Once upon a time, there was a land called Theras. The land was a prosperous and peaceful one, separated into four separate kingdoms that found mutual understanding. To the north, the mountainous lands of the dwarves where the people of the mountains mined and lived out their lives digging out precious metals to be shaped into wondrous tools and items that could be sold and traded among the four kingdoms. To the east, the forested lands of the elves stood in quiet and peaceful solitude, the woods revered by the fair elvish folk who guarded secrets of magic and spirits that they shared with others who sought to learn with respect and honor in their hearts. To the west, the kingdom of humanity stood on rolling plains and lush fields. The numerous humans, curious and quick to learn, were easy allies for the other races as they were eager to learn from them and trade with them, wanting nothing more than to stand on equal footing with their neighbors all around them. And, finally, to the south, the gnomish lands where the wee folk lived situated upon the shore and using supplies of ore, wood and crops from the other lands to craft mechanical wonders the likes of which the other races could never have imagined. They created machines that could take to the air and ships that could sail on sea and land alike. They created wonders and shared them freely with their neighbors.

This was the land of Theras...until a century ago, that is.

A century ago, from the seas to the south, a somehow floating land-mass came. It floated through the air, surrounded by dark clouds and looking to be as big as a small island itself. It floated to the edge of the southern shores of gnomish lands and then it sank down onto the shore. It sank down and became as one with the land to the south. It landed and then the clouds cleared to reveal a darkened woods surrounding a great, foreboding citadel crafted from ebony stone. It revealed this and it revealed numerous twisted and monstrous creatures that stood on the edge of the land mass, prepared to charge. And, at the fore, he stood.

The figure in black, the evil one, the dark lord. None knew his name, but all knew the figure clad completely in intimidating black plate armor, his face hidden behind a horned helmet's faceplate. A towering figure, frightening to behold and exuding an air of power beyond any. He stood at the fore of his army of misshapen and monstrous creatures...and then he attacked.

For the next century, the nameless dark lord waged war on the land of Theras, seeking domination over it. He wiped out the land of the gnomes, scattering the wee folk to the other three kingdoms to become refugees and beggars as he claimed their home as his own. He forged on further, seeking to do the same to the lands of men, elf and dwarf, but they united together to push him back. The three remaining kingdoms banded together and defended their borders. They lost much in both life and resources, but, eventually, they did push back the dark lord. They pushed him back into the southern lands and sought to finish him there. They believed him weak enough to be defeated. They believed they could win...but it was not to be so.

For, as the evil overlord was pushed back, he erected a magical barrier along the border of the southern lands. It would bar the passage of the great armies of man, elf and dwarf, making sure they could not destroy the forces of the dark one completely. But neither could the dark lord charge forward himself, lest he destroy his own barrier and let the armies of good with their superior numbers into his lands. They were in a stalemate, with only small parties from both sides moving against the other in small skirmishes. Small parties of "heroes" would sneak past the barrier and seek to defeat the dark lord (usually failing spectacularly despite being told they were "the chosen ones" or other such rubbish). Raiding bands of the overlord's monsters and minions would sneak into human lands or elvish woods, usually causing a little mayhem before being put down.

And so it has gone for a century until, finally, the dark lord has decided the time has come to do something different. The dark lord has decided that something must change, must shift the balance, and so he worked on something else, something new. He worked...on you.

You are a creature of magic, a minion not born but created from the dark lord's own essence and the essence of one of the many races of minions that follow him. You are meant to be something more than the fodder for heroes' blades others are. You are meant to be more than just another raiding beast going into human lands to burn fields and murder livestock. You are meant to have potential. You can be more, if you work at it. Unlike your brethren, you have the potential to be so much more. You have true power in you. It is simply up to you to nurture it and make it grow from a spark to a grand, furious blaze.

But that is for the future. Right now, you are nothing more than magical essence, monster viscera and pure potential burbling and bubbling in a boiling spawning pool made by the dark lord. You are barely awakening to awareness of self and it is in these first moments of awareness that you must will yourself into flesh and form. You must use the strength of your own will to craft for yourself a form from the stew of magic, blood, guts and other viscera that will birth you.

And so you focus your newly found awareness and will to do so, gathering up the magical energy simmering in the pool around you to gather flesh and blood and bone and bring them around your very essence to give yourself form and a body to call your own.