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A bloody sun is setting behind thick clouds of black smokeas you survey the lands below with the indifferent, roving stare of an immortal being. Deep, smoldering craters dot the battlefield, indica- ting that the fight has been going on for days. Distant screams are punctuated by explosions, as the men of this verdant world turn to their machinery to save them from the onslaught of Nerul's undead horde.

For all the good it will do them, you think.

Every time an enemy soldier falls, their corpse is bound to Nerul's will, rising again to bolster the ranks of her army.

You've watched similar conquests over the centuries, and they all end the same way. You can't kill what's already dead. Not to mention, Nerul is no mere com- mander; she is a goddess - your goddess - the woman whose grief gave birth to necromancy.