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The world wasn’t always dark and sinister.

It wasn’t always full of lies, deceit and corruption. But that was a better time, before fear, before Ragnarök. When there was happiness and prosperity in all the lands. But all of that has been long since forgotten.

Now is the age of darkness and pain. Now is the age of the Demonata.

For many, Ragnarök was the end of an era. But for the most tainted of souls, it was just the beginning. As the world fell, it was the Demonata who rose up to power. Like a plague, they spread across the lands, over cities and even wastelands, reeling them into their power, leaving only destruction and the ashes of fallen kingdoms in their path.

Rebels were slaughtered and their cities demolished to piles of rubble. Before long their empire stretched out across the western lands as far as the eye could see. Their realm, named after their heartless leader and Queen, was as great as it was strong.

But one glorious city survived the battle of ages and held dearly on to their sacred lands.

This city belonged to the Pure Ones; humans blessed by the Gods and born with the honour of a runemark.

No one knows of the Pure Ones origins, but it has been said to believe that they are the children of the Gods. Feared and adored by all who come in close encounters with them.

Though with every great empire comes a curse and this came as no exception to the people of Draäl. For not all their children were born pure and some, sad to say, were born with a reversed rune, a sin to the Pure Ones. Branded as impure, they were cast aside in the Draähilian society and classed as outcasts, living their lives in hardship and shame.

In no time at all, the Demonata rose from the deepest depths of hell, bringing forces that no empire, no kingdom could ever hope to match. The battle of ages was the day the world went cold and once where beautiful cities stood, lay the ashes of its people.

To make sure the glorious city of Draäl would never suffer from the same ill fate or fall under the demon empire, a deal was struck between its people and the children of hell, so that they would not become slaves to the evil creatures taking the world in their clawed hands piece by piece.

An agreement was settled between the two powers.

Every impure child would be handed over to the enemy, a sacrifice if you will, so that in return the demons would promise never to touch their precious city. Never again to step foot within its walls.

The city of Draäl and its inhabitants were now safe, but their kin’s future had only darkened considerably in comparison.

For the demons liked to play their own little mind games with the impure ones. They never killed them for that would be a blessing to them and they were far too valuable for death.

Instead they tormented them, telling them of their kin’s betrayal, coaxing them toward hatred and violence with their poisoned words, until they became as bitter and as cruel as the Demonata themselves, until they hated their brothers and sisters who’d given them up for their own safety.

They were treated like dirt, used only to bear demon spawn and to live in slavery, tortured and broken even down to the very essence of their souls.

Living an eternity of loneliness in a world of hatred and utter cruelty, where happiness was one of the worst crimes.

But still in the darkest of times there were still small rays of hope, for there were whispers of stories. Tales of a prophecy about three blessed children who would end the darkest of times, who would return light to the lands and end the Demonata Empire for good. And so with baited breath, in the darkness they waited for their saviours.

And in the midst of this dark era my friends, is where our tale begins.

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