It tore through everything in its path—destroying all life—and blotted out the sun with a thick, powdery ash. Yet somehow we survived, huddled in scattered, disparate communities protected by domes of powerful energy.

After generations of starvation, this thick vegetation and bountiful game was a paradise.
Briefly.
Within a few years, hunters began to report tales of gigantic beasts, whispering trees, and dancing lights leading them astray. Groups beyond the wall would disappear with alarming regularity, never to be seen again.

We learned quickly that these wilds were not our lands. They resisted conquest, expansion, and even travel. Villages struggled to reconnect and develop basic networks of trade and collaboration.

The sparse, isolated remnants of humanity tentatively connected by the sprawling river system known as Serpent’s Run.

The old world is dead.

The Age of Man has come to an end.

Long live Audhumla.