In a world ruled by fiends, knowledge of the past is jealously guarded; hoarded and doled out to the young as a warning and as a weapon to arm them against a hostile world.

Common knowledge: The Duke of Hell, Kirest, rules above. His demesne the immensity of the world, perhaps even unto some of the worlds that swarm in the aether above.

Common knowledge: the elves are dead, the halflings farmed like cattle, the dwarves locked within their fortresses of stone which are perhaps the last open bastions of defiance to the fiends.

Common knowledge: once race fought race, arbitrary distinctions of philosophy seemed to be of massive import. Territorial squabbles over who lived where enough to ignite a war. Now, who cares about these issues? Either you serve the fiends and are thus an enemy, or you hide and form part of the vast network of hidden cities and secluded strongholds that harbour all. The old feuds are forgotten, the strengths of each race a supplement to the community.

It all began millennia ago. Kirest was summoned, brought into the world by someone, or something. Sick, twisted, demented and insane, even by fiendish standards he is a creature best avoided. Kirest found himself in our world, with no desire to return from where he had come. Kirest may have been insane, but he was also a genius; a patient genius. He saw the world around him, the strife amongst the inhabitants and the ease with which he could manipulate those that had brought him forth. He saw that this world could be his and made his plans. He was here, with a plan to never return from where he had been summoned except for on his terms. He wished to remain but in a world he would remake in his image

His armies rolled over nations, pulled dragons out of the sky, razed cities and rebuilt them anew in the image of hell, in the image of the home he desired. Before they could react, before the heroes that always appeared to stop the triumph of evil could rouse themselves, the world was conquered. Some races, those construed to be troublesome, were annihilated in a massive genocide the likes of which cannot even be imagines. A genocide on such grand scale it was made incomprehensible by its very immensity, entire races wiped out in moments, their homes red stains where their blood soaked into the ground. Other races fortified their homes, closing the massive doors and cut their cities off from the outside world. They invoked the aid of their gods and of their greatest magicians and used whatever magic they could to protect themselves in order hide them from the enemy they could not defeat. Caverns deep within the world became the last refuge of many, and a final prison or graveyard for most others.

A seeming peace descended. Above, the devils seemed content to build their cities and establish their order. The time of The Rule had begun, the society and laws of the fiends mocking what would be seen as civilised. A supremely ordered society with ethics, morality and law a mockery of what had come before.

Below, the cities started building up, people coming to terms with their loss. Many generations lived in their hidden cities, wary but seemingly safe from the depredations of the fiends above. Generations passed that never saw the light of the sun, moon or stars. Generations that knew only the comfort of a cavern, its roof protectively above their heads, the stone keeping out the fiends that ruled above.

Trade sprung up amongst the hidden cities. There were those brave few that were prepared to venture out between the cities earning immense wealth. Such travels were not without risk of capture, and capture by the fiends meant death. And such a death was not a quick death, but a slow, an agonisingly slow, death. One meant to punish as well as entertain the fiends who tortured as well as those who watched. Still, as it always is, where there is reward there are always some willing to take the risk. To protect those, to try and maintain a somewhat safe circuit of trade routes, a new group came about. They were known as the Outwalkers a combination of defenders of the cities, scouts, guardians, guides and specialists in the outdoors. They excelled, not just in navigating through the areas between cities, both in caverns and through the outside, but in surviving them, and in helping others to survive.

It took a thousand years before the greater plan of the fiends started to show, before people began to realise that the fiends were merely being patient and that the great war was still ongoing. It took that long for the first of their taint to be noticed and felt. Small plants and mammals felt it first as their shapes twisted along with their natures. Formerly mild animals becoming vicious, cannibalistic and carnivorous with the tainted ones eating the pure. Outside became dangerous to travel as fruits eaten from tainted plants make people sick, poisoning them, producing reactions in some cases akin to madness. People have learned to look out for taint, for the veins of red, the bloodshot eyes, the sharp bark that will only drip sap once it has tasted blood. People now learned why the fiends had not destroyed the fey. People had wondered why the gentle nature faeries had been left alone and not destroyed. The fiends plan manifested: The fey grew tainted and changed even as the plants they were tied to by their nature became tainted. The tainted fey became as evil as the devils, another weapon in their arsenal. They became lookouts and spies, ferreting out hidden locations and communities for the true fiends, becoming the best source of information the fiends had access to.

But the taint was not absolute, its spread was slow though insidious. Some communities noted it coming into their water supplies, their mages working to devise ways to cleanse it. It seemed to be stopped by rock, though given enough time it would slowly seep down. The mages in the free cities worked, buffering wards, finding ways to purify anything from above. People despaired, hope began to fade, to die. They feared what would come next, how else the fiend’s would move to change their very world into a realm the fiend’s would consider paradise.

Then, for the first time, the words of the prophecy of Gerogh were heard, brought down by a Monk of the Peace into the hidden cities. He wandered the hidden paths, passed through cities and communities, spreading his message of hope. He travelled the roads of the Outwalkers. He was unknown to any but somehow never suspected of being in league with the fiends. He gave no name, only relating the prophecy of Gerogh, the thousands of verses that seemed impossible to understand. Many wrote it down as he recited it. They wrote all three thousand verses, seemingly nonsensical, but that is true of many prophecies, making them only understandable after the fact. Some of the early verses were easy to understand, most have scholars scratching their heads as they seek the hidden meanings within them. People began to hope, for the end related that the fiends would be destroyed, how it would happen and who would do it. Of course, it was all brought down in the insane riddling style of the prophecy and thus incomprehensible to all but the most learned with dogged persistence. People could not understand it, but still they hoped. If part of the prophecy were true, why not the rest of it? If as time passed the verses could be resolved, why could not these future verses be accurate even if they could not be understood? When people are drowning, they will board any life raft regardless of how many holes it may have.

With hope came defiance. The fiends were not defeated, nor could anyone imagine them being vulnerable, but it brought hope for the future. This hope lead to renewed activity; various organisations started. One of the better-known ones being the House of Souls, dedicated to freeing slaves and to bringing them to safety. Many in the cities know of them and amongst the slaves they are a whisper of hope, always awaited, always longed for. They are a persistent rumour that never dies. No one knows how many safe houses they have, how many places they can be found in, but where slaves exist, so do the rumours of the House of Souls.

Thus, the world exists, so it persists, the prophecy of Gerogh driving towards its completion as the world degenerates into a fiendish heaven on earth. People look to the future, praying to the Gods that the prophecy will be fulfilled while the devils drive forward seeking to block the prophecies, ensure that the demonic heaven Kirest has created for them never falls upon them.