There were few places in the world that even the bravest knew to fear.
Hellscape was one of them.
Born from the Sundering Epoch, when the Veil between worlds was first torn, the Hellscape was not merely a place — it was a thriving wound.
An endless, shifting domain of desolation, nightmare, and blood.
No maps could truly chart it; no memory could safely hold its horrors.
Only one thing was certain: within its bounds, death was a promise, not a possibility.
The Ivorian Empire had long ago recognized the Hellscape as both a blight and an opportunity.
For generations, they had erected massive Gates — entrances forged in desperate, holy rites — to contain and regulate its chaos.
In total, there were eleven gates across the Empire.
Three were held tightly under the watchful dominion of the Church of the Sanctum, whose paladins and inquisitors guarded the sacred thresholds with blade and sermon.
