4th of Lamashan, 5626
Where else would a party of adventurers wander but a world full of elves, dragons, and mystery?
So did the Champions ask themselves, at the beginning of their journey. Four years on, the world shudders in the wake of deific might as blasphemous magic rises from its ancient slumber. The world bleeds as man and demon clash frenzied blades, their ignorance driving deeper the thorns of venemous discord. The world laughs as dwarven children learn elven games, long-held hatreds forgotten.
The world is named Istralar. It hangs in the void of space, caught tight in the threads of twisted fate.
Away from the happy lights of cheery villages and beautiful harps played by peaceful elves lie warmongering empires and threats of indoctrination. Beyond the safe borders of adventuring settlements, long-fallen gods sink venom into minds and magic both. Liches battle for dominance under the howling strains of deadly northern winter as magic shatters into chaos through the sweltering heights of wild southern jungle.
This is Istralar, a land on the brink of apocalypse.