In the past, the people of Nul that live below the mountains hated man, and small mining towns and remote colonies of settlers often disappeared mysteriously over the winter season, leaving empty huts and silent squares come the thaw. Absent in the memories of the people of Galacia is an idea of what they even look like- just that they own the depths, and even the stout folk of the Dwarven Houses stay in mines that encroach on no caverns or natural vaults, their dour fortresses and strongholds designed to repell the deeps as much as surface aggressors.
The sudden passing of the Great Doom, a catastrophe that mirrored the passing of the Rain of Blue Fire in other wrealms, has given hope to the masses that the madness of the previous disaster has given way to better times, that the people of Galacia will now rise from the ashes, each heart singing and proud, each voice raised in joy.
From out of the black of the cthonian depths came a voice as well… and as the terrified deep miners stared in awe and terror, that voice claimed a desire to parlay. The People of Nul, for the first time recorded, sought counsel.