Myth III Prologue

Nothing but dirt.

Weeks have I spent at this site, digging into the dirt with my callused and cracked hands. And for my troubles, I have naught but dirt. Dirt on my clothes, in my eyes, filling my tent. The dry winds carry it in clouds as thick as it lies on the ground. I have had little taste in my mouth save the accursed dirt for days now.

Though I do know the healing ways to sustain myself, I fear that even I will not be able to last much longer in this waterless, sand-blasted desert.

The winds are blowing out my candles now. I have finished my writing for today.

The ruins that tower about my campsite sheltered me from the brunt of the sandstorm last night. I am thankful that even if they do not reveal their secrets to me, they have at least made it bearable to dwell in their presence.

In the heat of mid-day I scaled a nearby dune, and at its top I took in the broken desert about me. The crumbling walls and arches of the ancient city stand as remnants of incredible disaster. But looking through this veil, I began to gain a sense of the great city that once stood here. For as far as my eyes could pierce through the desert day, the ruins of the great city of Muirthemne stood about me, and I was humbled in the presence of such magnificent glory of forgotten ages. I now understood how the Heron Guard of the Cath Bruig could be so distraught at seeing their beloved city destroyed by Balor and his Fallen Lords. Though this atrocity is almost two centuries past, many still wear the robes of the Journeyman, as I do.

I do aspire to be counted among the ranks of the Heron Guard someday. But, for now I am contented with aiding the needy and uncovering our ancient past. Oh, how we have fallen! The knowledge of our very history is lost to us - buried under these mountains of shifting sands.

Still my shovel has uncovered nothing this day. Yet still I dig.

Light of the Wyrd, this day has been Portentous! Where do I begin?

It was morning when I had seized a few small eggs from the rock lizards near the cracks of the ancient walls. Looking for a shady spot for my meal, I found a darkened cliff face nearby. As I approached, I began to notice something odd. The windstorms of the previous nights had eroded the cliff drastically since it had last made my notice. And now, as I scrutinized, I saw a perfect vertical seam running through its face.

It took me no time to gather my equipment and return. With chisels and great shovelfulls of dirt, I slowly uncovered the miracle. It was a doorway. A doorway set into a cliff side that was not truly a cliff. The tons of rock and soil were covering a large structure of some sort. And with the blessing of fate this portal had been exposed for me to find. My excitement knows no bounds, and my imagination cannot be quelled. At first light I will try to open this door into the forgotten past.

It has been several days of feverish excavation. It appears I have underestimated the size of the doorway. It is three times the height of a man and nearly the same dimension wide. I have moved a literal mountain of dirt from them, and yet their base appears to be still deeper into the earth.

Just as the orange blaze of the horizon slowly gave way to a star filled night, my shovel hit rock. Finally, I have reached the base of the portal. Over a fathom of soil have I uncovered to reach it. I think of the terrible magics that werwe called upon to bury this city, and I shudder.

I have bent two chisels attempting to part the doors even a crack. I fear that I may run out of equipment before I get this thing opened. The only good news I have this day is that the howling winds have abated.

What horrors have been visited upon me? I cannot conceive what I have witnessed. Wyrd protect me!I had moved my meager encampment to the base of the doorway - I fear this is what has angered the thing. It was late day when I felt the devil breeze begin to blow. Strong it grew, and I had to cover my nose and mouth to breathe. The wind battered me like hammers and sucked the breath out of my lungs. As I rushed away from the rock, I felt the wind abate. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the thing.

As the funnel of dust moved with the sinuous spirals, I saw lurking within its depths a shadow of human form. It remained motionless as the column of dust spun about it. The white embers of its eyes stared directly at me as a rattling cry howled out over the wind.

After that, I can only recall running from the place.

I returned to my encampment today. Having spent another restless night in the open desert, I found my resolve. The thing which met my intrusion was undoubtedly a guardian spirit. I remember hearing tales of ancient sorceries which could bind a spirit to the very mortar of a place - forcing it into servitude for one-thousand and one years.

I have returned to the doorway. I had hoped it had gone, but as I approached, The funnel of dirt spiraled back into fearsome shape. I again retreated to my campsite.

I must think of how to rid this place of such a thing! I believe the lack of water has addled me somewhat.

I now know what I must do. I have no malice in my heart. If the creature at the portal is indeed a guardian spirit - and not some horror born of the atrocities committed here - it would only attack if it sensed malice. I can think of dozens of reasons why this line of thinking is flawed. Yet, somehow I feel this is correct. I fear that if I were to leave to gather aid from my distant comrades, the spot would again be covered by the shifting desert sands. I cannot allow that. If I am to die, I have lived a good scholarly life. I will leave this journal behind, in hopes that someone may find it if I have failed.

Great Wyrd in all his Glory! The discovery that I have found! The secrets and mysteries of the ages have been re-discovered! I must get back to the citadel and tell the others of this! I have made what notes I could, but there is information here that will fill entire volumes of books!

I will try to write down what has occurred to me in the last few hours as accurately as I can with my trembling hands.

I walked to the stone entrances and confronted the guardian. As I approached, it rose from the sands like a serpent. Each step I took towards the doors, the stronger it became. Its winds buffeted me and forced me to my knees, but still I crawled. I heard a voice like dry leaves whisper of horrors that would befall me if I did not flee. It was only the powers of Wyrd that granted me the will to continue. I stretched out a flailing hand and touched it upon the stone door.

In almost an instant, the fell winds stopped. I heard the hiss of sand falling onto the ground. Crouching and working sand from my eyes, I saw that the guardian had left me. As I tried to stand, a great rumbling shook the earth. The doors of the ancient building had begun to open. Sand ran in streams down the face of the cliff and into the yawning darkness of the portal before me. With a great thunder, the tremendous doors grinded to a halt. Beyond was only darkness. Even the bright light of the desert day could not penetrate into the black opening.

Fetching a dry log from my campsite, I wrapped an oily rag about it to make a primitive torch. At the precipice of the doorway, my flame revealed a long room lined with long pillars. The long hallway danced in the orange light of the torch as I began my exploration. The building appeared to be a temple or shrine of some sort. The cataclysm which ended Muirthemne had extraced its toll on the building. Many pillars were toppled and areas of the ceiling shattered by the rock above. Who or what this temple was dedicated to was still unclear.

As I walked down the dirt covered tile floor, I spied a shallow oil basin or brazier against the wall. Hoping for some extra light to see by in this cavernous hall, I dipped my torch down and lit the black fluid within. As the oil basin flamed to life, a rivulet of fire trickled down the wall behind it. Fearful that the stone basin was cracked, I moved to extinguish the flame when I noticed that the flaming oil resevoir was carved into the wall itself. The smokeless flame descended to the edge of the floor and continued its flow away from me, carried by a thin trough built into the wall. Amazed as I was, I did not hesitate to follow the moving flame.

The flame was leading me deeper into the structure. Ducking past a fallen pillar, I turned into a vast opening. The whole of the cavern was darkness. Even the torch I carried did not give light to the immense expanse. The oil flame had darted into the room and began to spread. To my amazement, The flames began to crawl up the walls of this chamber in fabulous intertwining flickering lines of light. As I followed the flaming trails, I was stunned at what I was seeing.

A mural drawn of fire. Gold inlays caught and reflected the orange light as the flames illuminated scenes from the long forgotten past of our world. Heroic spearmen battling against furred monstrosities that could only be the vile Myrkridia. Massive Trow, wearing suits of armor, attacking castle walls. A cloaked villain directing shambling forms towards soldiers. All this and more was depicted in the splendid luminance.

As I stood in awe of the incredible fiery arabesques, I began to notice the room becoming brighter. The flames had lit small braziers inset upon massive stone pillars, disappearing into the still darkness of the towering ceiling. I gazed down at the tile under my feet. Beautiful mosaics ran the length of the floor, showing stars and strange writings. Walking deeper into the still brightening chamber, I began to see the tiled pattern that I trod upon - and realized the purpose of this temple. Under my feet a brilliant comet was depicted, its frozen white flames glittering on its blue canvas of night.

This was "the Apparitor" - the celestial occurence that happens only once in a millenia. As this revelation exploded into my thoughts, a great light began to shine.

Great mirrors had gathered the flame's light and focused it into a golden globe suspended at the far end of the shrine. Beneath the fiery globe towered a statue ten times as tall as a man. A crown rested upon his brow; his hands upon the haft of a mighty axe. His shadowy eyes were stern, but I could not help but sense sorrow deep within them.

I was standing in the shrine to the greatest Emperor of the Cath Bruig - the greatest hero to ever live. He who saved humanity from utter destruction over a thousand years ago. He who slew the nightmare Myrkridia and crushed the iron temples of the Trow. He who defeated the dark sorcerer Moagim and brought an end to the age of Wind.

I had found the shrine of Connacht the Wolf.

It took several hours of exploration, but I have uncovered a stone vault lined with rows and rows of scrolls held on dry wooden racks. These scrolls hold the sacred accounts of Connacht's life. Undoubtedly, they have only been seen by the clerics who worshipped at this shrine so very long ago.

I plan to carry these scrolls back to the Heron's Citadel. With their deciphering, the long lost histories of our world might once again be revealed.

"The World of Myth"

The Fallen Lords

The great comet had returned to the eastern sky – heralding its dark prophecy.

The Leveler, destruction made flesh, had returned in the form of Balor, a fearsome warrior who wielded phenomenal powers. Balor had made unholy alliances with many an evil race, and with the aid of his resurrected generals, The Fallen Lords, laid siege to the great Cath Bruig empire.

Battles went unabated for years, but eventually the Cath Bruig empire had retreated to their city of Muirthemne. With cataclysmic magics, Balor utterly destroyed the legendary city – ending almost three thousand years of its reign.

Balor's evil eyes then turned to the cities of the Province, west of the Cloudspine. Their dark forces swept into Covenant and utterly devastated the city. The human armies recoiled from the attack. If not for the leadership of the Nine – powerful sorcerers called Avatara – Balor's army would have stood unchallenged.

The Nine forged an alliance with the Fir'Bolg and the Dwarven races to aid their cause, and the army of Light was formed. This rag-tag army was all that stood against the Fallen Lords and their legions of undead.

Uncovered from the bowels of a dark mountain, something was found to turn the tide of the war. A severed head was found – a head that retained its life and knowledge. It knew many things forgotten by modern man. It claimed to be an old adversary of Balor, and would aid the Light in defeating him.

Aided by the erudite knowledge from the head, one of the Nine defeated the Fallen Lord Shiver as her armies were poised to destroy Madrigal. The Total Codex was recovered from the ruins of Covenant, just where the head said it would be.

As the winter months rolled on, battles ensued at the snowy passes of the Cloudspine. It was then learned that the Trow had been freed from their molten prisons and marched with Balor. As the volcano Tharsis erupted, news of the leader of the Nine, Alric, had been captured by Balor and his forces decimated.

As three of the Nine entered Forest Heart to ask for aid from the Forest Giants there, the Fallen Lord Soulblighter imprisoned their army into a magical artifact named "The Tain." The army escaped, destroying the Tain, at the cost of all but one Avatara.

A small band of heroes ventured into the barrier and rescued Alric. He told them that the Head had betrayed them. Back in the Province, the Head had begun a civil-war which was bloodily ended at the price of many lives.

Alric, again in leadership of the Nine, planned a desperate attack. Marching the remaining legion across the Barrier and into the Dire Marsh, Alric meant to bring the battle to Balor, stationed in the Trow city of Rhi'anon. With two Fallen Lords arrayed against them, the legion managed to slay the Watcher with magical arrows and marched into the Trow lands.

The arrayed armies of the Light and Dark stood ready to battle. From the Tain was retrieved a Myrkridian standard, which Alric raised upon the battlefield. Balor, enraged at the ancient slight, appeared in person to destroy the legion. But this was all according to Alric's plan. With the power of an Eblis stone, Alric immobilized Balor just long enough for his head to be cleaved from his body.

Balor's head was raced to a World Knot, where a small force took the thing to the Great Devoid. Evading Soulblighter's forces, the head was thrown into the Great Devoid, ending the life of Balor and the soul of the Leveler.

Against all hope, the army of the Light had won the war.


Sixty years after the Great War, the cities of the Province were rebuilt and few remember the horrors of that epic battle. Alric was now king, ruling from his throne in Madrigal.

But, in the shadows lurked Balor's lieutenant, Soulblighter. Vowing to complete what Balor had started, Soulblighter secretly gained many followers with the promise of dark knowledge. These followers began to use their newly learned necromantic powers to raise an army of dead within the Province itself.

A small group of soldiers foiled a local baron's dark schemes, and in turn uncovered Soulblighter's deadly plan. He was looking for the Summoner – a man prophesized to release the Myrkridia into the world once again.

As this news reached Alric, he quickly gathered forces to defend their nation against Soulblighter's fiendish designs. The city of Tyr had fallen, and the reports say that the force was lead by Shiver, a Fallen Lord thought killed in the Great War. As Alric and his force left for the city of Tandem, they saw to their horror that Soulblighter had been successful in finding the Summoner and unleashing the Myrkridia. In a hopeless battle, they retreated, as the terrible force marched to Madrigal.

To battle Soulblighter, Alric hoped to find the Fallen Lord the Deceiver who had been buried under the ice at the Stair of Grief. Alric hoped that the Deceiver would aid him in his new plans to stop the tide of evil. A small force made their way through the snowy pass, found and revived the Deceiver, who indeed vowed to aid the army of Light, bringing with him the aid of the Warlocks of Scholomance.

Shiver, Soulblighter, and the Myrkridia, continued their rampage in the Province, as Alric moved his army across the Cloudspine and into the ruins of Muirthemne. There he announced his intent to restore the Cath Bruig Empire to its former glory, with himself as Emperor. The army did indeed retrieve the Ibis crown and Alric was crowned as the new Emperor of the Cath Bruig. The penance for the Journeymen was over, and they threw off their heavy robes in favor of the heavy armor and dual swords of the Heron Guard of old. Muirthemne was renamed to its ancient title: Llancarfan.

The Deceiver led his troop into the Forest Heart, looking for a shard of the destroyed Tain. Upon finding one, they entered the Tain itself. There they confronted the Summoner and put an end to his malevolent magics. On their return, the army was captured by Soulblighter's forces. But it was all according to the Deceiver's plans; having escaped their cells, the troop soon overran the encampment. In the Struggle, the Deceiver had killed one of Soulblighter's ravens, preventing him from taking flight ever again.

Alric returned to the Province and led an army to confront Soulblighter near Silvermines. There Shiver and her army met the legion and bloody conflict erupted. Alric sent the Deceiver and a group of heroes to track down Shiver and put an end to her. In the clash that followed, the Fallen Lords squared off against one another, and in the end both were slain by the other's magics.

Soulblighter fled Alric's pursuing armies, making his way into the bowels of Mount Tharsis. There he began a dark ritual that would sunder the Cloudspine and shatter the very world. In the last moments, Alric and the legion met the fiend and put an end to his deadly spell. The mountain was destroyed and Soulblighter with it. Alric, now Emperor of the Cath Bruig, moved the capital to Madrigal and once again began the long process of rebuilding.

The Future

Of Balor's Fallen Lords only two remain, though their whereabouts are unknown.

Many sages and scholars look towards the future with uncertainty. The cycle of Light and Dark, which change the face of the world, has been broken. As Connacht brought an end to the evils of the Wind Age, so was Balor to bring an end to the glory of the Wolf Age. And yet, in this new age, the Light has remained triumphant.

Many believe that with the destruction of the Leveler, mankind can now forge its own path on the anvil of fate.

But the future is never certain.

"The History of Myth"

In The Beginning

The origins of the world are shrouded in mystery.

It is said that the Wyrd, a deity or being of great power, had created the world out of a dream. As he awoke, all that his eye beheld became as the lands of his dream.

This dramatic reshaping of the world angered the goddess Nyx. She had just breathed life into her new creations, the Trow, only to have the entirety of the world change. Trow legends claim that Nyx and Wyrd had a titanic battle that shook the very rock of the world. Nyx had caused a great wound to Wyrd, which formed into the volcano Tharsis, but Wyrd would not fall to her assaults. In her rage, she called upon the powers of the Dark Gods to aid her. The Wyrd was shattered, his powers flung to the corners of the world in rocky fragments. And yet, the One Dream of the Wyrd remained.

The Age of the Trow

The Trow witnessed the birth of the world. Their ancient eyes beheld the evolution of the beings we know of today – and many that are still unknown.

The Trow spent their time forging stone monuments to their beloved goddess and creator. Gradually the other "lesser races" began to create their own civilizations. The Forest Giants made their homes in their towering arbors. The frail Callieach began to learn the arts of magic. Still other races rose to power as primitive human-kind still lived in barbaric savagery. Content to live solitary lives of worship, the Trow did not take any interest in the world outside of their realm.

Seeing the Trow as threatening giants, most races avoided them. Other races were not quite so wise. A race known as the Sileh'hei, coveted the Trow lands and knowledge. Believing the Trow's aloofness to be a sign of weakness, they sacked the Trow's temples and brought them to war. Having never fought a battle in their history, the Trow were shocked by the savagery of the Sileh'hei, and many fell to their wicked attacks. For the first time, the Trow saw members of their immortal race die.

The Trow priests prayed to Nyx, pleading for her aid. And in the temple at Rhi'anon, she whispered to her children the secret of iron.

Forging iron weapons, the Trow defended their homeland with vigor. The Sileh'hei were not prepared for the full extent of the Trow's wrath. Even when they ended their attacks and retreated to their mountainous caves, the Trow pursued them. Angered as they were, the Trow hunted the Sileh'hei to extinction. The Trow had learned to war – and now they turned their eyes to the other races who would interfere with them.

Nyx's gift became a way of life for the Trow. No longer did they fashion their monuments to her in stone. Entire shrines and the temple-complexes were forged from solid iron. And so the Trow began to mine for more iron ore for the glories of Nyx. As those mines ran out, they sought even more veins of the ferrous metal. The fires for their forges burned day and night; tremendous smelting fires that rivaled the very sun. As the forests around their lands were lumbered until barren, the Trow looked for a new source of fuel.

Beginning to harvest the massive trees to their south, the Trow came into contact with the Forest Giants who made their homes there. To the Ents, cutting down a living tree was akin to murder. They confronted the Trow and forbade them to harvest the trees of their homes. But, the Trow did not heed their pleas, and continued their deforestation. The Ents had no choice but to fight. The war between the two colossal races was long and brutal. In the end, the Forest Giants were unable to stand against the might of the Trow's iron weapons. Leaving their ancestral home, the Ents traveled far from the Trowlands, eventually making their new homes in Forest Heart. The Ents would never forget how the Trow "poisoned the soul of iron."

In this time, the Callieach had become masters of the ways of magic. They created powerful magical devices that could move mountains, incinerate cities, and make themselves immortal. They had found many of the fragments of the Wyrd, naming them Runestones, and from them gleamed insight to his dreams. These powerful Dream-magics could change the very fabric of existence. It was these powers that caught the eye of the Trow.

Seeing the powers learned by the Callieach, the Trow desired to use these abilities to create even more impressive temples to their god. Being more disciplined in war than in conversation, the mighty Trow began to lay siege to the cities of the Callieach, taking their knowledge by force. Many Runestones were captured by the Trow and taken to the mighty stronghold of Si'anwon. Angered and unable to reason with the arrogant Trow, the Callieach warned them to stop their assaults, or there would be retaliation.

The Trow continued their attacks, destroying whole cities to acquire the Callieach's knowledge. It was then that the Callieach called upon their most powerful magics. In a great cataclysm, the Trow stronghold of Si'anwon was thrust into the earth and summarily flooded by the great sea – The Runestones and artifacts of power lost under the frigid waters.

The Trow were outraged at the lesser-race that would dare to defy them. Years of systematic destruction commenced. Even with their world shaking powers, the Callieach were crushed under the Trow's iron clad feet.

As the last of the Callieach race fled from their home, followed by an army of Trow, they reached a high mountain, and made their stand. Summoning the dream magics of the Wyrd, They ripped a massive hole into reality; destroying themselves and their Trow pursuers in one apocalyptic conflagration – creating the Great Devoid.

The Age of Darkness

Slowly, humanity began to rise out of its primitive state. The brutish tribes, formed into warbands, and then into nations, and then into kingdoms and empires. Humans warred with themselves and with any other races they thought they could defeat.

In this time of warfare and strife, an evil was awakened in the world. It is not known whether it had existed before the world was created, or if it was created out of the atrocities of war, but this malevolent entity desired nothing but the destruction of humanity – and all of the world with it. As the great comet passed into the eastern sky, the being's power grew to epic proportions; as with the comet's departure a thousand years later, it's power waned. For thousands of years this cyclic fluxing of power has caused the destruction and rebirth of human civilizations. Yet its presence and clandestine schemes remained unknown among the people of the world.

As human civilizations were built and destroyed, a few learned scholars began to sense a pattern to their history. They rightfully believed that every thousand years, a powerful warlord will appear to destroy civilization. After that, the hold of darkness on the world would lessen and humanity would once again rebuild. They began to call this accursed entity "The Leveler."

Sometime during these many ages of light and darkness, a powerful sorcerer named Bahl'al learned of the Callieach and the great powers over life and death that they held. Lusting for unknown powers, he explored the sunken ruins of Si'anwon searching for the lost Callieach Runestones. After long weeks, he indeed uncovered a Runestone, and from it, rediscovered the Dream of Unlife. With this sinister knowledge, Bahl'al had become the first human necromancer.

The fierce and loutish Oghre of the cold wastes resented the Trow to the south of their lands. They saw the iron monuments and edifices to their goddess, and called the Trow "The consorts of Nyx." The pride of the Trow was pricked. They would not stand to such an insult to their very way of life. The Trow had become master metal workers over the thousands of years, and constructed complex suits of armor for their kind. These Iron Warriors marched into the Oghre's lands unhindered by their meager defenses. The Oghre's fortresses were torn apart and those who were not killed outright were chained and brought to Rhi'anon as slaves. Those slaved were forced into the iron mines, to dig for the metals that would be used to create even more shrines to Nyx. Thus, the race of the Oghres had become entirely enslaved to the Trow.

The Leveler's powers continued to control the destiny of humanity. Its powers grew stronger with each passing millenium. It was feared that soon the Leveler's power would never wane – that it would defeat humanity utterly and exhale its breath of death upon the world. In this desperate time, a poet and philosopher named Tireces would be the Leveler's downfall.

As the Leveler, in the form of Sorangath the Flayed, was poised on crushing the city-state of Tiruth'Dannor. Tireces rallied the disjointed forces and fought back against the Leveler's legions. Through a great battle, Tireces had fought his way to Sorangath and beheaded him in a bloody duel. The Leveler's armies were routed and crushed. Sorangath's body was put to the torch and the name of Tireces spread across civilization.

This victory against the Dark ushered in the Age of Reason and the dawn of enlightenment for mankind. Alas, though the mantle of the Leveler was destroyed, the evil intelligence behind it lived on.

The Age of Reason

Unhindered by the destructive force of the Leveler, mankind began to prosper. Thoughts of charity and education had usurped the violent instincts of the past. A great warlord named Clovis of the Bruig strove to unite the many kingdoms of the realm. His successful campaign brought about the Empire of the Cath Bruig, the strongest and most prosperous civilization in the history of Myth.

The Cath Bruig forged alliances with many other races, sharing knowledge and trading goods. The Dwarves of Myrgard became close compatriots to the humans. Even the reclusive Skrael of the mighty city of Yer-Ks extended their scaled hands in friendship.

In this time, Mazzarin, the most powerful of human Archmages, dreamed of forming a college of magics; where practitioners of the arcane could come together and share their mystical knowledge. And so, the great citidel of Illuan was constructed for that very purpose. Sorcerers, Dreamers, Summoners, and Diabolists from across the known world came to teach and learn from their peers. Their combined knowledge rivaled even the Callieach in portent. The most learned of Archmages were dubbed "Avatara."

As the Trow continued to expand their empire, they unrelentingly harvested trees for their great iron forges. This brought them into conflict once again as they devastated the forest homeland of the fir'Bolg. The nature loving fir'Bolg mounted a defense, but they stood no chance against the unstoppable Trow. Slowly, they fled into the west, seeking a new forest to call home. This led them into the downs, a vast wild area of the Cath Bruig Empire. It is unknown how it started, but a battle between the outcast fir'Bolg and the fearful men of the Downs was waged. The Cath Bruig sent their armies to weed out the invading fir'Bolg from the forests, and the ensuing campaign took many years and yielded nothing but suffering for both sides. The fir'Bolg were finally chased out of the Downs, crossing the Cloudspine, and eventually settling in the Ermine, far from humanity and Trow alike. The Empire had gained considerable respect for their enemy in the conflict, and though they were saddened at the atrocities committed by both sides, they did adapt the use of archery for their forces.

The Avatara eventually opened their school to anyone seeking knowledge of the magical arts. A sorceress of great skill joined their ranks. Her name was Moytirra, and her fevered studies and lust for power was noted and even feared by her peers. After many years of training, she was initiated into the order of the Avatara. It was then that her dark desires were uncovered by Mazzarin. Moytirra and many followers were conducting sinister rituals in the pursuit of power. They called upon the Dark Gods using methods utterly forbidden by the enclave. Mazzarin confronted her about her unholy work. She defended her actions with zealous fervor, believing that power must be gained at any cost – even one's soul. A sorcerous duel erupted between the two Archmages. As the flames died down, Mazzarin was the victor. He bid Moytirra to end her pursuit in the black arts or leave the Avatara. She cursed his name and left the citadel, taking many followers with her. As the years passed, Moytirra created her own sorcerous school – the Order of Scholomance.

Centuries later, the knowledge amassed by the Avatara had disseminated into common society. Even the smallest village had a wizard professing some knowledge in the arcane. Bahl'al and his necromantic powers had come into conflict with the Cath Bruig and the Avatara many times. As he and his undead hordes were defeated, he would seemingly disappear for decades, only to appear again with an army of corpses twice as strong as before. The Avatara were the first to give him the name "The Watcher."

These horrific battles against undead armies had finally taken its toll on the common man. A band of nobles began speaking out on the evils of magic. They believed that all powers beyond sight stemmed from foul sources – that those who practiced in magery were a danger to the empire.

The Great Cleansing had begun. Anyone practicing sorcery was exiled, put to the torch, or worse. Necromancers were targeted above all others, and the knowledge of many healing and life-giving spells died with them. The Cleansers became fanatical, attacking even the Avatara in Illuan. It took many years and public decrees to quell the Great Cleansing, but in the end, magic wielders became a rare thing indeed.

And after a thousand years, the Comet once again flared in the Eastern sky, and an ancient enemy began to stir once again.

The Leveler had returned. With its insidious power, it breathed horrid life into the body of Tireces, using his long dead foe as the herald of the doom he would bring. Calling himself Moagim, the Leveler used Tireces vast knowledge to begin planning the downfall of humanity.

Even the Avatara who knew of the coming of the Leveler were not prepared for the fury of his onslaught. Vast legions of the dead assaulted the empire as dark magics trembled the earth. Moagim commanded his armies with mastery – using black-hearted tactics and savagery.

The epic battle raged on for years. Moagim's armies swelled with the corpses of the vanquished. Yet, with the focused might of the Cath Bruig armies, Moagim began to lose footing. As the war raged, Moagim saw that his remaining days were few. Refusing to admit defeat, the Leveler devised a plan to avenge his unavoidable death.

With terrible magics, Moagim created a doorway into a distant world of nightmares. There he found creatures lurking within the black depths that gave even him a tinge of fear. With bloody force he held their attentions and beckoned them into his world...

Soon after this dark ritual, Moagim was indeed captured by the Avatara; his forces utterly smashed by the imperial soldiers. Moagim was dragged before the citadel at Illuan, and drawn and quartered. Before his body was torn asunder, he laughed at the assembled Avatara, knowing that even in his death, vengeance was his.

The victory over Moagim was short lived. Tales began to spread of horrific beasts who attacked under the cover of night. Soon these tales became far too real. The Myrkridia were loose in the world. Their numbers seemed limitless, and their appetites unending. The Myrkridia tore the nations of man apart within mere years. The Age of Reason had ended, and civilization became as dust upon the wind.

The Wind Age

Only the splendid city of Llancarfan had withstood the assaults of the Myrkridian horde. The few survivors banded together in protectorates, which after centuries of relentless fighting, devolved into barbaric clans and fiefdoms.

The Myrkridia continued to hunt humanity to near extinction throughout the Age, but other races suffered equal ravages under this dark time. The Skrael kingdom of Yer-Ks toppled beneath the sea in a cataclysmic magical upheaval. The pitiful survivors made their homes in the marshes to the south of their Drowned Kingdom. The Dwarves of Myrgard began a war against the scavenging Ghols, who raided their cairns and defiled their shrines. The Oghre remained slaves to the Trow, who still tore through the earth to find more iron for their temples.

Many people had fled their homes to escape the Myrkridia. Many settled in the area north of the Cloudspine, and integrated with the peoples there. The villages of the shoreline were preyed upon by sea-borne raiders. But when the Myrkridia reappeared, the villages and the raiders formed a protectorate against their common foe. And thusly, the Twelve Duns were born.

The area of Gower was an inhospitable place of rocky soil and harsh winters. Yet the flood of refugees spread even into this unforgiving land seeking escape from the Myrkridian nightmares.

Over the centuries, the number of Myrkridia had dwindled, but still the ruled the night. Many grew fatted off of easy prey, but they still retained their feral instincts.

The Cath Bruig Empire had all but fallen. Sheltered behind the walls of Llancarfan, the empire is only a shadow of its former self. Only the Downs remains in their protection.

The Wolf Age

A thousand years since their release, the Myrkridia have yet to be defeated in battle. And now their numbers appear to be growing.

The Dwarves fight a hopeless battle against their age-old enemies, the Ghol.

And a Necromancer of great power has arisen, claiming to be none other than Moagim Reborn.

And in this time of darkness, a comet has appeared in the western skies.