The Last Spell

It happened. The Schools of Magic of the known world – driven by an insane power craving competition – finally pushed the big red button. We don’t really remember who did what exactly, but the effects were felt everywhere, instantly. A plain and definitive annihilation of 95% of living things in a joyful purple explosion of pure magic.

Cities were crumbling, littered with oozing corpses. The air changed too. It became saturated with a more or less compact mist, the only thing that was left from the string of explosions caused by the madness of the mages. Of course, this mist, even if displaying nice and vivid colors, caused death. And sometimes worse. They say that the curious and the fool alike who lived in mist-infested areas came out of there transformed in bloodthirsty monstruosities.

After the confusion, came the time of action. Most of the surviving beings succombed to a cosy insanity, blaming and killing each other. Others decided to fight until the very end. They naturally gathered in places where the mist was less thick and tried to keep some cities afloat.

The survivors understood quite rapidly the infernal cycle which was now their daily routine. Days were quiet and peaceful. They could take time to organize themselves, heal their wounds and search the surroundings for anything useful. But the nights… The mist thickened and from their bowels unleashes hordes of mutated monsters, craving for blood and magic.

So now they have to repel them, until dawn. Stand strong, at all costs. And above all, keep them from destroying our walls, last remnants of their glorious past. And protect those freaking mages. They say they have a plan.