A World Desaturated

For as long as anyone can remember the world has existed as scattered towns providing the citizens opportunity for a comfortable life of hard work and adventure, if they could keep out of the way of bandits and other ne'er-do-wells. There were rumblings of groups - benevolent, malevolent, and somewhere between - preparing for some sort of large event. Skirmishes happened, kidnappings and the like, but overall humans, elves, halforcs, dwarves, and other races throughout the land made a life for themselves.   Then the desaturation happened. A wall of smoke from Mount Hotenow rolled over the land and left a world with less color behind. This happened near simultaneously with a awesome column of light descending from the sky near Conyberry. The light brought angelic figures of grace and terror while the smoke seemed to draw random horrors from terrifying other planes causing wonton destruction. It seems obvious they are connected, but how?   Citizens throughout the world have tried to find whatever way they can to adapt and live. The world is suddenly a horrifyingly dangerous place. People strive for someone to bring them safety and hope for better days, sometimes even at the cost if their morality. As the days go by, many pray to any gods they can for something to make them believe in the chance for a better tomorrow.