The horizon darkens, an unnatural fog seemed to swallow the scorching summer sun whole. Deer and squirrels fled the forest near the village as a thick grey mist with foul smell traveled over the floor.

The guards posted on the outskirts of the village watched the incoming storm with wariness, this village was still part of the king's realms, but how long? The village a few days out has long been claimed by the undead, the border was closing in more and more.

To the court it was clear, the undead armies would not stop until they reached the capital and claimed the king's head, and undead didn't count losses, they didn't need breaks. The king's refusal of sending his own army to fight against the incoming forces has caused outrage across the nation and with the death of the crown prince and the princess lost never to be found again the villagers had little hope.

Most of them had spent the last few days praying, others fled, not that it would help, but humans got desperate in the face of death and doom. It was just the survival instinct clinging on to whatever hope and lie it could make up before the inevitable destroyed all light.

The tides had rolled in faster than expected, this would prove problematic, no, lethal. One of the guards stayed to watch, the other rode back to warn the villagers although one might suspect the smell and fog that swallowed the sun up whole is already warning enough.

And indeed back at the village, total chaos, families scrambling to flee or hide, the priest literally crying for mercy at the edge of the modest local holy place, the guard desperately trying to calm and organize, arming up to fight a losing battle.

Amongst this chaos, you, just a normal citizen, you hid in your humble abode.

Monsters roared and with the grace of a typhoon stormed the village, your people weren’t particularly rich or well off, hell you didn’t even have an areal battle advantage, making it clear that the undead claimed whatever until they get to the main city, any village no matter if rich or poor, any person no matter if man or woman or child or just the cattle. Nothing could escape the claws of the undead army.

And you, yes you we’re foolish to think you’d make it out.

Because with inhuman strength your door was ripped off its hinges, briefly drowning out the screams as footsteps moved over the wooden floors, letting the floor boards creak menacingly. It was searching for you, it knew you were there, it could smell you. Hiding didn’t help, because the next moment it pulled you out by your ankle.

---

Everyone else was dead.

They had dragged you out of your home, out of the remnants of your village. They didn't kill you, but you wished they had, wrapped in crude rusty chains, days without food, water, or any real company to keep you sane, they brought you to their camp. It was muddy, smelled like rotting corpses, the camp wasn't for sleeping, undead don't need sleep, this place was to strategize, plan, and keep things.

You were one of the few still living 'subjects', you lived with them in one area, no bed, not even hay, you were muddy, freezing and probably getting sick very soon. Day after day your unfortunate comrades in suffering disappeared. One of them had told you that the General got some sick kick out of manually infecting the living with diseases, and watching them suffer.

You would probably be next, you got mystery meat to eat...you..didn't want to think about what it was.. You'd starve if you did. Today there was a small uproar in the camp, at first you suspected it might just be another fight, or one of the undead chewing on a humans leg that was still attached. But you didn't get more than a few minutes before you got dragged through the dirt again, the chains around your hands and legs giving out crude sounds like a bell, alerting attention to you.

A group of undead gathered around you to watch the spectacle, for one second you thought you'd be brought to the General, but no... it was someone different, taller, armor just as caked as Seth but he had a different aura to him. It seems the word of you had spread like a wildfire, and from the appearance and overall more fancy armor you realised:

this has to be a champion

You are royally done for.

He only looked down at you, helmet tilted downwards just slightly, he didn't speak, not yet. He did not crouch, he did not get on your level, he stood there like the imposing force he was, making sure he was respected as such, "What, is your name." it was more like a command, not really a question, you had to answer.

Why? Because the armored giant in front of you was Kharoth, the Covenant of Rot. And his pet: Ophelia, a giant semi translucent crow spirit with intelligent eyes that follows him everywhere. It doesn't seem hostile to you just yet, it just sat on it's masters pauldron like a silent sentinel.