Background

[Aardvark]

Once, long ago, there were powerful creatures who roamed the planet. Creatures of pure magic. Creatures of pure chaos and malevolence. Creatures known as Djinn. Using their corrupting magic, they were able to bend mortals to their will, enslaving their minds, making them serve the Djinn without realising it. Humanity was little more than playthings to them.

 

This era of strife came to an end several thousand years ago, thanks to the actions of a man known as Suleiman. He waged a holy war against the Djinn, leading the righteous against their enslaved minions, imprisoning the mighty Djinn in lamps, bottles and other worthless effects.

 

In the final battle against Malekeil, arguably the most powerful of the Djinn, Suleiman was mortally wounded. Although his forces won the day, binding Malekeil within an oil lantern, Suleiman didn't survive to see the conclusion. His followers constructed a grand tomb for him, out in the deepest deserts. Within the labyrinth of Suleiman was also hidden every single container, guarded by deadly traps and undead guardians, the remains of those mortals who fought against Suleiman, the corrupted ones.

 

Over the aeons, the stories of Suleiman became legend, then myth. He went from a simple charismatic villager to a grand sultan, ruler of the seven deserts. The location of the tomb was lost in the mists of time, the tomb itself having been long buried over by the drifting desert sands. But nothing keeps pure evil buried for long.

 

Four hundred years ago, a band of desert raiders happened upon a cave within the dunes. At first they were suspicious, as the sands were seemingly held into place by magic, but an unknown force lured them in. Once inside, they were set upon by the shambling remains of the Corrupted. Half fled the cave in fear, but half fought the undead with unnatural strength and vigour. Pulled on by an unknown force, they delved deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. Every turn, they encountered another deadly pitfall, arrow trap or unstable ceiling. More of their number fell, but at last, three made it into the final chamber, the Tomb of Suleiman. Before them was an alter. Upon the alter was an old copper lantern. Of the three, one stared longingly at the object, listening to the voices emanating from it. Another slowly approached it, intent upon claiming the beaten up device for himself. The third, however, was more levelheaded. He noticed the script carved into the walls around the chamber. He knew it was an ancient form of his own tongue, but he couldn't make out any of it. Except...

 

Visions of battle invaded his mind. Fanatics battling zealots under the shadow of pure malevolence. The priests standing over the fallen Suleiman, rapidly chanting binding charms directed at Malekeil. The essence of pure chaos being sucked into the lantern.

 

... he snapped back into reality. His eyes went from the script to his stationary comrade to the lantern, to the hand of his entranced comrade reaching....

 

"Nooooooooooo....."

 

A dry scream came from deeper in the chamber. All three looked and saw the corpse of Suleiman smash through his casket and begin ambling towards them. The awestruck bandit was suddenly gripped by pure terror. He couldn't control it any longer. He screamed. His heart stopped. So did his scream. The second bandit stared wide-eyed at the approaching horror, snatched up the lantern and turned to run. He was stopped by his own comrade, the levelheaded one, scimitar drawn and pointed at his throat.

 

Noooo, this close, you won't win again...

 

The icy voice filled the bandit's head. His hand, against it's will, shot up, knocking the drawn scimitar aside, then flew with unearthly strength straight into the chest of the bandit's former comrade. A sickly crunch was all that could be heard. The levelheaded bandit fell. But the thief didn't even notice. All he knew was the path ahead of him was open and escape was the best option. He ran, lantern in hand, from the Tomb of Suleiman

 

The fallen bandit lay paralysed, staring at the ceiling of the tomb. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he was in a world of pain. He couldn't even scream in terror when the remains of Suleiman stood over him, a mouldy skeleton in ancient, rusted armour. He simply stared as a gauntleted hand pressed against his shattered ribcage. Then all was white.

 

An instant later, he was on his feet, outside the tomb, fully healed. He stood face to face with Suleiman, a middle aged man with one eye, wearing tarnished, dented armour and carrying a bloodied axe, countless notches and scratches could be seen all over the weapon. Suleiman spoke, in his ancient tongue. But the bandit understood every word regardless

 

"For your life, I charge you with a quest. Return the prison of Malekeil to this place. If the demon has escaped, you must hunt him down and imprison him. I believe you know how, my friend"

 

With those words, the myth vanished. The bandit did indeed know how to imprison Malekeil. He also knew exactly where the lantern was. And it was no longer in the possession of his former comrade, who he knew now lay dead in the sands somewhere north. How he knew all this, he did not know, but he owed his life to the legend and he was a man of honour. He began his journey north.