Mestvin

The Wanderer cackled proudly, hearing that his student murdered the last member of a dwarven clan

Despite celebratory cheers of the living The restless undead continued to assess The strengths and weaknesses of nations "For no man is beyond Khorvad's reach"

The Gift Hanseti-Ruska A undead servant overimbued with life-force Under the pale moon a Necromancer sat on one of the roofs of the Haense capital. Spotting a group of familiar faces he went down into one of the alleyways with his servants. With a flick of his wrist and an incantation he infused the walking corpse with his life-force to the point of bursting. Corpse jolted at his command, its hollow eyes flickered with a malevolent hunger, and he let it loose upon an unsuspecting group. Then With a grotesque lurch, the undead servant charged, its limbs moving with an unnerving speed. A nightmarish marionette on strings of dark magic. But the horror did not end there; as it collided with the terrified townsfolk it detonated in a catastrophic explosion—a gruesome eruption of piercing bones and infectious gore that rained down like macabre confetti. Shrieks filled the air as the citizens stumbled back grappling with the visceral horror unleashed upon them, the scent of decay mingling with panic as chaos erupted in the once-peaceful city. necromancer reveled in his dark triumph, a sinister smile playing on his lips as he watched the devastation unfold, only to fade in the darkness.

[!] A single sheet of paper would be posted around the realm with a peculiar draft of a face drawn with charcoal (Art by iv3ry) Missing Ar-Malna An elf, orphanage caretaker from Hanseti-Ruska is missing. Last seen in the capital, possible traces of dark corruption. If found - must be brought to the local gallows tree on the way to the capital Reward: One hundred mina Hunter Heinrich Kemmler

A harrowing laughter echoed the forests of Urguan

Blackheart reads the missive on the burned ground, his risen feasting on a dwarfs corpse. "Hah, now they openly advocate Kinslaying." He leaves the paper on the bloodied ground, marching forward the blessed path.

Treacherous Urguan Leaflets would be thrown around the streets of Petra, Numendil, Haense and Urguan To all whom it might concern, a grave civil war is brewing and it's time to choose a side. The Forest folk who took in the refugees of the current wars or the bloodthirsty scheming dwarfs of the - how they now named it "Under Kingdom". Your actions are your own but know this, The High Seat of the Capitol is a friend of Xion. There is enough evidence collected troughout the years that passed as well as the attempts to silence anyone who really cared about dwarven kind. No kinslaying nor leaving your seats of power will save you Xionists. That's why implore you, Allies and citizens of the Urguan Open your eyes and see the Urguan Capitol as it is A cesspool of corruption Where "Good" is darker than shadows themselves

The Blighted Amber Mossborn Under the cloak of twilight, the infamous dwarven necromancer ambushed the unsuspecting Epiphyte. He swiftly subdued her, leaving little chance for the forest folk to intervene. As he rode through their village on his sinister steed, the sight of Amber’s helpless form instilled a chilling dread. Weavers’s destination was a grim altar, a sacrificial rock steeped in ancient malevolence where he intended to perform a ritual steeped in shadow. With a heart as cold as the edge of his bone dagger he plucked out one of her luminous eyes, a cruel sacrifice to feed his dark ambitions. The forest whispered her name in grief as he cast her aside, leaving her at the threshold of Urguan.

The Brand And The Cowardice In the dimly lit forest road two dwarves would meet their old king now turned into an undead abomination, they draw their weapons not realizing the real threat lurking behind them. Two undead emerged from the dark together with their fallen master, they apprehended the young female. The Mage did cast the vortex of voidal flames to save her yet the Weaver fast as the shadow themselves caught him with his hand by the face. Many thoughts ran trough the Magi's head as he caught the glimpse of familiar silhouette. "Tho-" Yet the attackers piercing gaze, as cold as the grave, was locked onto surprised dwarven fire mage marking his demise. The child used this moment to run away, dodging the ghoul king's spear choosing cowardice over honor. The Mage fell down lifelessly on the dirt path shortly after with black handprint seared into his forehead, contrasting sharply against his sun-kissed skin. The Weaver mocked the child with an eerie laughter as he turned towards her, already out of his reach. Then the fallen were gone with the body and only silence remained, for now...

"Rattle, Clank, Clank." Said the pumpkin skelly