No one knows exactly how the Jenome entered our world, but what we do know if that they started appearing about twelve years ago during the chaos of the bloody revolution. Ever since that fateful day, one by one civilizations have fallen to their vicarious assault. From the grand cities of men, to the fortified mountains of dwarves to the nomadic elven tribes. The enemy knows no clemency and attacks with tenacity unbound. Aside from their want for destruction, little else is known about this ambiguous foe. Yet one thing is clear; that the races of this world are facing extinction. Yet amongst this sea of dread, hope still lingers. Advances in magic have granted the races a fighting chance; though it was more of a way to slow down the decay of our survival. As oppose to a method to thwart it's inevitable approach. It is said that those captured by the enemy never return, presumed to be killed and studied by the Jenome. Yet one man did return, a warrior who defied the established trend. His name was Gerald; the lone wolf of Nabanouu. Bound by carriage this lonesome warrior and an unlikely elven acquantice found themselves bound by the same thread of fate. A joint operation between the races of men and mer to locate and save an aspiring alchemist who has claimed to have forged a weapon to remove the blight. To the east they traveled, first by carriage and now by boat, to the ruins of Nefarion. An anciet ruined city said to belong to the Sol vampires. A race of extinct humanoids with advance technology said to have vanished thousands of years ago in a single night. Gerald found himself peering at the misty ruins, as waves slapped against the starboard side of the hull. "It is peaceful here..." He muttered, commenting on the silence of the region. As the ship found it's way to an old rust covered dock. The likes of which seemed far too weather worn to be stable. "You two best be in a hurry! This ship isn't designed to hold off any sizable Jenome force!" The captain barked, a rather aged dwarf. Who preferred a life at sea, as oppose to a life of heartless stone. Gerald made his way off the ship, passing through the wooden beams that connected them to the giant eerie structure. His body clad in dark leather armor, with bits of chainmail sown into the very fabric itself. On his back rested two blades, one a Katana tipped with diamonds, the other a silver long sword effective against the undead. Here at the dock he would wait, arms nesting against chiseled chest for his new Mer companion to dismount as well. A mysterious one with his own agenda no doubt. If their mission was to succeed both would have to put their petty differences aside, and work as one. For few dared to venture into the ruins of the old world, such actions are considered taboo. Yet desperate times oftimes called for even more desperate measures.