It is the second age of Black Hammer. The Vordagian Empire's War is a forgotten memory for most and the clashing kingdoms have grown quiet in their efforts to remake themselves for the next conflict. New powers have arisen and old ones, now in decline, struggle to maintain their standing. The lands are ripe with rumor and unrest. And so the tragedy begins with the unlikely persons of a disfigured healer, an outcast prince and a kindly woodsman. They have enjoyed success in their past endeavors and have found a haven away from power-mad rulers and their plots. Or so they thought...
His face resembled that of a decomposing corpse, the pitted, pale skin taut and hugging the contour of a pronounced jaw line. In the sunken sockets of his skull, his bulging eyes looked hungry, and what remained of his hair was like an unsightly patch of weeds that refused to die, its color ranging from black to stark white. The dark blue robes that adorned his frame rippled in the breeze, the symbols embroidered on the garments vanishing and reappearing with his gait.
A tall warrior, a Vordagian by birth, black long hair and a well-groomed beard and mustache complemented his swarthy complexion. The Vordagian’s build was powerful and his bearing suggested pride. He fingered the hilt of a long battle-blade that hung at his hip, known as "SORROW"
Hunter by trade. He was youthful, his hair the color of new wheat, his eyes blue and his skin a healthy bronze. The handsome rider’s leathers were the hues of the earth, deep brown and dark green.