It has been nearly fifty years since the first afflicted appeared within the lands of the Venerated Republic of Decus. The ruinous byproduct of the plague known simply as the Torment, the Afflicted have reduced the world of Eden into ruin. Five decades has the Torment plagued the lands of Vitaveus, equating to nearly two full generations of the deadly scourge wreaking havoc across the known world.
Two generations worth of misery, death and destruction; two generations worth of madness, chaos and suffering.
Two generations worth of watching and waiting as a world upon the precipice of apocalypse slide closer and closer towards the final choking breaths of existence.
Yet to truly appreciate the End of Days and the hopeless predicament the world of Eden finds itself within today, one must go back to the beginning – the origins of the Torment, of its’ victims, and of course, its’ creators. And like any truly entertaining tale, our story begins with humble beginnings; for what appeared, at first glance, to be nothing more than a simple flu evolved into something far more sinister. The Venerated Republic of Decus, the grand benefactor and superpower of the known world of Eden, paid little heed to the fledgling days of the mysterious sickness that would later become known as the Torment. Embraced within a veritable renaissance of technological breakthroughs and cultural achievements, the Venerated Church, the monolithic ruling faction of the Republic, had never known a worthy adversary for over thirteen hundred years. Dismissing the Torment as but a common illness to be extinguished easily by the ingenuity of the Republic’s top minds, little effort was put in to handling the peculiar sickness with the severity of a plague.
Embraced within a veritable renaissance of technological breakthroughs and cultural achievements, the Venerated Church, the monolithic ruling faction of the Republic, had never known a worthy adversary for over thirteen hundred years.
And, alas, such pride would be the undoing of the Republic proper. When the wretched disease had truly blossomed in its unholy glory across the lands, it had appeared that the gates of Hell itself had been opened upon the face of Eden. Countless thousands fell to the Torment in the first year alone, for the sickness did not discriminate; men, women and children had all been claimed with equal prejudice. While countless millions had simply perished due to the Torment, there had been some that had survived the initial stages of the disease – and in turn, had been subjected to a fate worse than death itself. For these forsaken souls, known colloquially as The Tormented, had turned to feral beasts, blinded with madness and rage, turning upon friend and family like wild animals. Rending their brethren countrymen from limb to limb, those unfortunate to succumb to the wounds of a Tormented would in turn become afflicted with the ungodly disease themselves. And so did the propagation of the true nature of the Torment begin; thousands upon thousands of forsaken souls cursed to spread death and disease across the Republic, their weapons of destruction not the torch or the sword, but the tooth and nail.
In the early days of the outbreak, the great Church desperately scrambled to keep order in a kingdom tainted with madness. The Apothecary Corps. worked tirelessly in an effort to understand the unholy sickness. The Holy Decusian Legion and Church Templar, the two arms of the Republic’s monolithic military mighty, were dispatched far and wide across the Republic to keep order in states that were stricken with the sickness. Most all of these efforts, however, were in vain. Where the Torment did not strike directly, its effects were felt indirectly through rioting and famine. Entire cities fell to chaos. Those states and territories that could be saved were quickly placed under martial law, while most other areas were simply lost to the wake of the Torment. In a mere six months after the first outbreaks of the Torment, nearly a quarter of the Republic has been already abandoned or lost.
The following year did not bode any better; as epidemic turned to pandemic, the Venerated Church could only watch in horror as entire city-states fell to the groves of those infected with the terrible sickness. The Torment and those afflicted with it spread like wildfire through the countryside of Vitaveus. Flooding across nation and state, town and territory; millions believed it was truly the End of Days. By the time the Church could properly utilize its forces of Templar and the Legion proper, nearly half of the continent had devolved into frenzied madness. Death ran rampant through the Republic, and millions had succumbed to the chaos which ensued.
And in the midst of this ever-encroaching darkness, this time of doubt, misery and the questioning of faith, yet another revelation emerged. For thirteen months to the day that the first known reports of the Torment emerged within the Republic, a mysterious entity arose, claiming the title of the Republic’s saviors. Inconceivably, this collective claimed to be true to life warlocks and witches; Magi, straight from the tales of Old. And true to their fantastical claims, they indeed possessed the power of what could only be described as Magic. They performed feats of unimaginable power throughout the Republic; creating food from thin air with the uttering of but a few words, healing the lame, giving voice to the mute, bestowing sight to the blind, and other veritable miracles unimaginable to the layman of the Republic. Those who would dare to raise fist or sword upon them were struck down by the fires of the arcane, and as easily as simply murmuring a few words.
For thirteen months to the day that the first known reports of the Torment emerged within the Republic, a mysterious entity arose, claiming the title of the Republic’s saviors. Inconceivably, this collective claimed to be true to life warlocks and witches; Magi, straight from the tales of Old.
Their greatest feat, however, had not been the miracles they performed upon the crippled, nor the ease in which they dispatched their foes. No, for their greatest power had been that of a blessing and a promise, a solemn oath to any that would seek to follow them in lieu of the Church that failed them:
Immunity from the ravishes of the Torment.
And like the rider upon the pale horse, they had indeed been capable of fulfilling such a promise; for their power was so great, even the deadliest plague known to man could not pose a threat to them. And so many elected to follow these mysterious saviors, seeking refuge among their ranks as an escape from the certain death of the Torment, swearing their fealty to these demi-gods of power never before witnessed upon the face of Eden.
Yet these supposed saviors were an evasive and suspicious lot. Their customs and methods were foreign to even the most backwater citizen of the Republic. Whilst proficient in the common tongues and languages of the lands, their native language was an amalgamation of sounds and phrases that had never before graced the modern world of Eden. And most disturbing was, when asked of their names and titles, these mysterious souls would offer no customary reply – for they did not consider themselves individuals. Instead, their answer was a simple yet cryptic phrase that would forever live in infamy…
“We are the Resolve.”