Suffering for a lifetime of selfish deeds in the Tombs of the Dead, the expired Emperor Nyrolate carried the burden of his crimes engraved in his weighted chains. The weapons of his fallen knights enslaved him to his memories. As a ghost he himself was taunted, tormented, and haunted by the knowledge of their loss. His only solace was the bittered penance he paid the Grim Reaper and the only joy he had was the hope of his Kingly son, Tyrolane. He hoped he would justly reign despite his poor example.
The battle he had died in was incredibly sore - they had already lost before their first strike. The Wizard had warned him to attack early in the battle and to join others before the Beast had ventured into their lands. Pitting his strength against his pride he chose to wait - only to witness his men's bones stripped through their armor while they still stood. Nothing remained of his army. His pride sealed their doom.
As he steadily pondered over the detailed pains of the past a rift through the veil of the dead tore open - restoring for him a brief moment to reclaim history and undo his wrongs. Blinded by his eagerness and grim determination he set forth with the Grim Reaper's borrowed army of dead - unable to distinguish friend from foe.
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