History, as understood by the common people, is simple.

(for more advanced History, see History Advanced Int 10-14 and History Master Int 15-18 and Arcane History )

Once, the world was amazing and beautiful. Everyone lived for hundreds of years, not just elves, and people lived, worked, and played in the skies as easily as they did on the ground. If you wanted to go somewhere you could hop on a dragon or ride in a magic wagon and it would take you anywhere. Broken bones and infections could be healed easily and cheaply, and most of the hardest work was done by magical constructs who never got tired or complained. The mighty wizards and warriors were so powerful that even the Gods themselves thought twice before crossing them. This, of course, could not last, and soon the Gods grew tired of the arrogance of mortals and used their own magics against them, destroying the flying cities and all the great works of the mortal races, leaving only the weak, the poor, and the humble, honed by their struggles, to rebuild a new civilization in the simple ways of the ancients. Powerful magic, not meant to be wielded at the whims of mortals, is once again locked away in towers and tombs, and even the legendary Saints and Lifegivers of old are humbled, the voices of the Gods now little more than a quiet whisper from the skies or the shadows.

The greedy old ones, denied their lives of plenty and locked from the afterlife until they pay for their hubris, arise to seek vengeance on the living. They must be returned to their purgatory so that they can finally cross over.

To live by skill and wits is the proper and good way to live, and the mixing of races and seeking of forbidden knowledge is a sickness, to be met with treatment or cleansing fire. There are many things that mortals were not meant to know, and once the balance is restored and the price paid, the Prismatic Storm will cease and the dead will lie quiet in their graves, and the dead lands beyond the Storm will be free for the taking.

Nothing lives beyond the storm except savages and madmen, and it reaches from the Heavens down to the dread darkness in the caverns beneath the world.

The only thing which can survive travel through the Storm is the Iron Caravan. Where it gets its trade goods and who it answers to, or why it continues on its endless loop, are all mysteries which no one can answer.

Be good, do your chores, and stand by your neighbors against the greedy dead. Life can end at any time, embrace the simple pleasures of it while you can.


Lostvale Walkingshark