Plunged into eternal darkness, the cold set in quickly. The world shifted and molded itself anew, gods fled, races disappeared, cities collapsed or simply went elsewhere. Magic descended and became weaker and lost to the majority. Somehow though, we few survived and still continue to survive in the bleak after-effects of The Black Sun. What we have left now might be considered ruins by some old world modern account, but we simply see it as the best thing we got. We adapt, we reuse, we overcome.
What few gods still answer our prayers, we pledge ourselves to them.
What few heroes we have, the world kills them. As it seems that heroes only get others killed.
Where do you and I fit in then?
