After the deities banished the god Imbroloth, they realized that he was still sentient. He was speaking to, corrupting their creations, the humans. So they made man races to counter his influence. They made the wise, wild folk, the children of Eldrihoth,  the Mah’Rhi, who are more in tune with nature than any man. They made the dragons, who were wiser and more powerful and more advanced  than any other race. They made the Nullroth, the mountain folk, who would spread diversity among the races. They made the watchers, the strange and mysterious folk who would chronicle and correct the wrongs in the world. And, most important of all, they made the Anumreale, the greatest, most numerous  and most innocent of all the races, who will be peaceful except for the Great War. And so they created these peoples, and sent them out to their corners of the world, and hoped that it would be enough to counter the influence of Imbroloth. Because the greatest flaw of man is, was, and forever will be free will.

                                                                   -excerpt from the book of Yivyne

Far beyond my, or even Naru’s knowledge, far to the south, Imbroloth was laughing in his sleep. He knew where we were. And knew exactly what to do to counter or arrival to Orathenamene. He was creating his apostles, Seven of them, to be exact. When Imbroloth fell to Falacia, his ethereal essence chose the form that best reflected how Imbroloth saw himself. A great hideous thing with the warted face of a boar, the body of a man, and the legs of a goat. But it was impossible to describe him unless you really see him for yourself. But he created his apostles in his image. They were malevolent beings, with a helm of iron over their warted face, with great curling horns like a ram’s  jutting out from it’s head. They had the body of a man, with black, burnt armor and chain mail. Each of them had a fearsome weapon of their own design: a great black whip that split into three, and at the end of each was a spiked ball like a mace. It was doused in snake poison and a flammable liquid at all times, and could be lit on fire. They called it a Sliard, which in their vile tongue meant both “herald of death” and “great death,” ironically. There were seven of them, and they each led a great army of fallen men, men who had given their lives to his vile cause. I say that as in, Imbroloth took their real lives, giving them eternal ones without pain or death. But there was a downside: they no longer could feel or think. They had no fear, but also no love, hate (except for the kind Imbroloth put in them that twisted them into what they are now), joy, despair, anything. That’s what had attacked my town. He was protected by his children in the Black Mount of Nethrenoughe, an insidious mountain that went miles into the ground, and when the time came, The Great War would take place there, as it said in the book of Holies, the book of Yivyne. And so the Slumberer laughed, a disturbing, hollow bellow that echoed throughout the catacombs and caverns, knowing how close he had came his awakening after millennia of waiting. I was walking toward my doom, but all I knew was that I wanted to go home.