One by one, they waken.
One by one, they rise.
Hand in hand they conquer,
and signal the kingdom's demise.
A simple little rhyme, as the prophecy that foretells the end of the kingdom. The inhabitants of Hrandiria, the chosen, the brave.. Fear what should have been a children's rhyme.
Never, ever give a famed prophetess a quill and ink if you'd ever regret the result. Even if they assure you that you'll like what they return to your front door..
Hrandria. Land of monster slayers. It has spread far and wide upon the continent it sprang up in, and while monsters laughed at the desperate, wild eyed men and women who came to claim their homelands... They didn't laugh for long. Tooth and nail, they fought, with iron forged by dwarven hands, arrows sent from elven bows. Magic, both divine and devious, brought down dungeon after dungeon, lair after lair. Even the great curse that wiped out all their men, in a final bid to lessen their numbers, was combated by yet more clever magic.
The races of 'civilization' walk the earth above, their men lost, but their women glorified for avenging them. It has been many years since the last dungeon fell, long years in which most swords were turned to plows, and soldiers became farmers..
...
But they failed.
Their mission was to wipe out the last of the monsters, and they failed.
Some survived.
And.. That is where this story begins.
In the darkest depths of the last dungeon, hidden deep beneath the mountain of Tridensia, a far flung province at the edge of Hrandrian lands..
The monsters stir. Guided by the hand of their master..
One by one, they waken.
One by one, they rise.
Hand in hand they conquer,
and signal the kingdom's demise.
The wakers hear.. A tapping.
Their various eyes open, and they see.. Wood, rough wood.
Coffin wood.
The tapping is coming from the lid.. And seems to be inviting you to escape your prison.
Monsters: