It’s a cold morning. Your breath steams in front of you as you look around at the meager band of men you have with you. Thalan grips his axe between his stubby dwarven fingers as he swears at a rock he’s had the misfortune of stumbling on, muttering under his breath of some druidic curse me is afflicted by. Vyork stares blankly off in to the distance, his massive giant frame seemingly unafflicted by the adverse weather. Fingering the pommel of your dagger you glance over at the guardian of the Village of the Battleragers, noting his stern countenance, iconic of dedication.

The Imperial War machine will arrive any hour now, your scouts alert you but you aren’t disturbed. On a cold day such as this, the wounds that will undoubtedly be cast abounds will numb quickly. Its as good a day to die as any.

Without warning a fiery blast erupts by the guardian, exploding dust and pebbles against your breastplate. It seems the Imperial Army has arrived. You hear a guttural growl erupt from Thalan as he charges forward, his axe blade piercing the air before him as it will undoubtedly pierce flesh in a moment or so. Squinting your eyes, you lunge forward joining his charge. “Today will bring victory or death,” you think as you muster every ounce of adrenaline in your blood, “time to choose which.”

Welcome to Carrion Fields. Step into a world where the unspeakable depravity of those who bargain with demons and spread vengeance of long forgotten Gods of War are only countered by the unmatched courage of those who stand against them. Where age old hatreds unfold on a battlefield spanning several continents, hundreds of dungeons and places of mystery and magic, with so much to unearth and discover you may never live to see the end.

But then, that’s up to you.