Domaris

They lived, they fought, they flourished. The peoples of Domaris know war is constant and never-ending but they hold onto the hope that one day things will get better. What else is there to hold onto in the face of the Undead, demons, rat men, marauders, and all the monsters that go bump in the night but hope itself? When the Abyss first appeared into the material world, it was hope for creation that drove the Primordials to push it back beyond The Veil. It was hope for mortals that drove the Wardens to descend from the heavens to save humanity. It was hope for a chance to survive that drove Artorias to forsake his piety to unite the Mennerimii. But now, hope's light is flickering and the wick burns low. It is fear, fear of the dark, fear of the night, fear of what lies beyond the village palisade that drives the people of Domaris. The ancient empires of old have been snuffed like a smoldering fire. The great glittering towers of Astaria Lorc crumble under the endless tithe of blood elves, the Dwarven realms sink into the underworld, and the men of Artorias cling to their long-passed god for fear that his light may one day burn out of existence. The golden age of Domaris has passed and the darkness grows closer each passing night. No longer can the mortals stand by idly as their very world is dragged into the Abyss like a festering wound. Heroes will heed the call for help, warriors heed the call to battle, and Kings march from their ivory towers to reclaim what has been lost. If the world stands any chance of surviving the Long Night, fear must be laid to the wayside. Hope is what this world was built upon and Hope will save us from what lies in the dark.