Moulded from rot and souls, Loimos is born as an undead, as a skeleton. An undead linked to the weakest category of its kind, yet, he has something no other of the dead have. He is pure. Follow the journey of Loimos as he fulfils his duty and hunts down the living with extreme prejudice and faces off with the hypocrisy of those who live in death. In a world thriving with life, magic and heroes, he stands as the solution and its end.
The sun barely rose over the horizon, casting its sickly light over the warmongering continent, at the same time, knights garbed in white emerged from their hiding spots, crawling upon their bellies, armed with spears, swords, bows and arrows, they hid like insects in the tall grass.
Beyond the dark yellow shores, the flatlands, the golden fields of wheat and the small woods, there were rather wide spans of plains that were not quite flat enough to properly cultivate, they were covered in blades of grass nearly as tall as a man, with great trees growing haphazardly, roots spreading far and wide all around the base of their trunks, the wildlands of the south where the famed ogres lived in their natural habitat.