From publisher blurb:
When the Twin Combatants fell to earth, thousands died beneath them. They were buried when the mountains shifted, burned to cinders by the ensuing fires, or drowned when they were flung into the sea. Thousands more choked upon the smoke and ashes. But there were no people on the island of Inkstvarr at that time. Those who died were the island’s animals, and by the power of the godsblood now tainting the earth, they became ghosts.
These ghosts haunted the other animals on the island. Then they haunted the goblins, when they arrived. Then the dwarves, and then the humans who followed. These ghosts did not last forever, however, and though the godsblood polluting the island created more, now and then, but not enough to sustain their numbers.
But the fear of them did last. The nightmare realm ate it up, gorged itself to bursting even, and then it barfed that fear back up into the waking world. Now this horde of beasts haunts the forests and mountains at night, bursting out of black pools of blood just as dark — or darker — than the moonless skies above them.
And who protects the poor, miserable islanders? Surely not those intrepid “adventurers,” who more often become victims of the horde than even locals do. They are the ones foolish enough to wander away from the lights of civilization. The dwarves of the Brightforge clan have their electromancers to defend them, but they are too cut off from even the other dwarves to be effective allies, nevermind the Ardoussarlians.