On the continent of Palis, there is an old legend of great and terrible sorcerer.

A defender of man who almost destroyed the world.

Zhishban was a great man of beautiful power. His heart was deep as the ancient seas, before land rose upward and life burst forth. He served the four great kingdoms from the territory of Baddaon with honest diligence; first as a healer and then as a man who taught great wisdom. Soon enough Zhishban stood beside king Cyried of Baddaon as his most beloved advisor, and then wed the King’s sister, Elyra. However the joy of that time was as all things mortal- ephemeral. Soon an adversary rose to claim the throne - a dark ward of magic who brought a filthy taint to the land as he sought to surmount the large island nation. A man whose name has long since been chiseled away from memory.

Both Cyried and Elyra were to be counted amongst the casualties of the war which followed. Zhishban, alone and grieving, took it upon himself to protect the empty chair where his best friend once sat; to protect the land where his soulmate was born and had loved so purely. The war would end with the loss of Zhishban’s soul. Some say it was tainted. Some say his grief took him. For upon defeating the enemy he then turned to claim to the broken chair of Kings. He dug his claws into the body of the land and the poison which had been leached from it returned anew. The dead did not sleep, thus nor did the living.

But this is all distant memory. Zhishban was defeated in time and his Bleeding Martyrs with him. Nearly three hundred years have flown since those bloody days, and a magic filled mist has covered the entire territory of the kingdom Baddaon. Since the bloody time, the four great kingdoms of Palis have maintained a truce, though things are not always at peace.

Now a new turbulence is rising. To the Southwest a new dissent is stirring. An unaligned movement- a militia self named “The Red Host” is pecking at a country already limping from the death of Baddaon’s most recent and heirless King. Currently the Host are little more than well classed bandits, raiding villages in the night, but whispers speak of something foul returning to the winds. Whispers of their growing numbers. With so much focus being placed upon who will take up reign, the Host has been less than noticed.

Since the time of Zhishban’s betrayal to the people, the different kingdoms have created terms and laws for those blessed with magic. They are considered with superstition and distaste in some cases, but are not entirely alienated or suppressed- although those who abuse their powers will find themselves enjoying their lovely stint in Greystoun Keep- a prison for the magically inclined.

This, dear ones, is where your story begins.

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