Heroes will have varied experiences. They may encounter overwhelming hordes of fiends from the Hellmouth itself, or reclusive celestials from the protective mega-city of Sanctuary; newly awakened protective dragons of Gaia, or mysterious adapting cultures of Fey from the world Behind the Veil. They may come across golems made of gears and metal running on magic and steam from Cog Town, or they may cross paths with a valiant knight in shining armor displaced from Avalon. They may look out across rocky landscapes at giants from Ragnarok as they roam the land, terrorizing civilized settlements, while mechas from the east fly overhead, piloted in union by five men.

Where there is an abundance of darkness, destruction and death, the importance of heroes is that much more illuminating to those who require symbols of hope. These heroes become beacons of light against the despair. They become a reassurance that the future may once again become theirs; that the fiends will be banished, the Maws closed across the land, and the Hellmouth finally destroyed and sealed forever. Some of these goals may be impossible to accomplish, but without heroes, days in The World of Hellmouth would be nothing more than a countdown to extinction.

These heroes are few and scattered, but the few become mighty. Together they can be an unyielding force against the armies of evil. They might not be able to defeat it all but they can at least hold it back one day at a time.

This is where the adventure begins and all hell breaks loose!

I walk across a landscape, barren and silent. The shadows creep across blasted rocks and flesh colored clouds entangle the sky above me. The sound of wild animals is something only remembered as a child or imitated by my forefathers. Before me, in the stillness of eternal night, stretches Odland, the Wasteland of the Hellmouth.

All I have now on my valiant quest are my remaining companions: a dwarf weapon smith with glowing weapons and armor powered by the magic of the Lost Gods; a halfling in the clanking body of a Clockwork Knight Battlesuit with the power of a giant; an elven Wilder Scout, as swift as the wind with a marksmanship legends will tell stories of; and, a celestial with the power of the stars in its eyes and the energy of life pulsating at his finger tips. I are a Knight of the Chalice and my life’s training led me to this day.

In the distance, across the desolate terrain, rises a constantly flowing beam of light out of a wound in the earth. Pieces of stones float like globules of blood into the swirling clouds above. It is the mark of the Hellmouth itself, seen from hundreds of miles away–-a sign of warning to all who see it.

I may not be able to see them from this distance, but the sounds of screaming souls shifting around the column like moths attracted to a gaslight lantern invade my mind. The tormenting cackles of the demons that continue to kill them for pleasure chills the marrow in my bones. Dragons no longer return here since the Hellfire Wars, but here I stand–me and my allies–ready to walk forth into history, with no one to tell my story.

We look one last time at each other, and without speaking a word, we march towards the beacon of death. We all know there will be no rewards for our actions, and yet we do them–not because we can defeat all evil entirely, or even some of it temporarily. We do it because, hopefully, for a couple more minutes, we will give the rest of the world a few less things to worry about.

We do it because we’re heroes.