Gods. Beings of great power and divinity, rulers and supposed creators of all things, the loving parents of man. Or at least, that’s what they were supposed to be. What then happens when the gods abandon their creations, passing uncaring judgement on those they profess to love?
Long had the gods, the Pantheon, turned their faces away from their lands, ruling them like an apathetic lord, long since bereft of nobility and grace, their minds turned inward to their own affairs, with little time to spare for their children, their people.
Prayers went unanswered, and there was great suffering in all lands, the pleas of millions rose to reach the ears of Heaven, and yet, no response was given, no grace extended to those in need, no salvation for the wretched masses.
It is of no surprise, then, that the people rebelled. Rallied by their ruler, Ælfric the Sorcerer King. Warlock he was called, breaker of oaths, for he was a chosen one of the gods, a Coren, a mortal born by the will of the divine, made with a sole purpose; to enact on the world the will of the gods. Such people are born every age, meant to be shepherds, stewarding their people towards the will of the divine.
And yet, even the prayers of their chosen went unanswered.
It was then, 1,000 years ago, in the waning days of the Age of Godcund, that Ælfric, bolstered by his loyal subjects, waged war against the divine. Long and bloody was the campaign, for the gods did not take kindly to the rebellion of their children. Millions died. There was untold suffering, and yet, the mortals endured. It was Ælfric who, in the end, brought low their rulers, their jailers of fate. It is said that he stormed the gates of Heaven, breaking them down with his mighty magics, and, with his enchanted blade, Ǣled, he cut out the hearts of the gods, one-by-one.
Thus ended the days of Godcund, and a new age was started. Though it was named the Age of Peace, all would change when the Mist rolled in. For it seems that the gods did serve a purpose after all, for following their deaths, the lands quickly became enshrouded in a thick, mysterious mist. Soon, all kingdoms were covered, all save one.
In the heart of Eldraspell the kingdom of Niwegard endured, protected by the power of their immortal sorcerer king. This one last bastion of humanity stood solemn and alone against the veil of the Mist, as all else was consumed, nearly the entire population of the world snuffed out in but a few short years.
Now, in the Age of Mist, crops are failing, the populace is increasing, and the king’s rule is faltering. Supernatural creatures known as Wights have began emerging from their dark places, preying on the innocent and vulnerable. The old ways are forgotten, and a new dawn approaches; but will it be for good or ill?