Long time no see. Here's a story.

In the far reaches of the mountains of Hak'thul Ma, the orcs of Marak'kuul are performing a strange ritual. The sounds of undiscernible chanting can be heard from miles away as the strange magicks they beckon amplify their horrible words. For months, the lunatic orcs kept at their chanting, and eventually they were dismissed as just that; lunatics.

Little did the world know of the orcs chanting. Those who sought meaning seemed to flock to the location like tourists, hoping to be the one to solve the puzzle of the chanting. Lorekeepers and Orc linguists alike came to lands near Marak'kuul, looking upon the orcs, failing attempt after attempt to discern the meaning. Then, the ground began to quake.

All of Hak'thul Ma violently stirred and twisted as the dark magic surrounding the orcish cult coursed through the ground. Valleys turned into terrible rifts; mountains, violently active volcanoes. The entire region split off from the rest of the continent and seemed to float off like some sort of massive barge. Then, the entire world heard the terrible words from the island; 'Orcus has awakened. Your world's end has come.'

The news reached every corner of the world, and was understood by all. Brakan, the halfling paradise; Layahaya, the Gnomish congregate; Brunholm, the Mountain Homes of the Dwarfs; Ellayawynn, the elvish city in the trees; and finally Hippogrynn, the metropolis run by Humans. Quickly, a meeting between the major cities ensued, and a peace treaty was formed. The Great Races; Dwarves, Elves, and Humans, pooled their militaries together in an all out gambit to bring down Orcus and his army of the dead.

Years of bloody battles followed. For every one dead to the living, a new soldier rose for the dead. Slaying the dead was impossible, only by dismembering them past the point of usefulness could a soldier slay an adversary. Fights between the races were common, and it seemed all hope was lost. The leaders knew that their fate was out of their hands, and turned to the prophets of Kalen for advice and foresight.

The prophets foretold the destruction of the great cities and the slaughter of many, enslavement of the rest. Famine and pestilence would follow, and in the end all life would cease to exist. Everyone would become an undead slave, the Prince would grow bored and leave this world to its devices. Quite simply, the destruction and end of the world as we know it. All hope was lost to the leaders of the Great Races. Or so it seemed...

One prophet, with a glimmer of hope in his eye, told of a select few who were not bound by fate. Those who's future was unwritten, who could change the flow of time. Quite simply, with the help of these unknown individuals, the fate of the world could be altered for the better; or for the worse. It was up to these individuals if the world will end, or if the lives of millions would be saved. This gave the leaders the hope they needed, and they set off to find those who were then deemed, The Lost Saviors.