Chapter 1
That year was a time of great turmoil and suffering for the people of this cursed land. It was said that the very air was tainted with the stench of corruption and that the ruling elite were nothing more than depraved monsters, consumed by their greed and lust. The current King himself is the thirteenth in a long line of cursed rulers, each one more depraved and twisted than the last. They cared not for the plight of their people, but only for their selfish desires.
For five long years, the goblins ravaged the countryside, their eyes aglow with an eerie red light, their razor-sharp claws leaving trails of blood and terror in their wake. No one knows where they came from, or what their purpose was, but one thing is certain - they were pure evil. As the goblins swept through the villages, the people of Yosnad looked to their King for protection. But he did nothing, content to stay locked up in his castle while his subjects were slaughtered. The villagers were left to fend for themselves, building crude barricades in a desperate attempt to keep the monsters at bay.
But the goblins were relentless, their attacks growing more and more frequent as the years passed. And then, as suddenly as they had come, the goblins vanished. No one knows why or how, but some say that they were never truly gone, that they simply went underground, biding their time until they could once again emerge and wreak havoc upon the land. The people of Yosnad live in constant fear, never knowing when the goblins will return, or if they are already among them, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.
And so it was that year the Kingdom of Yosnad fell into darkness, a place of evil and suffering that was feared by all who knew of its existence.
In the western reaches of this cursed land, there lay a great mountain - Kalib, stretching across the border like a dark and foreboding sentinel. It was said that the mountain held terrible secrets, that it was a place of darkness and despair, where the very fabric of reality was twisted and distorted. Some whispered that the mountain was home to unspeakable horrors, creatures that had long since been banished from the world of man. Kalib is the third tallest mountain in the world, but it was no ordinary peak. The top half of the mountain was always shrouded in dense clouds, and even on a clear, sunny day, the tip of the mountain was invisible. The mountain was cursed, they said, and it brought nothing but death and despair to those who lived below.
Towards the base of the mountain, a forest grew thick and wild. The trees were gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Two major rivers cut through the forest, their waters murky and foul. The first river is Keil and the second Vert, a few villages can be found along these rivers. Even though both rivers were filled with disgusting filth, the farmer still manage to raise crops in the foul river water. Then again, that is all the farmers have, those who worked the land knew to stay away from the forest and the mountain beyond. For there were whispers of dark things that lived in the forest, creatures that feasted on the flesh of the living. And some said that at the base of the mountain, hidden in the shadows, there was a portal to hell itself. When winter descends every year the villagers feel the weight of the mountain pressing down on them, like a hand reaching out to claim their souls.
Deep in the forest under the Kalib, the air crackled with static electricity that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the forest. A pair of eyes, belonging to a wary deer, scanned the environment for signs of danger. Suddenly, the creature bolted away as if pursued by an unseen terror. In the forest floor where the deer had been staring, something began to materialize. Ancient symbols, etched with an otherworldly calligraphy brush, formed a circle that spun in an ominous, anti-clockwise motion. The lines connecting the symbols glowed an eerie red as if infused with demonic energy.
In a split second, the space above the summoning circle tears apart like fabric, revealing a void that shimmered with a bluish light. Little bolts of blue electricity danced around the portal, illuminating the surrounding area. A hand emerged from the portal, its fingers long and white as if made of bone. On each finger, rings glittered with orange, red, purple, black, and blue gemstones. Another hand followed, adorned with yet more rings.
The hands worked in unison, opening the portal further until a figure stepped out. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or some otherworldly entity. The figure was draped in a black robe that obscured its face and hands. Even the rings that had been visible moments before were now hidden from view.
The robe itself seemed to move with a life of its own, swirling and shifting as if it were alive. The golden lining sewn into the edges of the robe glinted in the dim light, forming strange patterns that seemed to shift and writhe as the figure moved closer. The very air around it seemed to grow colder and darker as if all light and warmth were being sucked into the void that surrounded this terrifying entity.
The being raised its hand and muttered an incantation in a low voice. A green circle appeared before it, half a meter in diameter, and within the circle, the terrain of the forest was mapped out in detail. Different colour dots appeared on the map, scattered throughout the forest like droplets of blood. The figure's eyes locked onto a cluster of blue dots at the eastern edge of the forest. It muttered another incantation, and a thin blue glow surrounded it. With a sudden burst of speed, it shot forward, hurtling towards the cluster of blue dots like a comet descending from the heavens.
Migok, a small farming village on the outskirts of the forest, was no stranger to terror. For years, the goblins had ravaged the land, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake. But the villagers thought they had finally defeated the creatures until the whispers began again. The air grew thick with a sense of foreboding, and the villagers knew that something sinister was lurking in the darkness. As the sun began to set, the villagers hurried to finish their work and gather in the village square. They had learned through the years of attacks to build makeshift barriers around the village, but they knew it was only a matter of time before the goblins broke through. The village elder as part of his daily routine made his way to the square, and as he approaches the centre of the village he felt a chill run down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
When he arrived, he found the villagers huddled together, their faces etched with fear. As they stood beneath the statue of their cursed King, the old man realized that something was very wrong. The statue seemed to be alive, its stone eyes look like they are following him as he approaches. The statue was mandated by the deranged King and imposed on all the towns and villages in his Kingdom to erect a statue of him to show that he is their ruler. This evening it seems like the usual shadow it cast over the village is not just any shadow, but a dark and twisted presence that seemed to be suffocating them all. Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the forest near the village, followed by the sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling. The villagers know that something is coming, and they knew they most likely will have to fight for their survival.
The silence that had enveloped the village was soon shattered by a bloodcurdling scream that echoed through the night, causing the villagers' hearts to race with fear. The village elder's face turned ashen; he thought that the scream sounded like it came from a human. He contemplated whether he should lead a small group of brave men toward the source of the scream. As he was still deliberating, another scream followed, but this time it seemed much longer and more agonizing.
One of the young men stood out and said, "I will go and see what that was." The young man's face was white, and both his hands shaking, but he knew that they had to find out what unknown thing had screamed or caused the scream. A few other men joined in and said they would investigate together. The village elder nodded his head and replied, "You can go, but be very careful, at the first sign of danger, you must return immediately."
The group of men crept through the dark forest, their footsteps muffled by the crunch of leaves underfoot. But as they emerged into a clearing, their terror turned to horror. A monstrous figure, towering nearly three meters tall, stood before them, its muscular form draped in tattered flesh and matted fur. It clutched the lifeless body of a village girl in its enormous, bloodstained claws. It was a forest troll, a creature of nightmares that the villagers had only heard whispers of, and now their worst fears were realized. There was no doubt that both screams came from the dead girl.
Surrounding the troll were goblin troops, emerging from the blackened depths of the surrounding bushes. Their eyes glinted with malevolence as they brandished crude weapons - jagged daggers and menacing slingshots. But one among them stood apart, adorned in a sinister leather armour adorned with the bones of fallen creatures. His twisted grin revealed rotten teeth, while a staff adorned with a pulsating red gem radiated an unsettling aura. In his other hand, he clutched a black orb, oozing with dark energy.