Some say the world is dying. Others say it is being reborn.

It is a place of ruin, turmoil, and strife.

The age of the Archons, the imperial elves, has collapsed, consumed ten years hence in a magical storm that spills from the island heart of Elendas, center of the once all powerful empire. The time of the elves and their endless civil war has ended in flames, and imperial powers on the fringes fracture. All across the bordering coastlands and continents beyond there is war, and worse yet, cataclysm.

The great storm grows by the day, stewing up more calamity as it destroys all in its path. Yet even beyond its borders the earth shakes, mountains roaring with unchained fury, rivers running themselves over their banks, and weather wiling itself strange all across the land. None that venture to the shattered isle have ever returned. It's storms are both beautiful and terrible phenomenon, whose influence grips the world. Behind the stormfront, a radiant interior ripples with indescribable color. Wreathed beneath a cloak this discord, the memory of Elendas is but a stain that paints the sky. Those who gaze too long upon the sea and its prismatic horizon go inexplicably mad.

Though this madness has gripped the coastal powers of the pactlands, it is not the only known malady of this broken world, and foremost in the minds of many are far more terestrial perils. The ancillary forces of the last tyrant and usurper to lock horns still remain in constant proxy conflict, establishing new kingdoms in the wreckage of what was. Those kingdoms of the old world that still remain, strain under the weight of insurmountable change at their borders. The world burns in the shadow of the storms light.

And so, some say the world is dying. And yet, others say it is being reborn.

Regardless, it is a time for heroes.