A few weeks ago, we asked you what you most wanted to see from Heroes Infinite and your answers poured in.
We got, like, a LOT of them.
Since then, our studio has been ablaze with ideas and late-night debates about how to bring those wishes to life.
We hope to get back to you on this very soon in more detail. The Christmas release is going to be the first one based on that feedback and, oh boy, I can tell you that you are going to LOVE it !
In the meantime, this month's release is the last one based on the previous round of messages, asks and comments we’ve got from you before last month’s survey. At that time, we’d got a lot of demand about expanding the Dragonborn range.
And so here they are, facing a new enemy.
From the flames of creation come two factions bound by fury, faith, and the power of the volcano itself:
the proud Red Dragonborn and their sworn enemies, the dark Sulfur Dwarves.
Where the Earth Never Sleeps
Far beyond the golden deserts once crossed by Mortenburg’s most adventurous explorers, lies a land that defies the gods themselves.
The ground heaves and cracks under rivers of molten rock.
Mountains roar, and clouds of ash turn day into dusk.
Here, in this chaos of fire and stone, two civilizations thrive against all odds — each believing the other to be an insult to creation.
βEnjoy the video, but please please come back to continue reading below about who the heck these guys are, why they look the way they do, and immerse yourself in their world...
I wanted these 2 civilizations to have a rich and unique background and I spent quite some time developing it. Here is a very short (well, short is relative) recap to put you in the mood. Let me know if you are interested in knowing more.
Ready? Grab a coffee, a tea, or your favourite poison, have a seat, and enjoy!!!
Tip: If you’d rather save the lore for a later time, scroll down to the heading “ποΈ Back to Heroes Infinite: Behind the Forge”.
π₯ THE RED DRAGONBORN: The Emberborn Dominion
The Red Dragonborn are children of fury and brilliance, their blood a living echo of the red dragons from whom they descend.
Their empire resembles ancient Rome: refined, powerful, conquering, and fiercely proud.
Yet beneath that polished order burns something untamable.
Their strength lies in passion, but so does their peril. Their hearts burn with a divine rage, a furious energy, that grants them power, beauty, and brilliance… and threatens at every moment to consume them.
They are charismatic, proud, and epic in everything they do: conquerors, artists, and visionaries driven by an inner storm they can never fully tame. Their greatest triumph as a civilization is not peace, but survival: the miracle that their empire still stands at all, balanced forever on the edge of its own destruction.
Every Emberborn grows up haunted by the same truth, that the flame within is both their gift and their curse. It drives their courage, their creation, their ambition; it also fuels their wrath, their cruelty, and their ruin. To live among them is to live in the tension between glory and collapse.
And so, over generations, they have built a culture that is magnificent, theatrical, and violent, yet hides a shameful secret: It takes all their will and personal restraint to contain a perpetual storm that could destroy everything they built in an instant.
A Civilization of Contradictions
Their cities rise from volcanic slopes like temples to passion and power: black stone halls lit by molten rivers, where artisans sing as they hammer, and warriors shout their victories in flame-lit arenas. Everything they build is meant to dazzle, to burn bright and to remind them what happens when control falters.
Their society is a hierarchy of heat. The Ash Tyrant rules only as long as no one burns hotter. Beneath him, the noble Flameborn Houses claim descent from ancient dragons and wield power with theatrical arrogance: generals, poets, and orators who command with fury as much as intellect.
Below them, the Emberborn, the beating heart of the people, live for spectacle. In the forges, in the baths, in the arenas, they pour their energy into creation, combat, and excess. Passion is their currency, temperance their hidden religion.
Those whose flames burn too faintly, the Smoke-Blooded, labor in the background, envied for the calm they do not deserve. Those whose fire consumes them, the Scorched, are feared and pitied: twisted bodies and minds that stand as a warning of what happens when passion wins.
The Unspoken Discipline
Though every Emberborn struggles with the same fire, they rarely speak of it. To admit the need for control is seen as weakness. To behave in a restrained and modest way is seen as a weakness, a confession that the flame is stronger than you.
And yet, behind closed doors, almost all practice forms of restraint. Silent breathing rituals, secret meditations, each a private act of desperation masquerading as dignity. Only the monks of the Ember Orders discuss the struggle openly, teaching that control is not peace, but battle.
Their highest paradox is this: Inner self discipline, the very thing they’re ashamed to need, is what keeps their civilization alive.
The Fire That Builds
The Emberborn see war, art, and politics as the same act: the shaping of chaos into form. Their arenas are valves for rage, their laws are forges, their feasts are festivals of controlled eruption. Passion is not suppressed but displayed, exalted, and spent.
They believe conquest itself is sacred, not for plunder, but for transformation. What the fire touches, it purifies. Cities they seize are reborn in obsidian and gold. To be ruled by Emberborn is to be burned, but also rebuilt stronger, sharper, and more alive.
Faith and Flame
They do not worship gods of mercy. They believe the first Dragonborn was a red dragon who burned so fiercely with desire that he tore off his immortal shell to walk among mortals. Each Emberborn carries a spark of that sacrifice.
In every generation, they await the Perfect Flame, the one who will master passion so completely that they will cease to be flesh and rise again as a true dragon. But most know the truth: the Perfect Flame never comes. The struggle is the faith.
π₯ THE SULFUR DWARVES: The Curse of Life
Deep beneath the volcanic mountains, where the air trembles with heat and the stone itself hums, the Dwarves of the Sulfur Labyrinths have built their empire. Their cities descend in inverted pyramids carved into molten rock, endless tiers of bronze corridors and obsidian vaults spiraling toward the earth’s core. The air is dense with acid vapor and thunderous vibration. Every tremor is sacred; every quake, a prayer answered.
They do not worship the gods of the surface. Those are the False Makers, weak artisans who shaped the world in flesh and plant and decay. The Sulfur Dwarves revere only the Sleeper in the Core, the god that never erred. To them, it is not a being but a will, an intelligence that speaks in the language of stone, its voice carried through seismic resonance.
The Voice Beneath the World
Their entire magic ( what they call Resonance Craft ) is built upon the study of tremor, vibration, and harmonic force. Every hammer strike, every engine, every chant is tuned to the frequencies of the Sleeper’s dreaming voice.
They raise colossal Black Obelisks of obsidian over their cities, each one carved with runes that catch and amplify the earth’s low song. When the ground trembles, the Obelisks hum: deep, droning tones that vibrate the metal in armor, the teeth in skulls, the souls within crystal. To the dwarves, these vibrations are divine speech. They do not pray; they listen.
Their priests, called Resonants, spend years learning to hear meaning in the tremors. The greatest among them can translate earthquakes into prophecy, or strike the Obelisks to unleash controlled harmonic blasts that crack stone and rupture flesh. The battlefield quakes when the Resonants march; they wield tuning-forks the size of spears, striking the ground to send ripples of force that shatter bones and armor alike.
Flesh, Stone, and the Dream of Perfection
They teach that flesh was the False Gods’ first and greatest mistake, a soft imitation of stone, a corruption of permanence. To them, all organic life is an infection, a virus, a plague spreading across the face of the world. Even their own flesh is an indignity: a temporary sheath over what should be mineral and eternal. Yet they see their deformities, the tusks, the horn-beards, the ossified brows, as proof that they are halfway redeemed.
Where others see pollution, they see purification. They burn forests, drain seas, and choke skies with acid smoke, believing they are cleansing the planet of its softness. They feed on minerals, drink filtered acid, and scar their bodies with ash. Every wound that hardens, every callus that thickens, brings them closer to their destiny.
The Totemic Archetypes — Horns of Evolution
At the heart of their faith stands the Rhinosaurus, their supreme totem and symbol of the world’s true form. They say the False Gods once made a beast in its image, but made it of flesh, a failure of vision. The true Rhinosaurus, they believe, exists deep within the earth, slumbering as a mountain dreaming of motion.
Yet the Rhinosaurus is not alone. The dwarves also venerate other horned archetypes: the Ram, the Bull, and the Boar — each representing an earlier, imperfect glimpse of the same divine evolution toward mineral perfection. These are seen as stages in the cosmic metamorphosis of flesh into stone: the Ram’s endurance, the Boar’s fury, the Bull’s dominance, and at last the Rhinosaurus’s still, unstoppable permanence.
In their temples, they build machine-statues of these sacred beasts, vast constructs of bronze and obsidian animated by resonance engines. Their hides are layered with runes and their limbs powered by vibration magic and lava, causing them to rumble like earthquakes when they move. On the battlefield, these colossal idols walk beside the dwarves, their footsteps matching the beat of the Obelisks’ low hymn, living embodiments of the future world they strive to bring forth.
In battle and ritual alike, their warlords and priests wear horns upon their helms or sculpt them into their armor, but the truest status is not worn, it is grown. Among the Sulfur Dwarves, the growth of horns is the mark of divine favor. The more bone that sprouts from a dwarf’s brow, beard, or skull (and among females, from the scalp like curling antlers) the higher they rise in reverence and power. Horns are not decoration but destiny: physical proof that the Sleeper’s perfection is shaping them from within.
The Creed of the Quaking Faith
They do not seek conquest as others do. They seek correction. The world must return to its rightful shape, stone over soil, quake over song. When the Sleeper rises, they believe all matter will harden into a single harmonic resonance, and the false gods’ mistake will be erased.
Their creed is carved on every wall, spoken before every forge is lit:
“The earth speaks in tremors.
The flesh lies.
The Horns rise.
Stone shall walk,
And the weak shall fall into silence.”
“Flesh is weak, Stone endures.”
ASH and TRADE, SLAVERY and SURVIVAL
Between these lands of flame and stone stretch vast deserts of ash, where nomadic tribes wander in search of survival. These people, a mix of many races, are both victims and mediators in the endless conflict.
They trade, they smuggle, they endure.
They bring slaves to both sides, but also goods, metals, and materials that cannot be found in volcanic lands. In return, they carry back the creations of both peoples — Dragonborn craftsmanship and Dwarven machinery — to the wider world.
Through them, a fragile balance persists, though it trembles like molten glass on the edge of breaking. For one people worships the flame that gives life; the other, the stone that ends it.
And between them, the earth itself seems to hold its breath.
ποΈ BACK to Heroes Infinite: Behind the Forge
And so these two mighty factions come to life. Vivid, dangerous, and unlike anything we’ve done before.
Every month, there’s a moment we treasure: that instant when, after weeks of sculpting and world-building, we finally watch the cinematic video that reveals it all just hours before you see it yourselves.
This time, it felt different.
The Sulfur Dwarves demanded a kind of work that is different to what we usually do: rough, heavy, industrial. They stand far from the elegance of elves, the charisma of humans, or the gothic grace of our vampires.
Yet that’s exactly what made them fascinating. There’s beauty in their brutality, a strange nobility in their curse.
The Dragonborn, too, took on a new life. What began as a challenge months ago has now become a complete culture, complex, believable, and alive.
Pride, Sweat, and a Little Fire
While heroes often steal the spotlight, this time the troops hold a very special spot as they are amongst the best ones we’ve ever made.
The truth is that this release has been a true labor of love that demanded even more focus, late nights, and stubborn passion than usual, right up to the last hour before launch.
We poured a lot of efforts into it, and we hope it sparks your imagination, whether you print them, paint them, or send them charging across your tabletop.
We can’t wait to see which characters win your heart, which you’ll bring to life with your brushes and your stories.
On behalf of the entire team, have a fantastic month, and may your adventures burn bright.
