Distant corner of a distant island.
Through barren lands and woods never trodden.
Over hills over mountains through desolation of civilizations long dead.

If you'd make it there alive and sane you would find a fortress gigantic and ever so slightly shifting.
Behind the uneasy walls there would be gods.
Nine of them.
What could frighten the gods?

Nevertheless, their forces were on the move.
The fallen lords Gods shunned by the righteous.
Armies of the nine spreading like a wildfire.

Hacking, slashing, crushing.
Burning, boiling, eating.
Laughing, crying, howling.
Insane, twisted, wicked.

Burn! for the glory of the nine.
Burn! The righteous to ashes.
Burn! The world aflame.
Purifying We reap. Putrifying The diseased.