| In the desert of Syharhalna rise the dark Ziggurats of the Alchemists of Dirz. Here is the realm of the felon that renounced Merin, of the heretic that ridiculed the divine commandments and who, in his incredible arrogance, claimed to have become an equal to the gods. Fleeing the holy Inquisition, he and his faithful found refuge in this hostile place, where all forms of life seemed impossible. But the life that was created here proved itself even more hostile.
Today the disciples of Dirz pursue the quest of the one that gave them access to forbidden knowledge. In the laboratories of Shamir, the Biosurgeons conduct experiments that would make even the toughest lose their senses. Deaf to their subjects’ pleadings and cries of pain, they explore the paths of genetics and of biomechanics. They are the masters of mutations, creators of monsters, artists of horror. No matter how long it will take them, no matter their failures and the lives sacrificed; the day will come when swarms of mutant creatures submerge Aarklash to reduce it to slavery. Yes, the day is near when a new order will rule the world and will crush the old beliefs. That day is near, for the shadow is cast over the desert. Like a cancer, pitiless and relentless, it covers more lands, creeping and crawling forward like the horrors within its reach.
Here lies the Empire of the Scorpion.
In the lands of Aarklash peace is not a given, it is deserved and is won through suffering and bloodshed. And suffering is a faithful companion, who long has bound himself to the destiny of the Sons of the God Jackal.
Since the creation of their race, the Orcs have had to fight. Fight to escape the control of their creators, the Alchemists of Dirz. Fight to survive in the arid and savage lands of Bran-Ô-Kor. Fight again and again to preserve their freedom, which they had won at such a great price.
Yet blood has not finished being spilled, for the Orc peoples have grown. It is now stronger, tougher and more determined than ever. And above all, the children of the God Jackal are tired of fleeing the enemy and of hiding in their own lands.
They may not be very numerous, but every orc warrior is as strong as two men and as determined as a hundred. They have learned the art of war and have trained wild animals to turn them into terrifying mounts. They are ready for the ultimate battle, which will either be a new beginning for their kind or the final destruction of their people.
No, Orcs do not like war, but it has been pursuing them since they can remember. Today they are ready to face it, without hate or cruelty. But their enemies should not expect them to have any pity!
Aarklash is a very large and diverse continent with many strange races of beings. Some alliances are created in the light, for the good of the many and last many centuries; but some alliances are created in the darkness, to benefit the few or the one, which may only last but a fortnight. The Alchemists of Dirz are a terrible blight of the past and present. Many of the terrible and sad stories of the Aarklash's past have been due to the meddlesome habits and the experiments of the Dirz. The Alchemists of Dirz had not been the first scourge to cover Aarklash, for every empire has its roots set deep in the past.
Deep in the northern Syharhalna desert lies the lost city of Nen-Thoth - former capital of the first Dynasty of Nyarhanotep. The king Nyarhanotep had been the first destroyer of the plains, and a brutal tyrant of nearly the entire continent of Aarklash. His empire spread like wild fire stretching from modern day Shamir in the east to Klûne in the North to as far south east as Laroq deep within the lush green borders of Alahan. As the Empire had risen in dominance and import, so to did the city of Nen-Thoth. Riches poured into the King's coffers. Trade was abundant. Water, food, and the splendor of the Kings city was unrivalled anywhere on Aarklash since those days.
Beneath the splendor and the lavish facade, there was a luming war threatening to destroy Nen-Thoth. The kingdom of Alahan on the frontier of Nyarhanotep's control was strong yet, and was perched ready to mount an offensive against the belieguered and exhausted frontier armies. Nyarhanotep had ruled for nearly fifty years and his physical strength was beginning to fade. He wished only to remove the threat of the Lion on his border and so it was the priests of Nyarhanotep which were ordered to infiltrate the Alahan Barony of Acheron. It was Nyarhanotep's priests that had unleashed the bane of the Living-dead upon Aarklash. It was Nyarhanotep's own priests that had been his own downfall.
In his quest for immortality, Nyarhanotep had bade his priests to create an elixer to prolong his life, thus preserving his kingdom and allowing him to continue to lead his armies to victory and tyranny over the conquered lands. In this mission the priests within Acheron had boiled deceipt and descension within the ranks of one of the most powerful houses of Alahan. Plague and death ran rampant within Acheron - thanks in no small part of Nyarhanotep's priests. Their goals were twofold: Undermine the strength of Acheron thus crippling the Lion's ability to attack or defend against the next great battle with the armies of Nen-Thoth; as well as to find the necessary incantations, prayers, and ingrediants to brew the kings desired elixer of life. Thus was born the Alchemical arts.
These first experiments had indeed caused the dead to walk again, turning Acheron into a crawling nightmare, however their potions and salves were wholly uneffective on the living. As a matter of fact, over time, these potions and balms had quite the opposite effect. And so Nyarhanotep had been one of the priests last unfortunate victims of note. A salve believed to delay the effects of aging was applied to the king once a day for an entire year. Indeed the cream did had rejuvinating and revitalizing effects; however, soon after the salve was exhausted, the aging process had quickened its pace. The king was a ruin. A shadow of his former self. His mind was overthrown and his spirit had lost all its vivacity. No spell, prayer, salve, balm, potion or elixer could restore the King to his rightful age and vitality. Therefore, the king had succumbed to death's calling. Embalmed and entombed within the city of Nen-Thoth, Nyarhanotep, the destroyer of the plains would rule only the realm of the dead.
Rival factions and races within the empire struggled for control even before Nyarhanotep had died. Long had the battles raged, bringing death and great destruction not only to the empire, but also to the lands which they had all faught to seize. So came the end of the first dynasty of Nen-Thoth.
For a number of years Nen-Thoth had remained the symbol of Imperial leadership. The throne had changed hands many times until finally the empire had collapsed and Nen-Thoth no longer had any relivance. Trade routes had ultimately changed with the constant warring and the people of Nen-Thoth moved on leaving many grand monuments, tombs, and a city in ruins to the sands of the desert.
Long had the sand storms covered the Syharhalna deserts. For a millenia, the sands had scoured and eventually covered the city which was told only in dark stories to figthen children or to harden warriors through remembrance of their origins. The ever devouring sands had swallowed Nen-Thoth and the city had been lost to the sands like time itself.
The world is changed and many places have changed but the stories of Nen-Thoth and Nyarhanotep are still told with wonder and awe striking potentcy. The deeds of Nyarhanotep, great and terrible, were not the most memorable but the fabulous tales of the spelndor and riches of the city and miraculous magical devices remain at the forefront of every creature's memory. If only one of the old stories is true then the lost city of Nen-Thoth would be a discovery of unparalleled proportions.
Now, the city is believed to be found. The Dirz have managed to exhume the Lion incursion into their territory and have begun to dig. Not only to avoid the harsh and disasterous rays of the undying suns, but also to unearth the secrets of the past. To once again unleash the devistating power that Nyarhanotep had once weilded. To bring about the total domination and subserviance of all races of Aarklash under the boot of the Alchemists...
Not much more than the top most peaks of the once great and massive structures of Nen-Thoth were now visible above the sands. In places between dunes the howling winds had cleared large swathes of sand from a few precious structures, thus allowing entrance to their inner halls once more.
Quickly the Alchemists had set to work excavating. Hacking, digging, and crushing their way into the antechambers and tombs of long fogotten Pharoes and their loyal subjects. Treasures of gold and silver, beyond the dreams of mortal men, were unearthed in each of them. However, these treasures the Alchemists wanted not. They had desired the ultimate treasure - knowledge.
The diggers had unearthed a tomb of an ancient embalmer and priest of Nyarhanotep's dynasty. They set to work breaking into the tomb in search of the forbidden and lost knowledge that would most certainly be found within. Many clones died horrible deaths as the tombs traps had made quick and disgusting ends to their meager existances.
The biosurgeons and sages had found a library, a full laboritory and a wealthy treasure vault within the embalmers tomb. They quickly decyphered much of the former priest's formulas and rituals. Soon the dead walked once again and alchemical beakers were again bubbling and fizzing as they had an eon or more ago. Many unspeakable horrors had been given a semblance of life within the hallowed walls of that labratory complex; yet none had lived more than a day. Then a wandering Biopsist had returned to his master with a new strain of genetic materials. And the horrors wrought were so terrible that neither the biosurgeon nor the biopsist were ever seen alive again.
Word of the discovery of Nen-Thoth and the horrors being created had spread quickly. Very soon afterwards small armies had begun to converge on the city. Each had their own reasons for seeking out the lost city, for each race wished either dominance, riches, powerful magical gifts or just to destroy all that their enemies could use against them.
And so it was that the battle for control of Nen-Thoth had begun anew...
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