[Crust]

It began in darkness, behind the doors of a crypt sealed and forgotten. Within slept a being of vast power, one who had died and been reborn countless times before this internment. It was only a matter of time before his dreams entered minds eager for someone to lead them.

Fire and death: forces in opposition, or perhaps cause and effect? Interweaving darkness into the worship of the All-Consuming Flame was simple when dark-winged fiends had crowded the skies above The Smouldercone for so long.

Guided by visions, the armies of Abysia marched. Trapped between mountains and the sea, their path was not easy. Surrounded by races of base birth war was inevitable. The only question that remained, that of direction, was answered when old decrepit Ermor sent its legions marching through the passes from the east.

Madness had gripped that once mighty empire, and drooling old men walked side by side with men long dead. Ghosts held congress with the living, grinning skulls were emblazoned on their shields. There could be only one answer.

When the armies clashed the Abysian line merely stood firm, and watched as the Anathemants gifted the forces of Ermor with fire, again and again. Being unholy, they withered beneath this blessing, but clouds of ash and greasy smoke rose high, proclaiming the glory of Abysia. No doubt whoever still remained of Ermor's senile leaders whimpered in terror then, seeing those pillars rise from beyond the mountains. Their time was running out.