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Darkness is falling.  The prophecies of Doom have become reality and the Gods have forsaken the living, abandoning the land to the Hord. The races of old have retreated to their homelands hoping to fend of the DemonHords for a few more years, cowering behind their warded forests and fortresses. Villages disappear off the face of the world as the three moons glare down, passively watching the world come to an end.

Even the wards of the largest cities are beginning to fail in the deep darkness as the wardcrafters are unable to keep up with the nightly assault of the Hord. Through the air, wreathed in fire, and from the water, the demons attack relentlessly under the moons. Whispers in the taverns speak of the dreaded Rock Lords walking the nightscape with impunity, none have seen them and lived.

Abandoned by the Gods and relentlessly attacked every night, the population is terrified and retreating, waiting for the end. But rumors of the arts of  The Painted Man,  and his magic of old have surfaced again, magic used not just for protection but turned against the Demonhord, wards powerful enough to fight back and even kill the demons.  Groups huddle in corners and whisper the tales of lost Healers, wondering why the Gods have deserted this world.