Ceran

Staring out from a towering fortress overlooking the dense forest of the Greenreach, an elf looks out onto an orc caravan, haggered and weary after weeks of travel. Twenty years earlier, he would have sounded the alarm and nocked an arrow for these invaders. Now, he travels down the steps to coldly greet the refugees on the road. He may not like that they have been granted access to the Empire, but it was the will of the Emperor that these people be given safe harbor and the elf would be damned if he didn't do his duty. These orcs, he knows, bring the dark, primal magic of druidism and shamanism, are destined for tent cities and camps littered throughout the Empire. But through it all, he did his duty for Emperor Justus IX.   Hundreds of miles away, in Castle Silver, Emperor Justus is being laid to rest. Seven councillors of seven different races whisper in hushed tones under their breath about the death of the beloved ruler. His edict, allowing refugees from the Dark Races into the Empire had an expiration date fast approaching, as the council has six months to decide whether to codify Justus' generosity into law or rebuff the fallen leader and revoke his imperial edict. These seven men and women are in a precarious position, for if they affirm his policies, they may invite economic ruin to the Empire when the refugees drain more and more of their resources with every new arrival. If they deny him, they risk tarnishing the legacy of an Emperor most in their land love unequivocally and open up a new challenge with what to do when those Dark Races are forced to leave.   With sandy winds buffetting his face, a halfling excavator brushes away sediment from a stony ruin, revealing the gritty, but intact crystal underneath. He touches it with the tip of its finger, just to check that it glows, smiling as the ancient thing hums to life. He plucks it from its setting, careful not to scratch or chip it as he does, before wrapping it in a cloth and laying it in the chest with all the others. This is the thirteenth crystal he's pulled from the digsite, putting his personal total up to forty-three. Just a few more, he thinks, just a few more crystals to sell to the Artificers and he will be drowning in gold for the rest of his life.   A dwarven artificer leans back, looping his legs around the metal bar he is perched on, taking just a brief moment to look the thousands of feet he could fall to the ground. He walks through the skeleton of a wooden airship, mid-construction, before stepping onto the more solid surface of the flydock. The western seas stretch out before him, below him, and he wonders about the new world that's been discovered over the sea. They say it takes six months to sail to the new land and that all those that try and explore deep within it come back dead. Still, perhaps it could be a good place for a young, bored dwarf to find himself.   Ceran is a world of tremendous danger and fantasy for the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. The world has its own histories, legends, gods, politics that you'll find in the detailed articles and is meant to be a wide field of potential stories. Protecting farmers from bandits, exploring a new continent with ancient ruins, politicking with the leaders of a powerful empire, leading a military strike against a murderous warlord, all of these and more are possible inside of the world of Ceran. All of these and much, much more.