The orcs crucified your kinsmen and raped your kinswomen. Now, it's time to right the scales of justice.
A hundred years ago, the orcs and the dragons drove your people from their homeland, Elysombra. You were born in shame and exile in a strange land, among strange people. Now, a hero has reunited the scattered people of Elysombra and begun the reconquest of that which is yours.
Elysombra. Your parents reared you on stories of this land, where you were of one kinship with the king, where all wealth was shared in joy, and all burdens shared in duty. A land of justice. A land destroyed.
Nimicus, the Adversary, lord of evil, sent his orcs and dragons against Elysombra because it was a land of virtue. Your ancestors fled while the brothers and sisters of your ancestors died. In the cradle, you heard stories of Elysombra, and as a child you dismissed them as the fantasies of grown-ups. You grew up in whatever land in which your ancestors had found refuge. You grew strong.
And then came Vanashon, the paladin.
He had been to Elysombra, and he had returned with news.
The land is real.
The great orc warmaster that drove out your ancestors has died, replaced by dozens of petty, stupid warlords who send their soldiers against each other in pointless feuds. The land is yours for the taking. Your god, Primus, the Creator, promises no less.
From north, south, and east, the scattered Sombrans have returned to their homeland to reclaim their birthright, to exact vengeance, and to atone for the shameful retreat of their ancestors.
You are a hero among the exiles. You will descend upon the land with righteous fury.
Your father's hopes and your mother's dreams are in your hands.
Victory is virtue. Conquest is honor. Mercy is weakness. Failure is sin.
Gliss (center) and King Ravain (right) face off against Vaerm, the great red wyrm.