Prologue

The old gods were broken by wars and plagues of the mind, left reeling like the most bloodied veterans. Infected with horror at the cost of their actions, they retreated into dementia. 

Insanity as escape. Seeking to free themselves, they fled to a world of delusion, a world uncorrupted by jealousies and psychoses. And yet, in the end, even this they would pollute.

So deep was their need, so desperate their flight from their bitter past, that they ignored the one truism all must bow before.

Belief defines reality.

The twisted fears of the old gods wormed themselves into this creation and became real. Their darkest thoughts took on life. The inhabitants, at one time mere characters dreamed to entertain, became substantive and entertained delusions of their own.

Dreams became nightmares, and nightmares became reality, stalking the earth as albtraum, manifestations of man's earliest fears given flesh. And the cycle continues.

Creatures birthed by the delusions of such imperfect gods can hold no hope for sanity. These nightmares define new tomorrows, and the gods look on in mute horror at what they have wrought.

—NEBRILE GHAST, WAHNVOR HIGH PRIEST