As Thacean forces were driven ever north, the town of Jelrass found itself cut off from the legions and enclosed by the dead. Now its citizens huddle together in their homes, clinging to holy symbols and praying for death to pass them by, or if they must die that they might at least stay that way.
The Red Lady is revered among vampires as the first of their kind, the wellspring of their dark bloodline. Those of the noblesse are beholden to her, vowing that her shrine should never run dry of blood offerings. Through this ritual, they ensure their standing, but if they should fail to uphold their end of the bargain, the offerings will be taken from their own veins.
The Ruins of Os Kurrox conceal an eldritch artifact, an obelisk marked in cryptic symbols. Those that built the structures above hoped to control the artifact, but never learned the secrets of its power. Now their names are forgotten and their towers stand crumbling into dust. But the relic remains below, eons old, unscathed by time’s ablations.
Though more than capable of traversing the seas between continents, dragons remain secluded in the eastern land of Atan. Whatever motivation hems them in the east is unknown, but they are deeply intelligent beings, capable of judgement and wisdom.
Many are the planes of the multiverse, though few are the doorways between them. Influencing one realm from another requires tremendous power, and traveling across them an order of magnitude more. Yet on rare occasions, the veil of reality wears thin, and interlopers may pass between the planes with ease. When such events occur, it is never long before a demon forces its way through the breach.
Templars wear silver armor, not only to repel the dead, but to prevent themselves from being reanimated. Should they fall in battle, this armor would reduce their corpses to ash if they tried to rise again. And so N’Gaztak woke from death into smoke and white-hot fire, thrashing against his own cuirass as it seared into his flesh. Yet though his tissues bubbled and burst, his rage burned hotter still, and the king of Deadhaus rose in hissing flames, fusing with his armor, staining it black.
For 300 years before the rise of Deadhaus, Lord Zorin stalked the shadows of Malorum, making war with the Ustillian Empire and feasting on the blood of the living. His favorite prey were the templar, as he relished the way their screams echoed from within their armor. Choir boys, he called them, for how well they sung when he sank his claws into them.
In life, the templar who would become N’Gaztak faced Lord Zorin in single combat and survived, though both were grievously wounded. Years later, as Deadhaus rose and N’Gaztak sat the throne, he knew exactly who to seek out to be his general.
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