Once, the world stood united. The extraordinary gifts of mages, wizards, warlocks, sorcerers, and other wielders of the mystical arts held a balance across the realm. Their Arkane magicks kept the eldritch horrors from far into the Beyond at bay, safeguarding all from their corruption, madness, and destruction.
Once, the world fought as one. The pure force and the will of the Divine at their beck and call, those said to be anointed by the gods themselves pushed the demons and undeath back into the earth where they should belong. Their beliefs kept unity amongst the masses, providing penance, sanctity, and a righteous cause.
Once, the world felt safe. The immeasurable mental, but also physical strength offered up by the Psions made their ambitions rarely fail to reach reality. Adapting to every situation as they took on foes with both mind and matter, fighting was more than a style, it was their entire way of life.
Now, three splintered factions remain as far apart as possible. Their perceptions of each other twisted by time, manipulated by forces unseen, and thrown against each other by very real threats. Their unspoken but clear hatred for one another is unfathomable, and nobody even knows the real reason for their strife any longer. Over a millennia has passed since they last stood together, and all that remains now are divergent, fragmented, and devastated nations, struggling to survive against the legions that would do harm to them all.
The Arbiters. When the land was scoured by the angels, the Arbiters did the one thing they knew best: fight back. Forcing them out of their kaleidoscopic fortresses, these powerful Psions now keep vigil across the surface. Unable to literally reach Arculm themselves to show the celestial beings their true might, the next best place for them to continue their conflict is the captured towering city of Drohlm, penetrating "Under Heaven".
The Blessed. Knowing their duties to the gods would be best fulfilled doing what they always have, the Blessed took themselves underground and into the ruins of the former civilisations that dared to try and make their homes in the dark places many times before, in hopes of preventing the spilling out of evil from within Tykra. Living alongside the echoes of the past, memories linger around every corner. The general name given to these fallen kingdoms is Razhüm, descending "Over Hell".
The Consortium. No matter where they went they would be followed. But not by the Arbiters, and not by the Blessed. Nor would they be followed by the angels, and not by the demons. The cursed, the monstrous, and the dreadful horrors of the deep and over yonder will always sense their capabilities. The Consortium took to the one space they could: the Seas of Sarlia. Preserving themselves within almost inaccessible underwater domes at key points the farthest away from land, they hold back the truly frightening terrors. Each dome is named after the architect of their design, with the first belonging to Mylvzyn, situated "Through Purgatory".
United in purpose. An uneasy alliance exists between the three factions, for without one the other two would swiftly fall as well. Miraculously there have been only relatively minor incidents in the grand scheme of things, however recently the spirit storms have grown increasingly violent, the caverns have suddenly become darker, and the seas are more and more turbulent. All can feel that something is about to change. Many forlorn souls are now choosing to lend their aid, whilst others are proving more nefarious than ever. Survival is sought. Prophecies, scriptures, and the ravings of lunatics all point towards one thing...