Blight: Lore & Fiction


The Dark Forest Witch:

Every soul in Alundria has a different flavor.
Orcs tend more toward cumin and cinnamon
Goblins hold pangs of pepper and anise
Humans often have a dash of salt and paprika
Dwarves hold the rich, deep iron of liver
Trolls are subtle hints of saffron or lavender
And our elvish kin taste like the sweetest of mead

We’ve been ostracized from the others.
Hunted as kin slayers, or cannibals, or worse.
They would finish us off, becoming hypocrites in the act of our demise,
Were it not for the echos of the blight in distant lands.

We don’t fault them for their fears,
No more than the griffon faults the mouse for never having flown before,
With the blight comes opportunity
A chance for us to feast again on something other than the stale crumbs of squirrels and crows

Now crowded among the living once more,
Our coven works its wondrous craft.
Were it not for the scornful glances or vacant stares,
We might almost feel welcome

Admittedly, the blight has a certain bitterness when it takes hold of a soul
The meal isn’t as satisfying
Nothing can match the banquets of yesteryear
But a feast is a feast

We can’t have mead…

But we’ll settle for Riesling


I like this one, very dark and mysterious…
The thing that really intrigues me in Blight of the Immortals is that often times all these hero cards are fighting each other, some like the Dark Forest Witch or the Mad Pirate or the Elder Shaman are downright villains in most fantasy tales, but in Blight since the zombies are such a threat they are actually heroes.
This short pretty much sums up all of that and I adore it. Kudos, man.


Thanks! I tried to take the little snippets from the single player mission with the DFW and expand on it with my own “flavor”.
Awesome job getting the inspiration to start this lore page. You set the ball rolling for all of this creativity. So Kudos back at ya. Every entry helps weave Alundria.


Thanks man! :smiley:
And thanks to Jay and BlightedPea for making a rich game where we can tap lore out of like a Gold Miner!

Yeah I like dwarves…uhum…

If anyone wants to write a short story like mine, you’re allowed. Go for it!
Same goes for fanart!


Thanks for all of these, they are great! You guys sure have put a lot of effort into creating some awesome lore and stories! I’m going to give them a feature in the next newsletter!


Thanks man! It’s your artwork and Jay’ sweet lore fluff that inspired us all!


I’m back! I fell off the map. Thanks @JayKyburz for the shoutout in the newsletter!

No one has written from the perspective of the Immortals yet so…

Dread Knight:


The waters whisper to us. We gaze into its silver depths and see our true selves. She is called Mana, and she is power. She shows us who we are. She shows us salvation.

We are the shepherd. We are to lead the flock, and slaughter the wolves who wish to lead it astray. We are the protector of divinity, of eternal life.

We reach out and touch the surface, and she pulls us in, the warm embrace of a lover. The fire of a thousand suns. It burns us, it rebirths us, it gives us meaning and purpose. She tells us we must end the moral scourge. She protects us from their mortal magicks that twist and bend her power to their will.

We are her champion. We will free her. We will bring her justice.

We rise, and find the waters gone. She is within us now.

We feel a presence to the north. The mortals are there. They believe themselves safe.

They will suffer.


The Wizard

Excerpt from “Testimonies from the Second Alundrian Blight”, written by Alunder of the Grays.

Oh yes, I was present during the War for Sanctuary. I was a young man of seventeen summers then, a soldier in King Leopold’s army. I was a Sheepsfarm lad before I signed up as a soldier in Dawnfort. Being a soldier made a lot of sense, where else would you earn a lot of coin for pretty much doing nothing but stare at the horizon all day? Backbreaking labour in the fields for meagre pay or a healthy salary for standing around and wearing a uniform? Easiest choice made. You have to understand that before the war, Sanctuary was that. A sanctuary.

The elves protected the forests around the lands and the dwarves as well. The last time we faced any danger was the previous Blight and the dwarves took care of that one. So if I became a farmer like my old man and his old man before him, I would be working in the sun all day, working the bones out of my body for little pay. But as a soldier, I would just watch the horizon all day, make sure people were obeying the law and spend my salary on girls or drink.

At least that was my seventeen year old self thought. It started off like most Blights did, I’ve been told, with a rumours. Some traders from down south claimed that a sickness was going through the elven forests. Trees were dying, game was scarce, a two headed child was born, all that nonsense. Nobody put much stock in it. There was no way that would happen in Sanctuary. After all, Prince Halmadir and the elves and their magic would take care of it like they always did.
So we carried on with our lives. Working, patrolling, drinking, going out with friends and women.
I actually met my wife during that time, a farmer girl no less. I ended up working the farm anyway just to impress her and her old man. It was a good life.

That all changed when we saw smoke coming from Forgotten Crown. Me and the boys went over to help with what we assumed was the town having burned down by a accident. What we found instead were the dead. I’ll never forget the first time I saw one of the Immortals. She…IT had the shape of a young elven girl. It looked as if it had rotted for weeks, her dress tattered and covered in dried up blood and gore. And the smell, dear god the smell…I bet nowhere in Alundria did I smell anything so foul.
We did what anyone else would’ve done in that situation. We ran back to Dawnfort and informed the mayor. He couldn’t believe us at first but when his own household knight returned from a hunt and confirmed a large undead horde that came for us, he called for a meeting.

I’m not sure what happened behind those doors, all I know is that I spend all night with my beloved May, dreading what would happen next and what would happen to my parents in Sheepsfarm.
I’ll keep it brief for what happened in the following three days, I don’t want to relive them to vividly.
You know of the massacre at Dawnfort. Five ways of undead elves and humans and the town fell after only one. City was overrun in a span of hours.

No disrespect to the dead, I lost a lot of friends in those three days, but we had it coming. A town filled with soldiers and knights who had no experience fighting let alone the Immortals? We were lucky we managed to get out of that mess!
Me, Phillip, Darren and a dozen other boys broke rank after the last wall fell and got as many people out as we could and we fled north to Gryphon’s Crown as the rest of the town got eaten.

We managed to get a lot of people on the outskirts to follow us out, the farmers bringing food and water with them. May was a godsend, her stern voice saved a lot of people from panic that night. Saved my mind as well.
You ever heard a city scream? It’s a horrible sound, the kind of horror that wakes you in the middle of the night even after so many years.

If it wasn’t for my duty to the people I rescued, the boys and May…I don’t think I would be here today.
We were met with other refugees and we decided to create a caravan together. A ramshackle of swordsmen, militia, women, children and a couple of carts. Safety in numbers and all that.
We decided to go further northward to King Leopold’s palace in Gryphon’s Crown.
Everyone heard the stories of Gryphon’s Crown. How it’s walls were made by the sturdiest of dwarven hands and protected by elven runes and human masonry. It stood against the previous Blight untouched and it was our best possible chance of survival…I think that’s why the Blight followed us.

I don’t know you Gray types but I believe that when you turn into one of those Immortals some part of you remembers who or what you were before. They knew exactly where Gryphon’s Crown was and every other town in between. And they kept hounding us, night after night. A lot of people died because of exhaustion and hunger in those days, not just the dead.
It didn’t help there was a heat wave around that time, made everyone more slow, distracted…that’s how one of the undead horde managed to surround us.

We only managed to survive that one because of nothing short of a miracle.
I was told afterward a Alliance was made after the battle for Buffs Wood. King Freya and Prince Halmadir combined their forces to drive the Blight back from Sanctuary. King Leopold joined shortly afterward with what little he had left of his soldiers. A host of men, elves and dwarves joined forces and launched a major offensive southward. We were lucky that our caravan was on one of the major routes used by one of the armies when it came across our caravan and the dead. It was a army of men and dwarves that came to our aid. A regiment of Knights led by a wizard.

A group of Knights stormed into the undead and gave us a window to escape in the breach as dwarven soldiers kept the undead at bay with their shields and axes.
As we ran into the breach, the knights guided us through it. The dead were right on our heels and would’ve had us if it weren’t for the man leading the army. I remember him still as vividly as the day I saw him. A old man, even older than I am right now, with a white beard to his chest. A blue robe and a pointy hat and this staff with this pulsating blue crystal and a sword.
I knew something off was him…besides the blue glowing eyes thing. The old bugger could move! I saw him smack down Immortals with his staff like it was a horse kicking it, his staff twirling around. When he made some room around himself he raised that thing into the sky. I remember the sky getting darker, like night fell in a blink of an eye. I was pulling May forward when I heard the old man’s voice ring through the valley.

The old man slammed his staff down on the ground and this bright lightning struck at the undead behind us, felling dozens. The rest of the horde looked at their fallen friends and just…stopped. Did not move a muscle.
It was like some unseen hand was stopping them, holding them back.
We were just staring at this old man before the knights pushed us forward and escorted us to Gryphon’s Crown themselves.
I had the chance to thank the old man for saving us.
“Thank you sir.” I said." I don’t know how to repay you.“
The old man looked at me, studying me like I was some sort of curious thing and told me this.” You will name your firstborn Tim, I only take apprentices called Tim. Makes it easier for me to remember. Also be sure to get married, children born out of wedlock just makes the entire process into the academy just complicated." I just stared at him as he lowered his hat, muttered a good evening and off he went to lead his army.

I was later told he hooked up with Prince Halmadir’s forces in Wolf’s Pond and saved it from being used by the undead to turn one of theirs into a lord or somesuch. I met him again years later after I was made a knight by the King for my ‘heroics’ at Dawnfort and had a family with May.
I did call my eldest Tim and like clockwork, the first time he showed he had magic in his blood there was a knock on the door. The old man came and asked…well demanding in a polite way to claim the child and train him in the ways of magic.
You may have heard of Tim the Wizard, that’s my son. He still comes around every six months or so with his elven lover. He’s the one making sure none of the Blight pops up ever again and helps restore the forests damaged during the war. That’s all a man can wish for, eh? A home, a loving wife, children and grandchildren. Have that happy ending.

And although I’m grateful that I’ve been blessed like this, I’ve had a suspicion about that old man. My warden, who was a Hounds Master during the war, was in that wizard’s army. They were marching east towards Buffs Wood until all of a sudden they marched straight south towards my caravan.
A lot of elves died and if it weren’t for King Freya, Prince Halmadir himself might’ve died that day. But if that wizard didn’t march south, me, May, Phillip and the whole lot would’ve been killed. And there wouldn’t have been a Tim.

I’m sorry, a old man has to life with Hindsight just as much as he has to life with aching bones and a tender bladder. But still, there’s some food for thought there isn’t it?

Ser Fergus Barnsworth, a retired Knight of Gryphon’s Crown.


Dude, nice one!
I like the hivemind talk in this one! It’s nice to read something from the bad guys POV.
Reminds me of the Darkspawn dlc you could play in Dragon Age; Origins which had a similar premise. I dig it and would like to see more of these!

Also wow, thanks @JayKyburz and @IHG-BlightedPea for the shout out! Much appreciated!


I also send my thanks @JayKyburz and @IHG-BlightedPea for the sharing of our stories. That, and for the world that inspires them.


The Wolfpup Handler:

The orcish army has always rallied around the dragon on their banner,
But we riders have always known the wolf to be our true mascot.
Time and time again, our pack’s been at the blight.
We’ll howl as loud as our mounts when the swords crash upon the immortal sea.
Waves of iron on an ocean of flesh.
But our wolves never howl so loud as when little Ciara’s with em.

The little welp followed us all the way from Shadows Barren.
Three times, we tried to leave her.
Three times, she appeared with more wolf pups in her hands.
Eventually, we just let the urchin look after the injured and the young.
Wasn’t till the battle of Fogs Fen that we realized what a desert jewel she was.

The spiked barricade had once been manned by Prince Katl’uk and his marsh hunters,
But they didn’t reckon on the speed of the trailblazer and his hoard of trolls.
By the time we arrived, the late prince and his crew had risen to meet us.
All the while, a great glow fell over the shadows of dozens of corpulent figures.

We let into them as we always did.
As orcs always should.
Claws, and tooth, and steel, and flesh,
and singing,
and screaming,
and dying…

The last axle of our last chariot broke,
Our mounts began to flag from the exertion.
The immortals trolls had too much fat and sinew.
There was just too much meat to butcher.
Then the gore and horror was made even more real,
By the piercing scream of a small orc child.

Little Ciara was caught against the spiked palisades,
And the burning tower of flesh that was the trailblazer loped towards her.
I had expected this end for her eventually,
But I didn’t expect what happened next.

A great howling chorus arose through our ranks,
And our mounts began to tear through the enemy anew.
They leaped and carved like a Griffon diving mid flight onto a drake.
We struggled to hold on as they surged towards the burning hulk by the spike wall.
Where our strength failed, our wolves surged tenfold.
Their snarls and howls must have been heard for miles.

Silence only came after the last troll corpse was burned on the pyre.
Our remaining unit surrounded the little girl as best we could,
Because our mounts were already packed tight around her.
They were guarding her as fiercely as a pack protects its pups.

The orcish army has always rallied around the dragon on their banner,
But we riders have always known the wolf to be our true mascot.
Little did we know, that our wolves had a mascot of their own.
That little desert jewel.



Dude…I think this is probably the best one written to far!
You turned this one strange card into a proper Joan of Arc type character in less than 9 paragraphs!
I love how this warband is very mount based with the wolf, shows you the difference from the other more dragon worshipping orcs, and how a little orcling managed to earn this band’s respect.

Well done, man. Well done!


Elven Prince

The tale of Prince Halmadir.

Once upon a time, in the land of Sanctuary there was a elven prince. Like all other elves he was handsome, lithe, a expert with a bow and quite arrogant towards the mortal races. While the other elves kept their distance from the mortal races, preferring to stay in their woodland realms, Halmadir was the more adventurous sort. As a young elf he went out and had many adventures alongside two of his mortal friends. One was Tungdil, a gnome from the Mushroom Leapers, and Thorgal the human wizard.

The three were best friends and complimented each other perfectly. Thorgal was the mind, his level head and knowledge of the arcane saved the trio from numerous threats. Halmadir was the mouth, his smooth tongue talked them out of as many threats and gained them entry into hideouts. Tungdil was the heart, his down to earth spirit and honesty and friendship kept the friends together battle after battle, both against enemies and each other when Halmadir had seduced another married wife and the party had to flee the village during the night, chased by a angry mob.
Halmadir and his friends had many adventures in Sanctuary. They stopped a band of Goblin thieves from setting up shop, fought off a Orcish warband, played a card game with a Marsh prince, convinced a giant to become the protector of a human village and so many more.

But as Halmadir’s father had warned him, mortals were not the best of playmates for sooner or later, they had to grow up. Thorgal fell in love with elven Woodland bard named Kalestria, whom he met on one of Halmadir’s birthday parties, as she was singing about their adventures. They were seen wed, had a child and settled down in the elven village of Widegrove. Despite the fact he was a human, the elves did not mind the more magicly inclined humans and even the younger elves who had seen more summers than the human often wend to him for advice as Kalestria sang in the background.
Tungdil also found love when the trio on their last adventure found a dwarven female being assaulted by bandits (or rather found the dwarf beating seven shades of purple out of the bandit) and like Thorgal wed her. In time he became mayor of the Mushroom Leapers and had children and grandchildren.
Both Thorgal and Tungdil were busy with their charges as advisors and parents so it was often that Halmadir would only see them once a year for his birthday.
“We’re getting a bit old for this adventuring aren’t we?” Thorgal said over a glass of wine.
“Aye.” Tungdil admitted." Feelin’ the ache in my bones every passing day now. It was time we were done with that adventurous crap."

But Halmadir however, did not move on with his life. As a prince he had many duties but he barely bothered with them. He still had adventures by himself, often leaving the forest for many months, but it was nothing like the old days. He often went to visit his old friends and had nice chats with them but when he saw them with their wives or children, a cold, green jealously fell over the young elf.
Wanting to feel the same love his friends had, the prince went out into the world and began to woo more women than before. It was around that time he sired many bastard children. Several humans, gnomes, orc desert maidens and even troll serpent charmers claim to have descended from the prince.

But eventually even Halmadir began to grow up and much to his father’s delight, began doing his duty as grand protector of Sanctuary and the surrounding woodland realms.
Our tale begins in earnest on the prince’s 874th birthday. Like other birthdays it was celebrated with a hunt and once more the three friends met and went to hunt stag like the good old days.

However that year there was scarcely any game and when they did finally find a stag, it was a very sickly one with greened fur and twisted antlers. Even when cooked it’s meat smelled awfull and none dared to eat it, not even Tungdil.
As they ate their rations, they were visited by a elven woman. However this one was not as kind as Kalestria or sang them any songs. This was a dark forest witch, a evil hermit who lived in the darker reaches of the woods who dined on lost human children. Both Tungdil and Thorgal wanted her to leave but Halmadir loved all of his people, even those as dark as the witch.

“Please come dine with us, my lady.” he said sweetly." We have plenty of rations and stories to share around this campfire"
“Oh thank you, your majesty.” she bowed before she took her seat at the campfire and ate from their food." I have not eaten for many days."
“Ran out gingerbread to lure more children?” Tungdil growled.
The witch laughed." No, my dear gnome. I only eat children once in a while to replenish my magic." she gave the gnome a wink." I need normal food as well to survive. Sadly there is no much down south."
“How so?” Thorgal inquired.
“A terrible curse is haunting the land.” she explained." It causes the trees to wither, animals to flee and gives even my kind terrible dreams."
“What kind of curse?” the prince asked.
The witch merely gave him a knowing smile and changed the subject to something more mundane.
As the night wore on, the witch went to leave but offered something in return for her host’s kindness.

“I will read your futures out to you. Merely give me your hand and I will take only a bit of blood out of you with a knife of your choosing.“
Tungdil immediately refused.” I want no part of blood magic and if either of you are smart, neither should you. Come get me when this is over.” And the gnome left.
“I will stay with you, my friend.” Thorgal put his hand on Halmadir’ shoulder." Were it not for you, I would have never met my wife and I love you as much I would a brother of my own blood." He pulled the prince in closer." And I would like to observe her spell so I could share my findings with my peers.“
Halmadir smiled and excused for Tungdil.” Forgive my friend, he is married to a dwarf you see and her stubbornness must’ve rubbed off on her like a bad fungus."

It is true gnomes are cousins of the dwarves and their stubbornness does arise from time to time. Later it would be said that Tungdil was the wisest of the three for the future was not as bright for either the prince or the wizard.

Halmadir went first. He took out one of his arrows and took a bit of blood from his fingers and gave it to the witch. She drank it and closed her eyes.
“I see many things in your future, your majesty.” she said.
“Will I be king? As respected as my father?” asked the prince.
“King you will be and your name will be remembered across all of Alundria as that of a great hero. But it will be at a terrible cost and your reign will end at the hands of one of your own blood.“
Halmadir blinked confused.” How do you mean?“
The witch held up her hand.” My magic has spoken, there is no more to tell.”

Now the wizard stepped up. He offered his own blood with his hunting knife.
He keenly observed the ritual as the witch made her prophecy.
“Your future is short, wizard. I see not much but I can tell you from your line will come a half-elf of great magical power who can either rebuild the world…or burn it to a crisp.” The last she added with a cackle.
The witch made her goodbye’s and left. The two friends looked at each other and laughed the dark future away and went off to get their friend.

The party made their way back to the Palace the next day.
Dark Garden was a great elven hall that housed the elven monarchy. It was a majestic palace made out of wood and magic, carefully constructed over a span of hundreds of years.
It was shaped with majestic curved arches and the feeling when one entered the palace was that of peace and safety.
The court cheered at the return of their prince and the old king held his son while both Thorgal and Tungdil went back to their spouses. Despite his father’s praises for all Halmadir had done to protect the realm that year, the prince grew evermore jealous at his friends and quickly scanned the palace.

His eyes fell on a human woman, a Cyclops Priestess who was send to the party as a envoy along with some swordsmen by King Leopold of Gryphons Crown. She was beautiful. Long auburn hair in a bun, eyes as blue as the sky, her robe that matched her figure and her hips were very wide.
His father suggested Halmadir would meet some of the elven princesses from other parts of the realm but the prince muttered some excuse and immediately went to meet with the human.
“Greetings, my name is Sister Adellia.” she bowed.
“Please do not bow, my fair lady.” Halmadir ushered her to stand.
She blinked." I am sorry, your majesty. I assumed it was the custom."
“It is…but not for beautiful women such as yourself.” He gave her w wolfish grin which reddened her cheeks.

For much of the party, Halmadir spend his time with her as he seduced her with his wit, looks and clever tongue. At one time Thorgal came to him.
“My friend, my wards have picked up something at Smithswell, I must return home with Kalestria. It is probably nothing serious but Kalestria’s peer are summoning both her and me.“
A true friend would’ve gone with him to make sure he was alright but Halmadir did not.” Alright, go off then.” he said and returned his attention to Adellia.
Thorgal merely shook his head with amusement and left the hall with Kalestria.

After he finished dancing with the priestess, Halmadir was filling in some wine for both of them when one of the guard came. He was half-elven and most importantly, one of Halmadir’s bastard children. A sense of dread fell over the prince, if the priestess knew this man was his son it could ruin his chances.
“Your majesty.” the guard said." One of the eagle scouts returned with a urgent report."
“I will deal with it later.” Halmadir waved him off." You may go, captain.“
The guard raised a brow.” Your majesty, it is quite -"
“You may go, captain.” Halmadir added with stress and went to Adellia with a glass of wine for both.

It was later in the evening when Halmadir had won the chase and consummated the priestesses’ love on his father’s bed. He had slept with many human women before and this one was no different. The jealousy he felt earlier had ebbed away as he held the priestess in his arms. He knew it was temporary but for now he was sated. The next time his father would suggest marriage he would remember this insult.
As she slept, he quickly dressed and went outside for a walk. Outside he found Tungdil still up despite the fact the moon was high in the sky. The gnome was speaking to one of his own but stopped when the prince arrived.
“Thank the wilds you are here!” Tungdil exclaimed." My scouts found Immortals down south near Smithswell!"
“Immortals?” Halmadir blinked." What are they doing here this far south?“
The gnome shrugged.” I don’t know but if they are close to Smithswell, it cant be any good. I was about to send word to my village and send my granddaughter Mara to seek help from the dwarves up north.“
The prince laughed.” A handful of undead are hardly worthy of any attention let alone asking the dwarves for help. I have men stationed in Winter Garden, they can handle it. I’ll deal with it first thing in the morning."

Once more the stubbornness of the dwarves prevailed. As the prince left, Tungdil took his messenger by the shoulder and whispered." Go to the captain of the guard and tell him his father, the prince, needs a escort for my granddaughter to Coolcraig. Quickly now!"
The messenger nodded and ran for the captain. When the messenger heard the news, he immediately send some runners along with the young Mara of the Mushroom Leapers north.

After the king heard about the insult committed on his bed, he called the prince in private. The old king was a kind ruler, to kind one would say, and he treasured his son above all else.
“Son, I know you are reluctant to marry but for the love of the wilds do not perpetrate any more transgressions like this! She is a emissary of the human king, everything you do reflects on us. This can’t be like the other bastards I have taken into my household. I can’t keep protecting you.“
This angered the young prince.” I am of age father, and I am your son. I can do whatever I like.”
“Not while I am still king and not while you are under my roof, boy!” the king replied harshly.

Halmadir stomped his foot on the ground and walked out of the room.
He spoke with Adellia in private and said harsh things about his father, his friends and his station as prince.
“I just want to be free, do whatever I like. I am the prince!” he exclaimed.
Adellia smiled." Halmadir, it is normal to feel this way but you are now of age to take responsibility for your actions.“
The prince scoffed.” You sound like my father now.“
In reply the priestess kissed the prince deeply and guided him to her bed.” I shall have to entice you then" she added with a smirk.
The prince eagerly agreed.

However it was all to late.
That night the prince dreamed of death. A elven corpse waddled over the corpses of the dead and the dying. Rotting ents smashed elven fighters to mush as the immortals ate the corpses. The Immortal waddled towards a mana spring and knelt down. Halmadir could hear it’s thoughts, much like a hivemind.
“Drink.” the voices said." Drink and bring death to the world."
The elven dead obeyed and drank from the mana pool. The moment his rotting hand touched the water, it dissipated. The mana went down his throat as a bright light went up from the well into the night sky. The immortal cried out as he transformed. The fire inside burned as it changed him, the mana filling him with divine painfull purpose.
When the immortal opened his eyes, he knew his new role. He was a Nightmare Lord and he would shower fear into the world.

Halmadir sat up straight which awoke his lover. Before she could speak, a bright flash lit up the night sky as a pillar of blue light went skyward.
The elven prince went pale when he realized where the light came from. Smithswell, it had fallen.
His first thought went to his people. He immediately got dressed, Adellia assisting him, and ran for the Eagle Scouts. He rallied the Woodland realms to go to war. Every Archer, every Woodland assassin, every Tree friend had to be mobilised.
As Adellia assisted him with his armour, a thought went to him. His friend Thorgall went back home to Widegrove, which was in spitting distance of the now Blighted well!

With his father’s blessing, the Prince led a army of elves and a handful of gnomes and humans towards the south with Adellia and Tungdil at his side. For three days and nights they marched with barely a few hours of rest. The more south they marched the worse the trees were. The leaves had fallen despite it being summer, the woods were deathly silent, not a single squirrel stirred. It was not long before the first dead appeared. The elven dead were still as nimble in the woods as their living counterparts were and already the Woodland assassins were fighting a war in the treetops. The gnomes assisted them but were more keen to fight the human undead alongside their living peers on the ground, who proved to more easier sport despite their huge numbers.

Halmadir realized what a mistake he had made for not doing his duty. As he raised his bow and called for his archers to knock their arrows, he knew he had to double his efforts to make up for his mistakes.
Under his command, the archers found their mark and dozens of the dead fell never to rise again. Adellia had blessed the men under his charge and for every elf that fell to defend the wilds, they did not rise.
They fought for many days until they reached the besieged town of Widegrove.
A massive horde was stood in front of the town and guessing by the state of the village and the fact only one Ent and a handful of elven defenders were left, it stood no chance to survive.
The prince called for the beacon of life to order the survivors to join them as he ran off to find his friend.
He saw from the fact that none of the dead moved that Thorgal’s magic still lasted. With a cry he urged the elven host to help the survivors and looked for Thorgal.

The prince, Tungdil and Adellia found the wizard’s place to be trashed. The garden was torn apart as if a massive battle took place, the laboratory was destroyed and the swing set outside was burning. Halmadir went inside to find a horrible sight.
Thorgal was on the ground, bleeding, as he held out his hand towards Kalestria. Tungdil was to ask what happened when Halmadir pointed to the former elven bard. She had joined the ranks of the dead and worse, was struggling to get to her and Thorgal’ son who was screaming behind the large chair.
Thorgal’ spell was the only thing keeping her from killing him and their son. The glowing blue eyes he was famous for having was slowly dimming. He was dying.

Halmadir did his duty as a prince and a friend and put a arrow in Kalestria’ skull and picked up the boy.
Adellia rushed to Thorgal but saw from the stab wound in his belly he would not last.
“The witch was right…” Thorgal sighed." There is no future for me…“
Halmadir held his friend’s hand.” No, you will life my friend."
“It’s to late, now go my prince…” with that the human wizard was gone.
It took Halmadir every vibre of his being not to cry as he held Tungdil back from charging outside to avenge his friend. When Adellia was able to bless Thorgal so he would not rise as one of the dead,

Thorgal’s death had killed Halmadir as well that day. The boy was gone, Prince Halmadir was gone. He was now King Halmadir on whose crown was rested on a concerned brow.
He eventually won the war thanks to King Freya, who was warned by Mara of the Mushroom Leapers, and King Leopold who was on his part persuaded by the Holy Church when one of their own had powerfull connections to the elven monarchy.
Prince Halmadir was fighting a losing battle, barely able to give his people time to hold off the dead so the villagers could run to safety. But after Buffs Wood that all changed. Together with the dwarves and humans the elves took back their forests and cleansed it with magic, steel and elven fury.
As the prince himself once said “Never anger a elf or your body will hang from the tallest tree with your skin missing”. Needless to say a lot of dead, including the Nightmare Lord, ended up swinging from the treetops.

In the following years when the old king had passed away, Halmadir ruled Sanctuary as benevolently as his father had. He never married but he had one official mistress in his early years, a human priestess with whom he had three more bastard children of which the eldest was next in line to the throne (much to the anger of the guard captain). The day she died of old age was one of the saddest days of Halmadir’s life, and another reason why his father was so concerned about his son. Tungdil retired as mayor in favour of his granddaughter who brought Gnomes and Dwarves closer together as both Mayor of the Mushroom Leapers and a lady of House Axehamerer.
Thorgal and Kalestria’ son would go on and become a High elf, his human father and mother’s elven magic making him one of the most powerful spellcasters in Alundrian history. In time he became one of King Halmadir’s court advisors on all things arcane. But the events of that day left a scar on the half-elf’ soul, one that could turn any man into a dangerous individual, the magic making him even more dangerous.

And thus ends our tale of Prince Halmadir.
The prophecy of the witch would come true but that is a story for another time.


I haven’t forgotten yet don’t worry :smiley:
If anyone has any cool ideas for a card, even of its one we did before, go for it! We would like to see more!


Shaman Priestess

"Our people worship the sun. It gives us light and warms everything in Alundria. It is the home of where the first dragons came before they descended on our realm. It’s harsh, warm rays burns the weak from the strong. We strive to become like the fire. It is better to burn out in combat than to fade away in a sick bed.
Our people burn with a fire that no human or troll or goblin can understand.

We are fire made flesh. We are born from the sun before we were cursed with green skin, the ashes of the divine fire. It is obvious that we born from fire should die in fire so our inner fire can return to the sun where it came, we can become flame once more ere we return to our mortal coil. A orc’ soul cannot truly pass into the afterlife, be purified by the sun before it can return to a new orc body.
As a shaman, it is my duty to guide my people into the afterlife. I ask the sun to take the dead, his soul tempered by life so it can fuel itself a bit longer, The burial of a chieftain, a butcher, mine, a whole warband. All orcs, even non-orcs, are equal in death.
It is my duty to make sure the dead do not sully those souls, even if they are those belonging to non-orcs."

-Shaman Kloria of the Beastmaw Clan.

Merchant Banker

Dwarves are excellent miners, blacksmiths, gemcrafters and so forth. So it was no big surprise some of Alundria’s first bankers were dwarves.
It was the dwarves who introduced currency to the other races and build some of Alundria’s oldest banks.
Dwarven gold hoards are locked behind thick layers of mithril, dragonscale and rune protected walls that not even dragons can breach. Their shrewd business minds can increase a Mountain King’s profits by a wealthy percentage, a very useful thing to have during a war.

“Any idiot can make money. Marrying your daughter off to a wealthy noble, taking it by force from a dragon hoard, taxes, the lottery (or as I like to call it, taxes for the simple minded), extortion and so forth. But to be able to make coin by making good investments, rubbing two coins together to make a third so to speak… that is what separates us from the crooks. And here at Axehammerer, Groenbaard and Co, we can make that a reality. Your coin here will grow with interest and be secure from bandits to dragons. Give us ten years and you can become a very rich person and me even slightly richer. And it all starts with just one gold coin… So, can I put you down for a account?”

-Orlof Axehamerer, Head of Coolcraig’s first national bank.


Elven Princess

Elven society is ancient and covered in many mysteries. Children of the moon, race, with most longevity rivaled only by dragons and hydras, has many secrets and century-long traditions. One of such traditions is I’ Men En’ I’ Kawa - The Way of the Bow. Tradition is set of complex training, tactical knowledge and martial art utilizing bow. Basic training of I’ Men En’ I’ Kawa prepare the already scarce elven population for the worst scenario, when long range engagement, so preferred by elves, renders ineffective as elves don’t like to use metal made martial weapons. It is important to preserve every elf, as their longevity doesn’t allow for huge population numbers in settlements.

But The Way of the Bow isn’t all about that. It is also a philosophy, an ideology of persevering, life, and death. And such knowledge is highly important for young elven nobles. Extensive training, meditation, rules of I’ Men En’ I’ Kawa and tactical training - most of it is intentionally taught to young elven females more than males because it is believed, that beauty of every elven princess outmatches most queens of other races and it can be used as a powerful political instrument. Though, rare princess enjoys courtesy and diplomacy, as they become Kawa Tura, Bowmasters. Becuase of mastery of the way, they tend to rise adventurous spirit and enjoy war tactics over boring political missions. Prepared for any kind encounter with any kind of enemy deadly from afar and in close range. Elves under such princess Bowmaster command are highly motivated and trained to use the bow for close range martial battle, making an even small group of elves strong as trolls or dwarves.

Some even might think, that elven princess is a perfect woman, capable of arranging political agreements and as well leading elven armies into the battlefield… and they would be right.


Dude, well done on the elven world building here! I think it’s even better than my Elven prince short story.
I love the “Way of the bow” philosophy and how you incorporated elven villages having low population into the lore of this story, scarce population and all that.
Now I wish I had a elven princess in my deck…



Lands are filled with magic. Every living being can feel it in various places one or other way. Elves are believed to have one of the strongest bonds with mana flow, utilizing it in daily life or matters of life and death. Magic is part of nature, but not part of living beings, as the raw power of mana is deadly for any mortal being. Mana flow is controlled, not invoked from living beings. But there are rare occasions when it is not true.

One of such occasions is elven berserkers, born with a strange affliction, which doesn’t allow them to wield magic. Curse of the gods or mistake of nature - that is left to decide for themselves, as one thing they know for sure - their body is the gate of the mana flow. They feel every incantation, emotion, and spellcasting of their brothers and sisters. Usually not welcome in own race home, berserkers become wanderers, learning uncommon things of other people. Such wanderers use any kind of weapon, don’t experience fear, meditate in unexplored regions, lusting for a greater challenge each time. Even so, they never stop feeling home, aiding each and every elven when the need arises.

“They way I see the world around me is truly remarkable. Whenever I go, whatever I experience - I always feel my brothers and sisters. I feel, how they are happy, how they love, how they struggle or leave our mortal world. Yes, it is hard to bear all those feelings. But it is what I am. Being - made of our emotions. The power of magic, which can’t be controlled by other’s except me and my race.”

Thx! I’m no way writer and have bad English. So my texts lack proper style. Though I am DM and I tend to write lore for my games in such manner because I never force lore to my players. When they want to hear something I tell them it. And mostly they ask things I wrote. Sadly, they almost never care 'bout personal stories or emotions of NPC, so… well, such stories are left for a personal gain of individual players then. But for everyone else - enjoy my style. ^^


Glad to have you with us man, we need more scribes in the lore section :smiley:


Expect some lore from me in the next few days. I’ve had a couple of weeks to swirl it all around in my head, so as soon as I get a few hours to sit down at a computer, it’ll be fast & furious. Loving what you guys have written in the meantime. I’ve got alternate stories for a few that have already been done, and some others that I haven’t seen yet. Coming soon! :grin: