Welcome to the world of Veldath; a world divided, both by sea, borders, and tensions past.
Many millennia ago magic was prevalent in Veldath, but was stricken from the world when the pregnant Queen of the long-gone Fervent Imperium was killed by a purported magic cure to an ailment in her pregnancy. The child carried within her became twisted by this “cure”. This beast ravaged the land with its destruction and magical capacity. Through many years, the creature was trapped, but the King was broken, his family entirely lost and his Imperium crippled. He became enraged.
The Imperator slew the magic bearers; he burned books and scrolls, leaving the magic world in shambles. He cast artifacts and magic items into the fiery earth, where nothing would escape, the magic undone and lost.
He broke portals, severed long-held contracts, and bled the continents dry of their magic, and he ruled over a broken world, a dismal world. Small bastions of magic held out against his wrath, but they were small and defensive, constantly under fire from the Imperator. Those who hid or practiced magic did so under threat of death, not just of themselves, but of their family line. Many long-standing houses were destroyed in the wrath of the Imperator.
Upon his death, the Imperium shattered, only held together tumultuously by his iron fist. New countries rose and fell over millennia, and the world recovered slowly. Magic crept in, with incredible stretches of progress lost due to the Mad King. Small simple magic has become prevalent, but magic beyond brings about a sense of worry and fear in a world scarred.
It is the season of Pishrin, the season of harvest and stale heat, and the 4th day of the month of Valicor, named after The God of the Wilds. Of the three moons in the sky, Mour, the white middle moon is in waning gibbous, as the blue Orani nears fullness and red Revent glow as the touch of dusk spreads, whether one sees the stages as watchful or protective eyes depends much on what weighs on one’s mind.
It is a cool drizzling morning in the country of Quensit, and even more so in the city of Corjenda. Although it is early the city is already bustling, not that the city ever truly sleeps. A city of outcasts in a desolate cove, laws are merely suggestions, to be an outcast from the city of outcasts takes talent, but comes with its own set of consequences, most denizens abide by the suggestions, unless they have the resources to provide the local law enforcement with a set of blinders.
We enter into “Hanged Man” one of the locations most resembling an inn if you didn’t mind walls thin enough to feel a gentle breeze, shared rooms, and string as a lock. Sleeping without at least one weapon in hand was a sure way to wake up with your pack a few pounds lighter. Luckily that was not a problem for our sleeping protagonists, who strongly implied violence upon any who would enter the room.
Somewhat sore from the day before, they awake to the sounds of breaking glass, yelling, and pounding boots. The pounding of boots or the pounding of her headache, Felicity, the catfolk, could not tell as Molly, the gnome, shook her awake.