The Past

Pilgrimage of Bones

Between the time when the first Men came to Arcadia, on flimsy vessels of wicker and oak, at the mercy of unseen tides and winds, and the fall of the mountain from the sky, the Skara stalked the sand of the Great Desert they called home, in an age long forgotten by all...

Islana life fades, her vision dims. All that remains are memories. But not her own. Memories of another. Of the darkness she touched with her power. Of the vengeance that waits beneath the sands. The peril of the Skara.

It remembers a time of chaos, ruined dreams, of great wars and hunters, killing her children, hunting her kind for food, for sport, for pleasure, driving them to the brink of extinction. It remembers a wasted land. Their land...

To understand who the Skara are, you have to go back to another time when the world was raw and primal, unspoilt by the plague that is Mankind.

Almost gone now, swept away in an tide of violence and orgy of blood. For reasons long forgotten, two mighty warrior tribes went to war in the West and touched off a blaze which engulfed them Arcadia. And those that came to the desert, seeking refuge, came to claim their land.

Their world crumbled, their ways exploded. A whirlwind of murder, a firestorm of fear. Men began to feed on Her children. Only those that took to the sand pits and caves under the desert would survive.

Those that submitted to the Hive. Those that gave up their individuality for the survival of their race. Only those brutal enough to pillage, scavenge, kill would survive.

Only those that vowed themselves, their children and their children's children would become the devourers of Men.

Waiting for the time where they would rise again and claim their land back. Waiting for the End Times..."