The Tragedies of Draendio

Draendio is a name known for infamy. Millennia ago, it was the world where arose six great kingdoms held together and lead by great, magnificent and powerful rulers. But in the end they could not see the terrible events that would befell them or their people.

It began in the land of Efeuam Luov, a northern kingdom ruled by the Stone Lord, a man revered and who carried the blood of the ancient Irossians, a long dead race of great warriors. He was said to be ever-merciful, and devoted himself to the protection of his people.

At an unknown point, an sinister presence was discovered to have taken root deep within a mountain considered a sacred place by the Stone Lord's subjects. In an attempt to appease his people and safeguard them, the Stone Lord constructed a great cathedral at its base and the oracle of Efeuam Luov, prayed in silence. The attempt was unsuccessful and the evil festered with the mountain and soon began to corrupt his own people.

The king ordered the construction of a great protective wall, to confine the encroaching threat from the mountain. Knights and great machines of defense were posted throughout the garrison to lead the advance on the corruption on the king's orders. Efeuam Luov served as the first line of defense should the evil be unleashed.

Some attempts were made to combat the evil. The Knights of Luov were devoted guardians of the realm and all who resided within it. They delved into the depths of mountain to cleanse it of all the terrible and abhorrent things that dwelled there, but none of the knights ever returned. Eventually, the Stone Lord sensed the upcoming downfall of the kingdom and left his home without a word, leaving everything to his oracle. He traveled deep into the mountain in a final attempt to put an end to the threat but instead he was swallowed up by it.

Soon after the Lord's departure, the stone gates of the city were shattered open, and the land was spoiled with taint and became lifeless. Only the oracle herself remained, still roaming the ruins, and slowly fell prey to the corrupted influence of the same evil that destroyed her own king and homeland.

News of the tragic fate of Efeuam Luov and it's people spread fast through the other five realms. One of the first to hear of it was the Metal Emperor, the ruler of an ancient kingdom and ruled from Ferrous Keep, a impenetrable fortress made out of solid metals. Long before that though, the Metal Emperor was a mere solider with a lust for power and wealth. His ambition knew no bounds and eventually he turned on his own leader and forged a kingdom for himself from weaker states. Doing so cost him what little resources he had, but in the process, he unknowingly discovered an metal-producing relic of an bygone age, which allowed him to freely shape and harness the powers of the earth's riches to his will.

The Metal Emperor though upon hearing of his fellow monarch's demise, instead he gloated. He longed to expand his power, his obsession with creating an indomitable empire that would last for centuries brew. Seeing an opportunity at hand, he sent spies to scouter the ruins of Efeuam Luov and recover it's lost treasures. Eventually though only a handful of them returned, with nothing to bare or offer to their master. But instead of wealth, they instead came back with stories of a desolated land, though they did bring something else. Without knowing they had been polluted by the evil from Efeuam Luov.

The Metal Emperor was not a man know for his compassion and so he abruptly threw all of the failed spies into the deepest and darkest dungeon beneath the keep. They languished there for a long time until they drew their last breath, and were forgotten by their cruel master. Though not forever, for soon after that a great rumble stirred within the bowels of the keep. The Metal Emperor and his beloved castle began to sink into the earth due to the immense weight of the structure. As the earth opened to swallow his keep, molten metal began to melt the walls, eventually consuming his kingdom along with him.

Two lands now laid to waste. Now came for Angleic's turn. A prosperous and powerful nation, first established by an ancestor of King Flosa on the ruins of past kingdoms. King Flosa was a man of honor and favored strength of arms, and soldiers who would stake their every battle on strength alone. Yet he wished to provide his people with a means to protect them after his death. His search was over, for one day. A woman of unparalleled beauty, came to Flosa and warned him of a looming threat across his eastern borders, in the land held by a tribe of giants who long rumored to posse a powerful artifact. King Flosa named this woman his queen and crossed the border with her to combat the giants. During this conflict, he pillaged their lands and took many of them captive to experiment on back in Angleic. This experimentation gave him a better understanding of the nature of life and the power of the soul, thus leading to the creation of golems. Using this acquired power, Flosa created various types of them, who in turn assisted in maintaining his kingdom. With his wife and legions of golems at his side, Angleic entered a prolonged period of peace and prosperity.

The peace would eventually be broken, however. Seeking vengeance for the subjugation of his people, the Giant Chief amassed an army and waged a vengeful counter-invasion of Angleic. He also sought to avenge the deaths and horrendous treatment of the captive giants Flosa took. Unable to forgive the actions of Flosa, the giants attacked. They set siege to the King's castle and relentlessly attacked various settlements, forts and keeps across the land for several generations.

Battles waged between Flosa's forces and the Giants, and much of Angleic's citizens fled the kingdom to escape the conflict. Ultimately, the Giants were defeated after their leader was slain by the king himself. In the aftermath though, much of his had been reduced to rubble and visitors to the kingdom were seldom.

Already weakened by the Giants, the kingdom then became afflicted by another threat, from within. Flosa was desperate to find save his kingdom. His wife constantly whispered to his ears of treachery from within, of how long term allies were in fact scheming usurpers and friends are backstabbing traitors to the kingdom. Soon Flosa's mind was tainted by his own wife's poisoned words. Eventually his paranoia ensued leaving his wife as the only one he could trust. Soon afterword, all those who's names were told to be traitors were rounded up even the most loyal knight soon found themselves meeting the executioner's blade. But Flosa in all his attempts would fail however, and eventually in a lone moment of sanity he realized that his beloved queen was in fact the one who could not be trusted. Flosa confronted his wife and she gleefully revealed the terrible truth. She was in fact once the oracle to the Stone Lord of Efeuam Luov and had come to embrace the power of the monstrosity, becoming it's herald in order to spread misfortune and it's influence to the other kingdoms. Realizing her dark plans, King Flosa did battle with his wife, for three whole days. Did the two battle, blade meeting claw, to tip the balance, he called upon a contingent of his ever obedient golems. While his wife, grew into a hideous aberration.

At last, did Flosa struck the final blow and ran his greatsword, Lifecleaver into the malformed body that once was fair. But so did she dig talons into his body. The two died in a twisted embrace, and so did the golems fall silent. The once glorious Angleic now stands desolated, it's few remaining citizens eking out a miserable existence in the crumbling ruins of their past glory.

Anor Uava was the next kingdom and a city but was a sovereign power by it's own right. Legends tell of how it once served as the city of the gods. Home to Draendio's deities and gods, though long now abandoned after eons of warfare and neglect. Until an apprising man stumbled across it and eventually he rediscovered the arts of the gods themselves. Over time, he drew a steady stream of followers to his side and with their help restored the city back to glory. Thus the Priest-King was born and using his newfound powers, brought prosperity to his people. Crops were ever fertile with the king showering them with rain brought on from the heavens upon his will, he ensured the land was forever in a perpetual spring and established intuitions for learning and the culture. As the golden age endured and Anor Uava became the heart of newly formed movement preaching the return to the old ways of adherence to higher powers.

The Priest-King wishing to guarantee the future of his city and followers, began to recruit a array of people and founded two orders to aid him in this undertaking. The first was the Ministry, a administration that would promote and maintain the Priest-King's teachings. The other was the Daughters of Anor, an all female based religious sect that were charged with serving the people and contribute to the betterment of all of Anor Uava.

With both the Ministry and Daughters assisting him, he crept into the background of life. Seldom appearing at all for long periods of time, not even when a another new temple or church was constructed or opened, nor did he appear to crowds of his people begging for him to appear or on special holidays. Soon doubt crept into the minds and hearts of the people, who turned away from reverence for him and became more occupied with venerating their gods.

Eventually over a period of several decades, the people grew idle. Though their society had overcome the mistakes of past civilizations and had enjoyed peace for many years. Their devotion to their faith though would prove their greatest weakness. For years, a multitude of sects and cults flourished within Anor Uava's walls, each one differing on particular tenets of belief or modes of worship. Some were devoted to the conviction of fire being a purifying force, others to the indulgence of passion, and some held faith in the mystical ways of the star. But there was one insignificant group that would become a great part in upcoming events, a small cult which believed in transcending the mortal coil, wishing to be reborn into new bodies and at the same time achieve eternal life had arisen within the poor districts of Anor Uava. Hearing the whispers that they thought to be a long lost god from the past, they worked tireless to indoctrinate new members into the fold, and preach the will of their master.

The cult's numbers swelled as did their influence grow. Soon did their beliefs become more radical and harsh. Fanatical cultists attacked the temples and holy sites of other faiths, statues of its godly patrons and saints were toppled, floors dripping with blood and covered in the defiled corpses of its priests. News quickly spread like wildfire, the remaining populace reacted with fear and rage, the entrances to the lower districts were sealed off. But it was too late for numerous cultists had already infiltrated the upper city. Panic swept as the faithful looked for answers to deliver them to salvation, holy men called for a inquisition to purge the lower levels of city with flame and brimstone, others conducted crude ceremonies to call for aid from the heavens and few turned looked to Elohim high, to their aging Priest-King.

The Priest-King now a frail old man, hearing his people being threaten by such a great deal of spiritual corruption within his own city. Through sheer will power, he ventured down from his citadel, awed by masses of his followers to looked on as their beloved ruler ignored the barricades and ventured deep into the slums of the lower city districts. It was not long before he had discovered to his dismay, streets silent and deserted. Corpses amassed into piles and the once grand temples and cathedrals tainted. Swearing to bring justice to those who had come to defile the city. Then he came upon the main street, in front of one of the largest cathedrals in the lower districts built for the worship of Lady Augusta, a goddess and patron to the common folk. There he saw even more disturbing sight, countless bloated bodies converging at the cathedral's entrance in kneeling positions and looking as to be split opened hollowed husks. That's when he saw it. A singe, humanoid like creature flying above on a pair of silvery pale wings with a trail of tendrils exposed from the waist down. The appearance of the creature though was no convenience, a twisted mockery of one of the Oaveur, benevolent and angelic servants to some of the most revered deities for the ancient people of Draendio. Summoning both willpower and faith, the Priest-King materialized a spear of pure light and threw it, piercing the creature who fell and dissolved into a pile of pus and bone, upon hitting the ground.

Feeling renewed by his faith and rage, the Priest-King delved further. Finding even more of husks and a couple of the creatures which were easily slain. Until he came into a open courtyard, where large scores of husks were bunched together all facing the center. And at that moment, the Priest-King saw the true horror. A large swollen tentacle mass of flesh, mounted onto it was the body of a fair woman dressed in the tattered cloth of a Daughter of Anor, though she bore unnatural features such as her hands had become claws and sprouted elongated wing like structures. He was horrified at the sight. How could one of his most loyal followers become so corrupted? The creature though gave him an answer and directed him to the pile of husks where he could not believe what he saw. Movement, a still living man though bloated like all the others. He stared and saw the back start to crack, he looked on in disbelief as finally a slender form burst out of the man, vestigial stubs of underdeveloped wings protruding from the creature's back. At last the Priest-King understood the dark and terrible truth. The husks and the winged aberrations, this was the reward and fate for those who served. Their former forms sickened with taint, becoming bloated only to shed them for new and immortal bodies.

Finally finding the truth and in the presence of the one responsible for so much death. The Priest-King drew an mighty spear of energy and as was about to strike the creature. His body failed him, he collapsed to the ground in agony as ever nerve was like on fire. He cursed and swore to the heavens for help, yet he did receive an answer and he cried out. The creature laughed and smirked at him as he laid on the ground. It asked him a question. A question which the Priest-King answered. It's grin widen, for it knew that the one thing that held so much sway over it's foe besides his faith was his fear of death, of the unknown. Seizing this as an opportunity. It gave him a choice, die in the confines of his mortal flesh and bliss of faith or give in and become reborn into immortality. At first he responded with shock and dismay. But soon he doubted his own teachings, his body had withered away over the years and soon thought he would expire and go to death's door. In that moment, he knew this one in a life chance and he accepted the monster's deal.

The Priest-King returned to the upper city, and brought down the barricades. With that he secured his immortality, ushering in the followers of the creature to enter and began the slaughter of those who resisted and capturing those who would be converted. In mere days the once grand city of Anor Uava was brought to heel. It's remaining citizens now transformed into immortal beings, with their Priest-King leading them into worship of their new god, so the surrounding land degenerated into a savage and desolate wilderness, with any who dare venture to close to the city under threat of being captured and brought before the immoral king and given the same choice as him, which many choosing the same as he once did.

With that now draws, the next kingdom. The realm called Londariea, a mighty land carved in the mountains. Home to clans that paid homage to creatures that dwell there, but more so worshiped the mighty Khalemkaor, a titanic draconic like beast which breathed heat and flame.

By legend and folklore of the clansmen, the whole land was united by a lone warrior who bore the mark of the Irossians. The warrior began his quest by subjugating the local rival clans, first approaching the Bloodsun Clan, fierce and barbaric warriors that struck awe and shock from others through their harsh methods of defeating enemies. The warrior simple thought of impressing the clansmen with his sheer strength and raw power, that changed when he meet their chief, a crude and vile man with a temper to match. At that moment, the lone warrior challenged the chief to a honorable duel, the winner would live while the loser perished. The chief accepted this, prideful and sure of his victory over the upstart. Though as he drew his iron spiked club and charged at the warrior, he tripped and fell. Before long, the warrior pinned him with a foot before raising up his blade and bringing down right across the chief's throat and life's blood spew outward. With his foe dead, the warrior turned to the Bloodsun and without hesitation, all of them bent the knee and accepted him as their new chieftain.

One clan down, more to come. The warrior turned his gaze towards the east. There residing in vast swaths of stinking fen-lands was the second stepping stone in his journey; the Murk Walkers. Considered more primitive by others, but they had grew to great numbers and were reviled by most for their peculiar lifestyle of foraging instead of raiding. The warrior along with a group of the most hardened Bloodsun warriors and ventured fourth into the swampy dominion of the Murk Walkers. They eventually came upon the main settlement of the clan, huts fetched from reeds and fallen branches and watchtowers perched up in trees. The Murk Walkers greeted them allowing them through to meet their leader, a aiding man near the brink of death. The warrior spoke and told all of them of his quest, the chieftain of the Murk Walkers smiled and told him, he would gladly appoint him his successor but only if he defeated the greatest foe of his people. The warrior with no haste accepted this and having being told of where the foe dwell. With that he took his men and tracked down the foe, a primordial horned snake-like creature that had preyed upon the Murk Walkers for countless generations. He confronted the beast and made battle, losing over half of his followers to the creature's fangs. But soon overcame it and in a final stroke, cleaved the creature's head off. He took the head back and presented to all of the Murk Walkers, their leader having his wished granted made the warrior his successor, and soon died.

Now with two clans at his side, the warrior turned his attention to the fanatical Scorching Eye Clan. The Scorching Eyes were a powerful clan led not by a single chief but by a sect of zealous priests and soothsayers who fiercely venerate Khalemkaor and it's fire. They would demand tribute from weaker tribes, using the fear of Khalemkaor's wrath to intimidate them and often engaged in sacrificial rites of captives through immolation. When the warrior backed up by the Bloodsun and Murk Walker clans came to Blaze Line, a lone hill supposedly once was a dwelling place for one of Khalemkaor's spawn which the Scorching Eyes gather to conduct their worship and rites. The warrior knowingly interrupted them and roared his demands to the Scorching Eyes and their leaders, who merely mocked and threatened him with a slow death by the flames. The warrior responded in kind by taking their heads and toppling their idols, without their leaders. The Scorching Eye Clan was quelled and joined with their new allies.

With the Bloodsun, Murk Walker and Scorching Eye clans under his command, the warrior moved to unify the rest of the clans under his banner. The Blue Feet willingly joined, the young boy chieftain of Stonefist was taken down and made to kiss the boots of his new master, the death-mystics of the Pale Hollow gracefully flocked to their new leader under the threat of roasting alive by Scorching Eye's flames, the slavemasters of the Frostalon were made into slaves, the Swirling Horns made obedient, the Bonecrafter vowed to obey through the breaking of bones, the Deathlurker faced death, the Night Fang defanged, the Twilight Echo were made servile, the Stormlord made broken and the Dew Harvesters complied to work. And soon others joined and with that the final clan was assimilated into the growing horde.

With all of the clans and their resources at his beckoning, the warrior went on to rule and eventually sired many children, each one carrying the blood of the Irossians within their veins. For nearly two centuries did he reign, until one day he suddenly vanished without a trace. For months did his children and their followers scour the countryside but could not locate him. In the end, his numerous offspring distraught over their father's disappearance blamed each other and soon a civil war erupted. Clan after clan drew blood, land ravaged and homes set ablaze. When the fighting finally end only a handful of his offspring remained. His children wishing not to extinguish the possible last remnants of their patriarch's ancestors, they enacted a truce and began to rebuild with the surviving clansmen.

Centuries later, the last of the warrior's descendants had recovered, establishing a thriving kingdom. Through various polices, they had stripped the majority of the clans' ancestral identify, maintained a very strict hierarchy, followed rigid marriage and succession customs and even demolished and banned aspects of religious belief systems that would contradict their plans. All of this was for the pursuit and completion of one goal; the resurrection of the Irossian race. For years, the ruling family who bear the purest of their ancestor's blood wished to bring about the revival of their forbearers as a means to honor their ancestor. Thus they enacted ways to bring this about, those who bore the cleanliest blood were raised up as elite while those who bred and had been polluted, knowingly defiling their genetic purity were cast out as traitors and mongrels with many settling in Efeuam Luov. Over the years, this purity though would bring about stagnation, population riddled with birth defects and the slow collapse of Londariea.

The last monarch of Londariea, King Vordlen the 3rd, Son of the Mountain and the Flame who was proclaimed by his most devoted of kin and followers to be the purest of his whole line. While his body was fair, his mind was plagued by madness and dark voices. To which led him to all manner of feats of insanity such as outlawing the growing of beards longer then his own, promoting a lowly pet to a duke and even proclaiming a holiday where a lucky person would be thrown of the ramparts and made to fly. The people suffered for years until he reached a new level. Fascinated since he was a child by tales of the Scorching Eye's immolation rituals and those of flame's power. He made his servants construct great bonfires where countless victims were thrown in, the people resisted and rose against him. Even as the other kingdoms and lands were ravaged by an unknown evil all around them, the people of Londariea fought against their mad king. Until the day, where he instead of facing the wraith of a bloodthirsty mob threw himself into the flames while proclaiming himself the Child of Blood and Flame until only ash remained. Even with their mad king slain, Londariea's fate was sealed. Disease and inbreeding had decimated the people, with many having already fled and in their final moments, the angels of Anor Uava came for those who stayed and so Londariea fell to corruption.

Five kingdoms down, now only one remains for now. In the south, lied a stretch of land know as the Ithhyria Peninsula. Fertile green rolling hills, plains of grassland from miles to see, small but dense pockets of forests, chains of steep mountains and several rivers flowing into networks of lush deltas and tributaries. In primordial times it was the birthplace of civilization for all of Draendio, for long ago it was the ancestral home to several different races and cultures of men. The warlike Irossians, the river-faring Wesynar, the nomadic Zopar, the ever rare Maathi, the gentle Haasrene and the sophisticated Antraki.

For a time it was a era of peace. The Wesynar raised dozens of port city-states among the Great Wes River and it's tributaries, flocks of livestock grazed freely on the green hills tended to by Haasrene herders, waves of Zopar sweep across the plains of grass, enigmatic and long living Maathi assemble in shaded groves and woods to employ their mysterious craft, the proud Antraki resisting in their mountain keeps, conducting their daily affairs while fierce Irossian warriors did battle with savage beasts down below. Though peace would not last, for many years did the Irossians grow jealous and coveted the lands of the other races. While the others thrived, they had to scrap by in the dirt. It only took one thing to push it beyond the edge. One day, a two young Irossian braves did come upon a trio of aristocratic Antraki lost. At first both sides were cautious yet curious of their counterparts. Then one of the Antarki took a step forward, believing it to be an aggressive gesture. The Irossians drew their weapons and cut down the Antarki, the two others quickly made their escape. Thus the Irossians and Antarki engaged in war, that would drag the whole peninsula into bloody conflict. Honed in the arts of warfare, the Irossians natural were leading themselves to the victory, for the Antarki while more advanced, they were not united and often feuded among themselves. One by one, their mountain keeps and citadels were laid to ruin and their people ether slaughtered or made into slaves for their new Irossian masters. Those who were able to escape the destruction and enslavement of their brethren, took refugee with their neighbors who told stories of the savage brutality of the Irossians. The Zopar were the first to rise up, their great swarming bands of horse back riders rode across and met battle with advancing war parties of Irossian troops. Both the Wesynar and Haasrene supplied their Zopar allies, liberated Antraki gave useful intel of the Irossian forces, while the Maathi isolated themselves from the bloodshed.

For the next decade, the war raged on. Countless lives were lost and the landscape scarred with the sighs of war. With poor planning, and rising number of uprising by their Antraki slaves. The Irossians were on the losing end, slowly their numbers dwindled down. Many of them chose to forsake their stubborn kin who continued to fight for a lost cause and fled. Those that remained were slain to the last men, women and child. With that another great change occurred, after the war. Many young Zopar followed after the fleeing Irossians, chasing them far north. Legends say that both groups perished but others say they did meet their ancient foe, but found something else, tribes of monstrous giants and to this day are fighting them. Those Antraki who survived, ether joined up with their liberators and commingled with them or returned to their mountains and began rebuilding their home. The Haasrene flourished and their population grew. But while some prospered others diminish, the Wesynar overtime abandoned their cities and took great ships, sailing away never to be seen or heard again down the rivers. The Maathi began to fade and many vanished, those who remained are told to have slowly become wicked and malefic creatures of the night, ever lurking in the darkened forests.

In the end, the Haasrene and their descendants would inherit the earth. Becoming the modern race of men who would go on to forge dozens of kingdoms and territories all across the surface of Draendio. Centuries later in the Ithhyria Peninsula, there arose in a land an powerful lord and his four greatest knights. His name was Algar Brayor, a man of great stature who along with his loyal knights united the whole peninsula, transforming it into a thriving and mighty country with him as it's king who stood vigilant as all other realms fell. He was a living legend among his followers, he slew one of the foul Maathi, battled the giants of the north, tore the heart out of a fire breathing behemoth and even survived a whole winter with only a knife. Though he was might, he held one thing in utter contempt; betrayal. He despised those who lied, deceived, manipulated and cheated for their own personal gain. For that would be his downfall, for one of his knights, Relock Harlon, a skilled and disciplined man with deep knowledge of military would end up betraying him for power. It started slowly, night after night. He was visited in his dreams where he was tempted by a voice to turn on his lord and take his rightful place as ruler over all. At first he resisted, but it soon got worse as the voice started tormenting him during the day. Until in a rash moment, he accepted and his mind was flooded by the dark intelligence of a primeval and eldritch entity. He instantly was made it's thrall and unwilling pawn, with him as it's tool.

The entity made it's plans to bring the whole country to ruin. It approached under the guise of Relock Harlon to one of his comrades, Alevna Frolein. A young but very courageous woman trained at a very young age to be a knight of honor. Yet she was also trusting and very naive. It easy for the entity to manipulate her to it's twisted uses, it lured her away from the kingdom's walls and stabbed her in the back literally. Her cold and lifeless body was soon discovered and once King Algar Brayor heard of this, he vowed to undercover and bring the murderer to justice. So he gave his senior staff members authority and they sparked the creation of a inquisition. Fear and paranoia engulfed the kingdom, the agents of the inquisition lurked everywhere eavesdropping on ever conversation and any hint of treason or whisper of dissent was a invitation to spend time in the dungeons or hard labor. But this was all part of it's grand plan for tensions had arise with dissidence spreading, better for it's corruptive influence to spread. It's next target was the knight Regulus Carnoma, a individual of great empathy. It would use this to it's advantage, for it knew of Regulus's compassion. The entity first, grew close to it's victim. Spending much time with him, thought also whispering simple words to deceive him. Eventually after witness so much sorrow from his own people, Regulus turned to his friend and asked what to do. The entity told of a way to save them but at a price. Regulus didn't care so long as it saved those he cared for and accepted the offer, to which the creature smirked. Darkness fell over it and his victim, when Regulus awoke he found himself in a forest clearing and close to a pond. But when he peered into the reflective surface of its water to his horror, his body was changed forever. Hands had become cloven with talons, his legs had extended and bent with unnatural joints, from atop his bulging head sprouted a mouth full of jagged teeth and he saw all around him through numerous eyes. There he saw Relock Harlon or to put it the being that had twisted him into this aberration. He was filled with pure sadness as he went to the feet of this being and pleaded with him with eyes forming tears to undo what had been done to him, he even kissed the man's boots. But the entity gave but one response, that nothing could be done. Regulus fell into despair only to for the being to sooth him. Telling him that everything was fine. In that moment, it's sinister power took complete over Regulus, his mind becoming loyal only to its master.

Now with three knights swiped from the board, the king and his lackeys riddled with fear of treachery. Their inquisition had set their country ablaze with paranoia, dissidence festered with the hearts of the people. The moment was right, the entity worked it's way to the king's fortress, while it's creation; Regulus along with mobs of former citizens twisted into horrific beings by his newfound power stalked the streets and dealt with interfering soldiers. The entity reached the throne room and there meet the king and his last loyal knight, Caro Dueror. A man nearing his retirement but still held the strength of a youth. At long last, did King Algar Brayor discover the true traitor. The hidden hand pulling the strings and the creature that had done so much evil. Still though he would not yield and his comrade, Caro stepped in front of the being and challenged it. The evil laughed and in mere instants did the knight find himself facing a grave threat. The creature unleashed a wave of destructive power, that blew the throne room apart. Caro along with his king barely managed to hold, but in the fray. Caro had already fallen victim, for the creature had came behind him and in one stroke ripped his head off and threw it to the feet of the horrified king, At the sight of his friend's demise, he flew into a rage and with his sword bared, ran up to this once good friend and stabbed him over and over and over. But the creature didn't resist and it seemed to mock him. With one hand it took hold over the king's throat and raised him up, it smiled and merely whispered a single word into his ear; Psdia. With that the creature snapped the neck of King Algar Brayor and the body slumped to the floor. The creature stepped over the corpse of the king and savvied over the ruined kingdom. Pleased with it's results and the fun it had bringing ruin throughout the world, and with one step the body of Relock Harlon dropped into the streets, broken and twisted. The remaining people of Ithhyria Peninsula without it's strong leader splintered and were left to struggle while the capital city was left to ruin with only the twisted progeny of the once noble knight, Regulus Carnoma dwelling in it.

One engulfed by evil. One swallowed by earth, one fallen to silence, one taken by taint, another succumbed to madness. Still another fell to betrayal. So the proud realms of Draendio were destroyed, it's people's fate left uncertain as tainted forces resided throughout it. But one thing is certain; the world of Draendio is no safe place for those who are sane.