In the years preceding the Hour of Ascension, a feud of sorts played out in the barony of Nevuchar. Minions of a half-dozen death gods fought to their destruction wherever they met. Priests of the Eternal Order took part in a chaotic fray among icepriests of Auril, cultists of Nerull and the horned harbingers--devotees of an unnamed deity.
Soon after the Hour of Ascension--certainly by the time of the Goblinslayers’ rite on the grounds above Rappan Athuk--these skirmishes dwindled to a stop. The undead remained a threat to the living, but the many cults seemed to have battled to their mutual extinction.
Something changed in the dark corridors men were never meant to tread.
Today, the undead are on the rise. Each seeks to satisfy its “craving.” It may be for vengeance, for pretty baubles, or just simply for human flesh. Only the naive believe that this resurgence has come about by chance. One cult must have survived while the others failed. Or, perhaps, one cult has risen again, as restless as its myriad soldiers.