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Azmora is an ancient land, the denizens of which grow ever more weary of the dark forces that gather in the shadows of the fallen kingdom... Once, Azmora stood as a glistening jewell of hope throughout the entire world: or so the legends say. Azmora: a kingdom and a king, named after his father and his father's father, King Azmora the 3rd ruled this land. It is said that when his knights rode, prosperity followed. Now his kingdom sits in ruins, a shell of its former self. His would be the last of the bloodline given end by the fracture. His kingdom would fall and the land would overtake the once well groomed pastures, fields of golden wheat withered into dust, streams and rivers dried to the bone. This once lush land was robbed of its very essence overnight. Many scattered villages now make home within the city streets where this great kingdom once stood; small villages lay in start contrast to the bustling husks of ancient metropolitan cities surrounding their walls. Most denizens of this land live within the now skeletal frames of the once grand cities of the kingdom.   It is said that in a night many thousands of the citizens of Azmora vananished. In their wake sprung a wellspring of magic, and in their homes many foul beasts now take refuge. Where once the mighty rivers raged, buzzards feed on the carcasses of sunbaked corpses. Shambling bags of rot and bone bite at the mortal few that live, and those that take breath into their lungs fear more than the beasts and the dead, each other. A new river of mana flows in these lands, power yet unseen builds all the while the echoes of broken brotherhood reverberates in the very souls of this land.