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The devious fear that was filling the souls of Captain Jaren Tineron and his crew raised slowly as the realization that the persistent and thick mist that surrounded the Minion might not have been of natural origins. 

His ship, a three masted galleon from the Living Realm of Zhoar was separated from the rest of its fleet as the fog raised suddenly and engulfed it and the other warships in an impenetrable shroud that even the bright light of the signaling lamps could not pierce.

Jaren took out his telescope and looked again at the milky mass in front of his ship as he thought to have seen something moving in the distance.

In that very instant a flock of seagulls burst violently through the mist rapidly dispersing through the whitened sky.

Some of the squeaking birds that flew over the Minion hit its masts in their panicked flew falling on its decks as dead stones.

As cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead Jaren shouted to his crew to fall back as fast as possible, an order that the most seasoned among the men of his crew who had already seen such a phenomenon were already prepared to fulfill.

While his crewmen frantically climbed on ladders and pulled ropes, Jaren pointed again the spyglass to the direction from which the flock had escaped.

All was still again.

A black dot was gradually visible among the white threads, meaning that his worst fears were materializing in front of his eyes.

The black cloud of the Batstorm was upon the Minion in the blink of eye ripping at his sails and roaring trough its decks as the sailors caught by its tide screamed in agony.

Jaren fought madly at the bats with his sword as he knew that the Batstorm was just the dawn of what was about to put an end to the Minion as it had probably already happened to the rest of the fleet they’ve lost in the mist.

As his sword cut a swathe through the bats obscuring his sight, the huge frontal claw of a Thorns Cathedral cut trough the mist while his oars splashed in the water as the ship was propelled forward.

When the Cathedral was near enough his bridge claw smashed violently on the side of the Minion sending wood splinters and other debris in every directions.

The crewmen of the Minion prepared to be boarded grasping at the handles of their swords or charging their pistols and rifles with silver or magical bullets.

Jaren looked up at the towers of the Cathedral where he saw the Sycophant officers descend slowly the stairs that lead to the boarding claw of the huge warship.

He knew that the rest of the soldiers and of the other undead abominations that were on board would wait until the officers had descended the stairs before striking the Minion.

The deep silence that accompanied the steps of the Sycophant warriors made the whispered prayers to the Soul Gods of the Living Realms of men of the Zhoar warship similar to a droning sound.

This stillness was abruptly interrupted by a deafening crackling sound as a bright surge of energy run across the stairs scattering the Sycophants soldiers outside their railings.

All eyes turned to the origins of the lighting that seemed to have come directly from the depths of the mist that was still surrounding the two entwined warships.

Another bolt of light came from the fog hitting again the vampire warship, the bows of a formation of Bonerammers finally visible outside of the moving haze.

The prayers of the sailors of the Minions have been listened and fulfilled by the wrong gods as the presence of those strangely organic ships had only one meaning.

As the wailing of the souls of the Corpseships became audible, the monstrous bow of a Drifting Mausoleum emerged from the mists.

The fleet of the Necrorealm of the Liches of Kavenid had finally found his vampire pray.

Jaren take his pistol in his left hand pointing his sword towards the Thorns Cathedral.

FOR ZHOAR! FOR THE GODS OF UNENDING LIFE!’ he shouted as his men stormed towards the vampire warship to meet their ultimate fate.

GRAVETIDES (or the Drowning World) is a dying planet where naval warfare, due to the relentless rising of the seas level and it particular geographic conformation, is more and more prevalent as the races that populate its realms struggle among each other and against the common foe of the minions and creatures of The Defiler, a magical parasite from another plane of existence that has corrupted in strange and unnatural ways the lands it has invaded.

While the ancient peoples of the Dwarfs and the Elves are struggling day after day to resist the invasion, some the human reigns that have not yet been assimilated by The Defiler, in a desperate attempt to escape the corruption brought by the parasite have renounced their humanity turning themselves into Necrorealms, ruled by liches, vampires and other sorts of undead, a form of warped existence that the Defiler is unable affect, as it seemed to be for the Orcs, whose tribes and hordes roam uncorruputed by the influence of the parasite.

Free from the corruption of The Defiler, the self proclaimed Necroreges – even beyond the grave – continue to wage war one against the other in an unending struggle for supremacy that does not spare the other races and nations of Gravetides.

Since the arrival of The Defiler the very nature of magic of GRAVETIDES has changed becoming more difficult to cast and spells and feats that even the most potent wizards and sorcerers thought to be impossible gradually became achievable.

The creation of powerful undead creatures such as liches or the manipulation of massive quantities of basic elements like fire and ice were now at reach of those powerful magicians, giving way to the constitution of the Necrorealms themselves.

In the constantly rising waves of this world of unending warfare, all races, including the corrupted minions of the Defiler, create mighty fleets of warships that clash in furious naval battles for the supremacy of the seas and the possess of the precious Ambergris, a rare magical substance capable of fuelling the most powerful of spells.