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.
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.
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…
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.
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…