In the aftermath of the Severed Stars, as the night festered and the land soured, a kingdom rose from the grave of the old world.
It was not made of stone or spirit—but of bone, rot, and misery.
The Ghoul King ruled it.
Where once there were villages and forests, now there stretched an endless mausoleum of writhing flesh and blackened tombs. The sky churned with unnatural clouds, and from cracks in the earth poured a mist that whispered the secrets of the dead.
The Ghoul King sat upon a throne built from skulls still whispering the last prayers of the world that had died. His crown was a halo of splintered bone, his scepter the spine of a god.
He had been a man once. A man called Lord Thavik, an arrogant warlord who sought immortality through forbidden rites. When the stars fell and the earth wept, he seized the opportunity to ascend—binding his soul to the endless corpses that flooded the land.
Now, he was many. Now, he was endless.