and the clank of ancient and rusted war gear. A tide of the dead driven by the dark magic of necromancers and the undying will of their cursed generals, the unliving host advances.

To face the legions of the undead is a terrifying experience and few remains unshaken after. Unnatural storm clouds gather overhead , blotting out the weak sun and casting a foreboding shadow across the battlefield. From the darkness, the chittering of bats and the howling of wolves fill the air. A icy wind descends, striking icy dreed into the hearts of mortal men

At the head of the army rides the Vampire counts, creator and leader of this undead legion. Gifted with superhuman strength and speed, and fill with necromantic power, the vampire counts are deadly warriors-socerer. Seeking dominion over all living things, a vampire count raises his legion from ancient battlefields and cemeteries to overthrow and bind all the mortal realms, so he can rule as an undying and merciless emperor.

At the vampire counts urgings, packs of ghouls waddle forward, devolved cannibals baying like hounds, eager to feast on the tender flesh of the living. Shambling hordes of zombies shuffle forward at the command of their master, their tattered flesh and cloth only held together by the power of magic, their lifeless eyes staring mindlessly ahead. Rank upon rank of skeleton warriors marches forward relentlessly, clutching ancient battle gear from long forgotten wars, balefire glowing in their eyes.

Called forth from their graves by the unholy magic of the vampire counts, unquiet spirits roam the twilight fog. Their groaning cries pierce the souls of mortals and their chilling touch fatal to mortals. glimmering with unholy energy, Wraiths and Banshees flow amidst the undead armies, seeking the warmth of the living.

Clad in armor of distant centuries and wielding dire blades glowing with unholy power, wights join the attack, lead by their evil lords. on foot as the deadly Grave Guard or mounted skeleton steeds as Black Knights, these warriors strike down even the mightiest foe with a single blow from their enchanted weapons