The continent of Granmith is divided by strange extremes in environments, where swamps and deserts often go hand-in-hand, a testament to the strange and curious magical resonance that exists across this continent. Vast acres of forests frame the conquered coastlines and border the untamed wastelands at the centre, hiding within their depths the ruins of elder civilizations, the remnants of ancient, titanic wars that reshaped much of the world.

  Political powers, too, have staked out this land.

  Several city-states united under the Queen’s Alliance of the Kyburn and Fellvar Dynasties has hegemonized the western shores and ports of Granmith, thriving on free trade with the lands beyond the Ophidian Sea.

  These city states, known as the Cardinal Cities, stand as bastions of freedom and hope, unity among diverse tribes and peoples, or so it seems.

  Beyond the Fellvalian Mountains lies the massive region known as Dellmeria, which is divided by the great river of Dimeldor and the Wine Mountain Range.

  Eastern Dellmeria encompasses the turbulent badlands of Kirioth, plagued with all manner of monsters and malevolence that predate the current kingdoms of men and elves.

  Northward, you would find the Dreaming Lands of Brenindor, a lawless realm harbouring curses that have kept it unconquered by the hands of the Alliance.

  Upon that dark land’s border stand great watchtowers, the shared demesne of the Mages of Brenin’s Eye and House Vallimond, a family of famed monster hunters pledged to the Queen’s Alliance and the safety of the free people of Granmith.

  To the east of all these lands lies Morvanna, the great land ruled by its deathless Emperor, seeking to unite all the world under his vision of a pure land. The world would tremble if they knew the truth of his vision, if they saw the heights of his ambition.

  We go, however, to the territory of Western Dellmeria, within the boundaries of the Kyburn Dominion. Emerging from the chaos of civil war over a hundred years ago, the Kyburn dynasty of kings’ influence has slowly spread to encompass the surrounding societies of the region, assimilating the peoples of the Proserpine Savannahs and the Dwermal Valley, before finally subjugating and taking the whole of Western Dellmeria for the Dominion.

  Upon seizing these western regions, the Dominion ceased its unification of the Cardinal Cities, looking now to defend its borders from the existential threats to the north and east. Under the constant threat of war, after assimilating largely unexplored lands filled with ruins and strange magic and constantly having to contend with fiends at their doorstep, the Queen’s Alliance has fostered generations of adventurers and monster slayers.

  Under the rule of the current King, the Grand Domus Jeremiah Kyburn, the crown is content to leave most towns and cities to their own devices, with only the usual tithes and taxes being the mark of their sovereignty. Some see this as a sign of the Dominion's influence beginning to crumble.

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  The people, largely human in population, appreciate the relative freedom of their lives and in turn follow the laws and religions of the Queen’s Alliance.

  In return, denizens of the Queen’s Alliance are protected from the wild terrors of the north, the monsters and demons of the central regions, and the threat of the murk elves, who are largely kept at bay by the nature of their own environment.

  This state of affairs, the status quo for over a century, has led to a sense of hard-fought prosperity and harmony for much of the Queen’s Alliance.

  Lately, however, cracks have begun to appear in the facade of peace, and tensions brew far inland at the disturbing news that can no longer be contained by the Dominion’s efforts.

  Rumours of military clashes at the eastern border near Kirioth has begun to spread westward. Even with the Dominion purposefully masking the truth from the public far from its borders, the sense of abrading peace is palpable, as the word of slowly escalating hostility with murk elves and Imperial forces begins to spread.

  Travellers fleeing the skirmishes at the border bear dark tales of otherworldly soldiers in sleek black armour venturing into the kingdoms of men, of demons wandering the barren wastelands, their dark whispers carried by the winds. These rumourmongers are usually quickly silenced by the stern hand of the ever-vigilant Queensguard… or else brought in for questioning to the spymasters of the Dominion.

  Our story, however, begins much smaller than the affairs of kings and warlords.

  In the southern reaches of the Dwermal Valley, beyond the Zanfri Defile, lies the small town of Dwinvale. Bordering the lazuline waters of the Dwinmere, this town established itself as prominent near the turn of this century, when the local mages pioneered magical empowered machinery to light the streets, facilitate rudimentary plumbing and create creature comforts that would spread throughout the Dominion.

  Far from becoming a metropolis as the beating heart of change and innovation, however, Dwinvale, despite undergoing a fair amount of growth and expansion remained relatively small, partially by the design of its ealdorman and the wealthy merchant families, who preferred the town’s rustic charm without dispensing with the quality-of-life changes that their mages introduced. However, their designs and innovations made them wealthy, and a healthy trade was fostered between this otherwise unassuming burgh and the nearby Cardinal City of Rellia.

  Now the town thrives on their exports of fish, crops, and ale, the proud trade of the locals, while the wealthy merchant families trade in the precious metals of the mines that bound the eastern shores of the Dwinmere, using both local help and the willing hands of foreigners who come to Dwinvale, seeking the heart of the change that swept the continent. The mages here have also established several contracts with the government for their designs, and they, in turn, keep the town safe from most outside influences, while remaining mostly disinterested in the affairs of politics or the commonfolk.

  Our tale begins here, in the early hours of the morning on the day of Vendren, in the gloomy alleyways of Dwinvale.

  A bleary-eyed, bruised figure in a tattered coat stumbles out of a darkened alleyway, clutching at his side. Blood flows between his fingers. As he slips and falls to the mist-covered ground, two shadows follow him from out of the darkness, stepping into the gloom of the lamplit streets, hands curling around the weapons they bear…