Phantoms of Novaria

The Empire of Novaria stretches far and wide, holding its dominion for centuries without fault, with other lands being taken to expand the Emperor’s domain. The Capitol, simply known as Novaria, is the home of the Emperor and his massive army of immeasurable numbers.

To the Far East of Novaria, is the Island of Kagarra, a land divided into Seven Kingdoms, each ruled by their respective Royal Family, but none more deadly and renowned in Novaria as Dural, King of the Immortal Throne.

You are a recruit in the Novarian Army, forcefully drafted into the military as many other able-bodied men and women are. A war is on the horizon, the largest one fought in by the Novarian Empire in centuries. You, however, are unaware of the circumstances of this dawning war, even when you and your fellow comrades persistently enquire.

As you march from the Capitol, Novaria, towards the coast, you are ambushed by a band of roguish mercenaries, flying dark banners. Your small band of soldiers fell to the blades of the brutes, and darkness consumed you.

In the darkness, you see a slight shadow, moving around just outside your dying vision until it almost consumes the area with a darker presence – a voice whispering in your ear:

“This is not your time… Rise if you would, for the Emperor…”

The figure fades, and you begin feeling rain against your bloodied face, the wet mud between your fingers, the damp scent of the downpour masking the pungent stench of death around you. Your eyes flicker open, blinking erratically against each raindrop. The sky is dark and grey, shrouded in clouds and murders of crows, the cawing of foraging omens feeding upon your new friends. Your head struggles side to side as you get your bearings until your eyes widen, a tremble ebbing through your cold, wounded body.

There, staring into your very soul, the glazed, lifeless eyes of your comrades fixated on you before a crow plucks one of them from the socket. Your breathing becomes erratic, frantic, your vision beginning to blur out, several faded silhouettes engulfing the circling cloud of scavengers. The faint sound of sniffing and deafened speech fills your ears as there is a slight tug at your leg.

Yet again, you begin awakening, warm, comforted, dry. A scent of herbs, spirits, and wet dog lingers in the air. You stare blankly at a wooden rooftop above your head, a warm orange glow emanating to your side.

Daydreaming is cut short by a wet lick against your ear, a large dire wolf sitting contentedly by your side, behind it, a crouched down man in a red satin robe, stoking a lively fireplace.

“You’re finally awake… Good. I’m afraid I have some unwelcome news... You’re dead.”

Please note that this campaign has moved to the next story arc, which is given some context for any new players. If you want any additional information, please PM me.