Many thanks to [@PrinceOfHeaven] for his assistance in writing this.

The Year is 1308 in the Age of Solanius. The World of Thurius is as dangerous as it is magical, home to many races of people from the gallant and enterprising humans (by far the most common race of Thurius), to the majestic and proud elves; from the ferocious and powerful orcs, to the wise and gentle samothaurs.

Long ago, on the peninsula of Gelidia, a mighty empire rose to power, conquering and colonizing all within its path. The Aesernian Empire, as it came to be called, dominated nearly the entire known world, stopped only by the barbarian tribes to its north, desert wasteland to its south, oceans to its west, and the empire known as the Savarian Caliphate to its east. As the world's wealthiest, largest, strongest, and most advanced civilization, the Aesernian Empire was said to have been granted the blessed favor of the Living Gods of the Great Pantheon, in whom the Aesernians possessed an unwavering faith.

However, what is fated to rise is also doomed to fall. Rife with corruption and conflict within, the Aesernian Empire swiftly collapsed, shrinking down to a single divided province beset on all sides by enemies, all of whom desire to claim the mantle of the Empire for themselves, though the strongest claim and the proper throne of Aesernia belongs to its Emperor, Vittorio III. To the east of Aesernia, sharing the Gelidian Peninsula, stands their greatest rival: the military junta of Nursia led by Generalissimo Leonardo Speziale. Other Kingdoms seeking to claim the mantle include Foveros, Illyrica, Narbos, Bryon, the Elvish Kingdoms of Tarraconia and Aquilania, and the southern lands of Marrakech and Cathion.

To the far North, the warring Norsidic tribes have established three kingdoms of their own, embroiled in their own three-way conflict of ideas and territory. Osland, a country of warrior-poets, embracing the traditions of their pre-Kingdom elders, consider themselves the true Nords of the North, seeking to one day unite their people under the banner of Norsland. Rosiland, a country shared by the proud Nords, reclusive Shadow Elves, and aggressive Plains Orcs, seeks only to maintain its independence. And last, the Kingdom of Asmeinland, rejecting the traditions of their savage ancestors, turn instead to more modern sensibilities and ways of thinking, seeking to civilize the North in preparation for the creation of a new empire to replace the fallen Aesernians as the world's capital.

And to the east, the Savarid Caliphate had faced great turmoil of their own. Likewise collapsing into many warring sultanates, the Savarids soon abandoned their faith in the Great Pantheon, their piety now turned towards a new and rapidly growing religion in the element of fire itself, the Path of the Sacred Flame.  Beginning in the Kingdom of Sindhus and spreading by the sword and the flame, the zealots of the Path immolate heathens and heretics alike, seeking to purge all sin from their souls as they assimilate their consciousness with that of their mystic flame. The Path would grow to consume all Kings and Sultans and become the dominant faith of the east.

Marking the beginning of a new era, the Savarid Sultanates waged Holy War for the province of Iurusolym, an act responded in kind by the Aesernian Kingdoms, temporarily united against the Path of the Flame in a call to Crusade by the High Priest of the Great Pantheon. After years of fighting, however, the Savarids prevailed, forcing the Crusaders out of their Holy Land, now free to incinerate all sinners without interference.

Now, in an age of blood and steel, the Aesernian Kingdoms do battle once again with themselves, the North Kingdoms, and the Savarid Sultanates, all yearning to once again hold the favor of the Gods and restore the glory of the Pax Aeserna. Yet as they wage war to do so, the Legions of the Infernum grow ever stronger, pulling Thurius closer to a hellish demise.

Alas, the Legions of the Infernum and the Shaituns are not the most pressing problem. Htraknu, Father of all Dragons, has awoken. For twenty years, he has lurked in his mountainous realm, plotting, scheming, and preparing for an undertaking that most would consider madness at best. Ever since Htraknu burned the Asmeinlander village of Krossavik and slaughtered all but six of the inhabitants, the Elder Wyrm has been mobilizing his forces in search of artifacts that will help him slay the very gods and take their power. Should he succeed in his endeavor to become the One God, Thurius will fall under a rule more tyrannical and wicked than any other. Mortals will be slaves at best and livestock at worst. The Shaitun known as Hargath is the first target of Htraknu's plans, as the dragon has already taken the means to slay him from the ashes of Krossavik.

[hr]

Htraknu   gazed upon the captive demon with the same contempt he held for the   overwhelming majority of non-dragons; along with a more personalized   degree of irritation that came from his patience being sorely tested.   Despite the best efforts of his one of his most sadistic goblin  lackeys,  the beast was being rather stubborn and had not yet revealed  the secret  of how to enter its master's realm. It wasn't a matter of  courage that  kept half-rotting demon from surrendering the information.  The wretched  creature was simply more afraid of the Shaitun known as  Hargash than it  was of the ancient dragon and his underlings. This  irked the great  reptile greatly but ultimately, it was of no real  matter, for that  foolish notion would soon be cured.

The   dragon's deep intake of breath was the goblin torturer's only warning   to get out of the way. As the green humanoid scampered out of the way,   Htraknu exhaled and sent a gust of flame toward one of the demon's   hoofed feet with all the precision of a master artisan. The demon   shrieked with pain and would likely have shaken the now-flaming foot   frantically if not for the slightly molten manacles. With the demon   seemingly now sufficiently intimidated, the elder dragon spoke. "Your   choice is quite simple. Either you tell me what I wish to know and thus   earn your freedom, or you keep silent and I slowly roast you alive   before devouring you."

Eyes   wide, the demon spoke so quickly that it was barely understandable.   "I'll tell you whatever you wish to know! The conditions necessary to   enter the Citadel of Rot are rather specific and require a great deal  of  magical power, though I'm sure a being as mighty and wise as  yourself  need not worry about the requirements. To enter the Citadel,  you must  first find the ruins of a once-great city brought down by  plague. Once  there, you must bind the souls of seven beings that died  alone after a  life of rejection. Using the bound souls, you can open a  portal to the  front gates of the Citadel. That's all there is to it!  You said you  would set me free if I told you!"

Htraknu   smiled. "Indeed I did," to which the demon relaxed somewhat, "but  alas,  only the dead are truly free." Before the demon had a chance to   register this statement, the ancient dragon opened his mouth and   unleashed a flame hot enough to melt the chains around the demon within   seconds. Without further ado, the great reptile bit into the demon's   charred corpse and immediately spat out the mouthful. Even in death,  the  creature was utterly repulsive. He began looking for something else  to  eat, content that he knew how to reach at least one of his  intended  victims. Soon enough, there would be much that needed to be  done if he  were to realize his ambitions. In the meantime, he was  hungry.