Hypogea

Wreathed in Veil-fire lies the last vestiges of a world submerged within the maw of the abyss. Where the sea and the heavens are one, and the Sol a window to the burning Veil beyond. Deep below the earth an ancient machine turns, and night is brought only by the moon's eclipse. Hypogea, the world below, for it truly is at the bottom of everything.   Massive walled cities are mankind's only salvation from the harsh hinterlands beyond. With the death of the last dreagon mankind entered 1000 years of peace, carefully orchestrated by the Guildmasters Council. The remaining dreakin races were subjugated within the cities, though they outlived the life sentence and were freed. Creatures of the Seas and creatures of the Deep came to live with the humans, fleeing some encroaching presence. Lifeless corpses reanimated by science walk through an existence in their own right, searching for purpose.   Salt brought the humans prosperity in such a harsh world, allowing them to carve out some semblance of security with great machines. The Iron torn from the backs of the slain dreagons became their standard of commerce, its timeless properties highly coveted. Even the secrets to life itself were revealed as mankind tore into the essence of Fate and found it as malleable as clay.   But there is unrest among the people. Two of the nine guilds were exterminated, leaving a power vacuum. Four of the remaining guilds have banded together to enact an Acquisition of majority rule. Under the banner of the Three Kings, these men of cloth have decreed tenants unto the masses. Those who are not citizens of a guild are left defenseless against the tide of persecution. Across the sea an Empire grows, with an affinity toward the abyss and its offspring. A storm has begun.