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EPISODE 31: Muttborne

Universe Ororae

Yargul Celestios: Sesskel Realm

Welcome to the grim world of Sesskel, home to a terrible affliction that had long since cursed this once beautiful world with eternal doom. Its golden sun laid lost inside a caliginous plume of darkness, the meek cowered behind crag-laden forts of iron and steel, and the unfortunate—what was left of the poor, hapless fools—perished in the open fields of ashen gray. Their rotted remains left as carrion for the feasting crows that littered the barren bluffs.

GOOD EATING!

A dreaded monument among Sesskel's continents, divided by its sinister seas, lurked the grizzled lands of Mordemoore. Its monarch, The Veiled King, controlled the only human population clinging by frayed threads, making thin ends meet as they strive across the dingy pastures of Grendel Plains, dangerous lands home to wicked terrors. It was unwise to venture into the dry plains without a heavy band of guards and a fool-proof blessing, and few ever lived to tell such tales. Stories of creatures with a hunger for flesh have grown too bold as of late, and the roads between Mordemoore's fort-cities—Loukussa and Gothrym—turned less than safe for any to trek.

One can be a badass and brave the roads like some monster-killing prodigy if they so wished, but bet the bony ass that be the reaper himself that the courageous would find their guts decorating Mordemoore's dark, lifeless roads.

Left for nothing amongst the furthest reaches of Grendel Plains, through the treacherous groves of The Great Gravechase, the ruined pride of Lucienstrix—once a wealthy fort city—lied in grim seclusion. Low against the shadow-veiled dominance of Mt. Mentrhall, what remained of Lucienstrix offered nothing more than its skeletal effigies of withered stone, rusted steel, and somber dust.

In a time before now, a much younger Ricven McQueen, with Fae as his only companion, raised his sword against the hordes of Sheolora, the purported empress of Mordemoore's demonic mishmash race, the Damnborne. Throughout her surface reign of southern Grendel, Sheolora claimed the ruins of Lucienstrix as her black crown and glory and waged war against The Veiled King. Her kind plagued the surface of Mordemoore like a bad rash after a shameful one-night stand, but safe from the deadly rays of Sesskel's sun was the ticket.

As long as darkness reigned, Sheolora showed her ass, until Ricven arrived and reduced her ranks with his power of aethra. Her ambitions ruined, Sheolora regressed into the darkness of Mordemoore like a wretch scalded by the light, seeking sanctuary miles beneath Lucienstrix, and replenished her horde. Added with a renewed desire for conquest and a never-ending grudge against the only one with the galls—and they were some big ones—to cast her wretched heart-shaped rear in a hernia-hurting frenzy.

Ricven couldn't deny it, Sheolora possessed two round hills on her back—perilous rump roast. He'd be damned if he ever hit that, though!

Now, with his crew of four, Ricven returned to Sesskel realm with Sheolora back in his sights. This time, he entered the realm of curses and creeps not because of Sheolora and her disgusting pit of inbred crossbreeds. Sort of. Hanakin was the driving force behind Ricven's focus. Their mission a simple hunt for the demon that planted seeds of hatred within Hanakin's conflicted coil. The originator of her blood-lust. The demon Juruda, of course.

That demon bastard has yet to get soul-nursed by Hanakin's wrath, but that was bound to change real, real soon. And Hanakin could taste it on the tip of her callous tongue. No side-quest or eldritch hunt could ever divert her obsession, and Ricven promised her Juruda's soul. That promise, as grim as it sounded, gave Ricven the chills.