SACRED & PROFANE
After the forced expansion of the Holy Roman Empire into their lands, a pagan tribe is labelled as heathens and retreats into the secluded forests and mountains.
Under the cover of the elements, their sorcerer uncovers a sacred talisman. Using the arcane knowledge of his forebearers, he brings to life a being that will spread a harrowing disease and open one of the darkest chapters of human history.
Choose your Beer... and learn the story.
Tyrannic Opulence
A lavish banquet in the face of voracious famine. Gluttonous luxuries indulged far away from the peasant’s streets, ridden with filth and disease.
He claims that his throne is divine, bequeathed to him by the heavens. But the empty words of his sanctimonious orations are flattened under the iron fist of his tyrannic acts.
This is not an ambassador of God, but a foul monster driven by lust, greed, and a perverted sense of justice. The sins he so heinously punishes reverberate in the secrecy of the castle’s walls.
I was taken prisoner by his armies as they reaped through my home, under the guise of civilizing heathens. Bearing the sign of a pagan, my “unholy” features are concealed. My blood serves as repentance. Though my spirit is unbroken.
Dethroned
A megalomaniac narcissist that brought real suffering to thousands. Persecution, imprisonment, famine, ruthless retribution and a vindictive intolerance for anything he deemed unholy.
His iron-fisted laws were disguised under a veil of sanctity, but they served nothing but his throne. He thought of himself as a God amongst men, but his vile, decapitated head now speaks otherwise. He lies defeated, his carcass as mortal as all the others plaguing this field, serving as food for the ravens.
The mystic forest we fought his army in is the source of our power. His God is worthless here.
Burning flames illuminate the nighttime sky, pointing the way to a new horizon. We no longer need to hide in secrecy.
His reign of tyranny is over.
Immortal Rites
We have been forced to flee, leaving our fields and lands to rot under the grasp of the Kingdom’s ever-growing, greedy grasp. They labelled us heathens and barbarians, seeking to extinguish our way of life and to assimilate us into their world.
We found refuge under the cover of the forest, where our tribe originated from. They lived together as one with their surroundings and the mythical spirits that roam these enchanted woods.
It is their primeval wisdom that I must seek if we are to stand the test of time. Entranced in a cloud of burning offerings, I feel the cold embrace of the spectres slowly stepping into the mortal plane.
This forest is our domain, and it will stay so forever.
Spectral Tribulation
Centuries have passed since her remorseless demise. She led a sincere, simple life, finding happiness in the serenity of her community and caring for her family.
But that was all taken from her. Her village was reduced to rubble and her loved ones were massacred. The conquerors showed no mercy, and in the depths of the well where she met her end, the passage of time froze along with the atrocities that took place.
Until the tide started to turn. Ancient sorcery was unleashed through the lands she once walked. A familiar light awakens her body, and the agony she felt before she passed becomes her beacon, binding her to this world.
Summoned to inflict the same pain, she will wander, her emaciated silhouette slithering in a morbid dance of death. And those who cross her path will take her hand.
Plague Angel
The merciless scythe of pestilence decimated Medieval Europe’s population. Piles of rotting corpses littered the streets, accompanied by a ceaseless cacophony of excruciating screams. Orphaned children aimlessly wandered as hordes of infested rats rushed under their feet, all under an overbearing stench of decay.
But there was one town whose harrowing experience held secrets kept silent for centuries. A place whose inhabitants unlucky enough to survive told tales of the Plague Angel.
When plague-ridden townspeople exhaled their last breaths, she was summoned out of the blue flames emanating from their mouths. She flew across the land seeking for new victims who she tempted with salvation, only to claim their lives.
The ornaments that adorned her belonged to the pagan tribes living in that region long before they were forced out. The priests spoke of heathen magic…
Tyrannic Opulence
A lavish banquet in the face of voracious famine. Gluttonous luxuries indulged far away from the peasant’s streets, ridden with filth and disease.
He claims that his throne is divine, bequeathed to him by the heavens. But the empty words of his sanctimonious orations are flattened under the iron fist of his tyrannic acts.
This is not an ambassador of God, but a foul monster driven by lust, greed, and a perverted sense of justice. The sins he so heinously punishes reverberate in the secrecy of the castle’s walls.
I was taken prisoner by his armies as they reaped through my home, under the guise of civilizing heathens. Bearing the sign of a pagan, my “unholy” features are concealed. My blood serves as repentance. Though my spirit is unbroken.
Dethroned
A megalomaniac narcissist that brought real suffering to thousands. Persecution, imprisonment, famine, ruthless retribution and a vindictive intolerance for anything he deemed unholy.
His iron-fisted laws were disguised under a veil of sanctity, but they served nothing but his throne. He thought of himself as a God amongst men, but his vile, decapitated head now speaks otherwise. He lies defeated, his carcass as mortal as all the others plaguing this field, serving as food for the ravens.
The mystic forest we fought his army in is the source of our power. His God is worthless here.
Burning flames illuminate the nighttime sky, pointing the way to a new horizon. We no longer need to hide in secrecy.
His reign of tyranny is over.
Immortal Rites
We have been forced to flee, leaving our fields and lands to rot under the grasp of the Kingdom’s ever-growing, greedy grasp. They labelled us heathens and barbarians, seeking to extinguish our way of life and to assimilate us into their world.
We found refuge under the cover of the forest, where our tribe originated from. They lived together as one with their surroundings and the mythical spirits that roam these enchanted woods.
It is their primeval wisdom that I must seek if we are to stand the test of time. Entranced in a cloud of burning offerings, I feel the cold embrace of the spectres slowly stepping into the mortal plane.
This forest is our domain, and it will stay so forever.
Spectral Tribulation
Centuries have passed since her remorseless demise. She led a sincere, simple life, finding happiness in the serenity of her community and caring for her family.
But that was all taken from her. Her village was reduced to rubble and her loved ones were massacred. The conquerors showed no mercy, and in the depths of the well where she met her end, the passage of time froze along with the atrocities that took place.
Until the tide started to turn. Ancient sorcery was unleashed through the lands she once walked. A familiar light awakens her body, and the agony she felt before she passed becomes her beacon, binding her to this world.
Summoned to inflict the same pain, she will wander, her emaciated silhouette slithering in a morbid dance of death. And those who cross her path will take her hand.
Plague Angel
The merciless scythe of pestilence decimated Medieval Europe’s population. Piles of rotting corpses littered the streets, accompanied by a ceaseless cacophony of excruciating screams. Orphaned children aimlessly wandered as hordes of infested rats rushed under their feet, all under an overbearing stench of decay.
But there was one town whose harrowing experience held secrets kept silent for centuries. A place whose inhabitants unlucky enough to survive told tales of the Plague Angel.
When plague-ridden townspeople exhaled their last breaths, she was summoned out of the blue flames emanating from their mouths. She flew across the land seeking for new victims who she tempted with salvation, only to claim their lives.
The ornaments that adorned her belonged to the pagan tribes living in that region long before they were forced out. The priests spoke of heathen magic…