Olde World. Tis been seven years. Seven long God damned years, since Death came a callin'. Tis not spoken as a blaspheme, more as a reality. For tis been that  long since that lively, cheerful town of San Gabriel fell to the scourge of the undead, sorcery, and the dark heart of evil. It crept in slow, such as would a bone chillin' fog. Townsfolk done gone missin' over the course of months. Yet unbeknownst to the Gabrielians, they would soon turn up, but not as one was expectin'. Six months, six days, and six hours to the day the first resident vanished. Twas then, the onslaught began. Decimatin' the population either by bein' consumed, turned or by other means that this page be forever stained by it's mention. All of them. Friend and family alike. Cut down like chaffs of wheat durin' Harvest Reap. Even within the doors of The House of God. For a spell of bewitchment was cast upon the town itself so that the Vampire Witch, her disciples and ghouls could act with impunity. Many were familiar faces, yet no longer the people they had been.  A small militia was formed to counter the brutal assault. The town armory was emptied. All manor of electro guns, hand cannons and slug throwers were deployed, only made truly effective after a blessin' by the waters at the church. By then however, twas too late. The evil spread as a plague, soon overcomin' the desperate defense. Holding to a last stand while structures burned, and Holy Ground defiled. Abandoned of all hope, a lone survivor gathered what supply could be carried and fled unto the deserts. The church Deacon who's name was Ichabod Tull.
Further and yon he traveled to an ancient place where spirits of the great ancestors held sway. Powerful magic and blessins had been placed on the land, to keep it unspoilt. Twas there his work began. Lo then , it was on high where in exile he planned, trained and prepared. Only then he could act. Chosen by God to vanquish Evil. It was his to avenge. "God hath damned them once. I shall damn them once more." "So sayeth The Deacon." Long days and many moon were spent searching, tracking an destroying what vile spawn that were encountered in the accursed lands. In every province and village, the stench of death hung in the air. 
The Armies of Darkness marched across the land. Devouring, turning, and befouling all creatures great and small. Feeding on flesh and fear. Town after town overrun. Tribes united, refugees gathered. Shamans and other holy men and women did all they could to protect the nomadic caravans from the magics of the Vampire Witch. The scattered rabble of humanity who were a wanderin' the wastes, endlessly scavengin' off the corps of the Olde World, no one place was safe for too long. 
Rumors spread of a man taking the fight to the ghastly ones roaming the land. A light in the darkness. Vanquishing evil where ever he went. One who showed no fear and gave no quarter. For it was the Deacon come to call.