Lothsthandyr

Unkempt civilization surrounded by ever harrying wilderness.   Creeping beings wandering and prowling the places unseen.   Paralyzed morals stretching fate and breaking men.   Depths unknown, untold, unwanted.   A hard life, and a hard death.

A century has passed since the kingdoms fell.

 
A century of ash, blood, iron, and naught else of note. The kingdoms of Aerigan split into myriad territories, led by what remained of royalty and lesser nobility, with skirmishes becoming the norm along what were once trade routes. Now, the wilds have begun to reclaim these lands by force, seemingly with a mind of their own.   To darken the fate of the realm, undead have recently begun pouring out of the necropolis housing one of the long-dead Kings of Aerigan, spreading a necromantic influence across the area. Whispers of the dead king within, now an ungodly lich-thing, claiming the kingdom he once held, have already reached the ears of the corner kingdoms.   What few remain as part of the fallen hierarchy stand divided, ruling what spheres they may with whatever pull is left from the previous age. The old kingdoms persist insofar as their borders, though in reality what organized society exists does so in fiefdoms, duchies, and baronies, the borders themselves being stalked by mercenaries and bandits.   Still, though they do not thrive, people continue their lives as well as they can.