In frostbog, where the shoreline shifts like the ever changing dunes of the southern sands, one island stands alone as an unchanging sanctuary from the bitter cold, beast, wind and wave. At least it used to. Decades ago, a mad witch king took this fair isle as his own, and performed twisted and depraved experiments on his subjects, aiming to find immortality. The gods watched his experiments and were intrigued. Those gods of good sent Angels down to stop the monster before he could achieve his goal. Those gods of evil sent demons from the pits of the earth to gain the power of his creations, so he captured them all, he took bodies from the graves, captured ents and fey, hunted down mindflayers and dragons, killed angels and Demons alike and mixed them with the flesh of Human, Elf, Lizardfolk, and the like. And then, the men of the sanctuary fled, and banded with The barbarian tribes from around the still isle. This unlikely alliance, forged from necessity, the bonding of angels and demons, the force of his creations were all what eventually led to him locking himself in the dungeons of his castle, where he is assumed to have rotted away. With the threat gone, the ruined citadel of the still isle had nothing left to do but rebuild, and the barbarian tribes sunk back into their hovel camps, and the Angels and Demons went back from whence they came.

That was 200 years ago. Now, something irksome is stirring in the bowels of the castle, fires burning from the tallest tower, men and women vanishing, some turning up dead, others, not turning up at all. Strange sightings from wolves to strange men in cloaks begin to crop up. Earthquakes shake the land as the sanctuary isle awakens. The mad king isn't gone at all, at least, not his legacy.

King of the Black Covenant

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