After their disappearance, few believed they were truly gone, for such nightmares could not die so easily. Now, centuries later, most have forgotten even their myth, forgotten why men are supposed to fear the dark. They walk the earth once again, their footsteps sounding as a herald to a forgotten conflict, a conflict born of fathomless hate. Their words are like the chiming of a bell, resonating coldly across the land to awaken all the dark, terrible things that have slumbered in their absence, insuring that nothing of good or light survives. All that opposes them is a tired family and a scattered collection of madmen, outcasts, mystics, and deceivers, most of whom do not even realize fate is tethered to them. They are the seneschals of light and even the Gods cannot predict their futures. Sides are being taken, alliance formed, and old pacts shattered. Everything is drowning in a flood of rising chaos, and the only thing that is certain is that this world and her people will bleed.