A group of people read over the report given by their agent and were unnerved by what was written within. And they were quite rightly so, as the undead were abominations that should not be allowed to exist in any form or capacity, at least in their eyes. Their agent, who served not only the Sultanate Intelligence Committee but also his faith, had been examined after his return for any traces of unholy magics lingering on his body, mind or spirit, but these tests came back as negative. It seemed that the rumors regarding the final downfall of the Sick-man of Europa had come to pass, and in the worst way possible.

They had all heard the legends from before the First Sultan founded the nation they lived in, of the horrors and pain unleashed upon the world by the crazed madman who nearly drowned the world in death and despair, of the thousand Heroes who were called to this world to fight and, if needed, die to protect life and light. The First Sultan had been one of those who had survived that Great War, venturing beyond the boundary that the Luminas Confederacy kept itself to in order to spread the word of the defeat of the Abominable King. In his travels he had brought together many different tribes and many different races, all for the common goal of making a better world for all, regardless of their differences.

Now, the nightmare that had threatened the world in ages past had returned, if the rumors were to be believed, of course. The Arbiana Sultanate had stood united for centuries; it must not fall to the darkness of the Abominable King and his slaves of darkness! With this in mind, the Committee decided on its next course of action. In order to act upon that desire, it needed to gain the approval of not just the current Sultan but also a three-fourths majority in both the Noble Council and the State Governors Council. This was a hassle, but if they could make their case properly then the forces of the Sultanate would be readied for war. Against the mighty powers that the military wielded, combined with the divinely-empowered clerics, monks, priests and paladins from over fifty individual religions, there was not the slightest chance that their old foe would be able to win.

…

The Sultan read over the document before him, his young eyes scanning every single word upon it with an intensity not normally seen in one so young. Before and below his seat sat the representatives of the State Governors Council, The Noble Council, the Sultanate Intelligence Committee, the Military and the ten most popular religions in the nation, and all of them were looking up at him with a mix of concern and anticipation.

“Veto. For now, at least.”

This one declaration nearly caused some of the representatives to shout and rise to their feet in anger, only for them to realize just how dangerous that action would be and keep themselves seated and their voices low.

“Your Majesty, we humbly ask for your reasoning behind such a decision.”

The Sultan, Arcail Nivir Salomhad, otherwise known as Arcail IV, looked up from the document in his hands and replied to the inquiry.

“All we know of this ‘new’ Darksol is rumor and speculation based on tales that have been fundamentally altered over the many years they have been retold. How many of your agents have you sent into that realm? How many have returned? How much do we actually know about those who would be our foe? I was of the assumption that the Sultanate did not strike first unless the enemy was obviously evil, and only after we had gathered enough undeniable evidence to prove that as absolute fact. Yet, all I see here is the word of a single agent, and a zealot at that. Perhaps his interpretation of events was clouded by his beliefs? Who is to say?”

Arcail put the document down before continuing.

“In any case, we know next to nothing concrete about our potential opponent besides the fact that they are controlling the undead. As a result, any war with such a power could very well spell the doom of us. We only know they can use necromancy, but nothing else. To fight them with such limited information would be akin to trying to catch a single certain pigeon among a sea of near-identical look-alikes! We must first learn of our neighbor in facts and evidence before we involve ourselves in conflict, lest we wake a slumbering giant and be crushed by a foe whose power we did not account for.”

Arcail then stood up and held his arm forward.

“And so, I must refuse your calls for war with our new neighbor until we reach the point where we know everything about them. Should the evidence come back and conclusively determine them to be just as malign and evil as the legends say, then war they shall have! However, should they prove more or less benign, we may find it within our infinite mercy to stay the hand of judgement and slowly ween them off of their dark ways. Know our enemy as we know ourselves, and in a thousand battles we will lose not a single one! Gather all you can about this revived Darksol and bring it here, all so we may know if war is the only path forward! This is my command, now go!”

…

As this was going on, another event was taking place elsewhere. A single creature, one whose scales were blacker than pitch and whose stomach constantly hungered for food, was flying over Mortis’ version of the Mediterranean Sea, known in this world as the Alforican Sea. Pluton had taken it upon himself to scour the coasts around the former nation of Ititlis of any and all who attempted to make that place their home, only to discover that his job more or less had devolved to smashing the many undead that rose up time and again from the corrupted landscape. Eventually, this grew to be a very tiresome and bothersome chore, but he had committed himself to keeping this place untouched by any hands until Kain awoke and decided what to do with it.

It was during one of his usual fly-bys of a now completely ravaged husk of a city that he noticed something strange. The undead, which up to that point had been mindless and directionless, had started putting together some kind of alter and had bound some of their own by chains and rope to a single pillar that rose from their gathering. As Pluton came down for a closer look, the undead, both those bound and those unbound, fell to their knees (or just their knee if they only had one) and started to pray to him.

Pluton wasn’t having any of this. He had made it his mission to eradicate any traces of civilization that remained on Ititlis’s former landmass and these undead were traces of that. A few breath attacks were enough to erase the camp and all within, and Pluton flew away to find yet more who were doing the exact same thing.

Little did Pluton know that by doing this whole song and dance so many times, he was not ‘cleaning things up’ and merely further saturating the area with ever more necromantic energy. This resulted in the undead that would rise from these places being more and more complex, making it easier and easier for them to form camps and, as those with sapience are want to do, form religion.

Pluton, the destroyer of all he was aimed at, had unwittingly turned Ititlis into a true land of the dead, one where he was worshipped as a God with respect just as much as fear.

If only Kain could see him now…