aof

In the grim darkness of a defeated nation there is only death.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Twenty-five years ago the Lich known only as Mot Yama emerged from the frozen seas of the far south at the head of an undead horde that was seemingly without number.  With all the inevitability of a tidal wave the undead swarm gutted the unprotected underbelly of the proud nation of Corillia.  Within weeks Corillia was a blasted hellscape crawling with undead, its citizens driven behind whatever walls they could find as armies of the damned appeared and attacked out of thin air.  Bordering nations to the north mustered their entire military might to desperately pen Mot Yama's forces behind Corillia's borders.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Reprieve did not come until the final battle of Marum, Corillia's capital.  King Hector Malakim led a glorious defense of the nation's crown jewel, aided by his Lamenter's, Corillia's fighting elite.  Details of this battle are few and far between as truth and tale walk side-by-side in its accounts.  The story goes that his majesty and the Lamenter's mounted a brilliantly vicious defense, obliterating swathes of undead with every maneuver with King Hector leading the charge, a whirling frenzy of destruction.  Against all odds, Marum was holding fast against the unholy tide, prompting Mot Yama himself to intercede.  Mot Yama tore down the battered walls that protected the city, spelling doom for Marum.  As the damned poured into Marum, Hector Malakim, the monarch turned Warrior-king of Corillia rose to challenge the Lich in one last act as ruler.  Lamenters and undead perished in droves as each sought to aid their dueling leaders.  What tremendous magics and epic feats were unleashed in that battle remain a mystery to all but the gods; all that is known among the mortals is that somehow, the impossible happened: Mot Yama was defeated.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Mot Yama's fall was a glorious occasion for the world, but naught more than a pyrrhic victory for Corillia.  Mot Yama's short excursion into the nation had decimated its citizens, and despite his defeat, Mot Yama's hordes remained unchecked, a now leaderless scourge roaming the land.  Corillia's neighbors have since built powerful barriers, both magical and physical, to corral the aimless undead, trapping what's left of Corillia's populace to endure a hellish existence clinging to whatever protection they can find.
_________________________________________________________________________________


This is the world you know.  Corillia's people have been driven into what cities and temples that still remain defensible.  The golden fields that once sustained the people have become fallow, trampled by undead legions, and Corillia's population has dwindled rapidly.  Clerics, Druids, and other magic users spend each day magicking just barely enough food into hungry mouths to keep them alive while shattered Paladin orders lead gaunt men in defense of miserable lives.
_________________________________________________________________________________


Nobody has heard from King Hector and his Lamenter's since the Fall of Marum, and there are those who still worry that Mot Yama was not truly defeated, merely stalled, and he will rise again to cleanse the rest of Corillia of the living.  Marum itself, and its armories and repositories of magic items that the rest of Corillia so desperately needs, is impossible to get to.  A massive beacon of necromantic magic radiates like a perverse sun from the heart of the ravaged capital, keeping the bulk of Mot Yama's horde in its orbit.  It remains to be seen whether they are simply attracted to the remnants of their dead master or, more ominously, they are awaiting his return.