An Empire in Flames

The once mighty Percian Empire has begun to crumble, and a broken world is left in the wake of its fall. The lands loyal to Percia once reached as far north as The Clifstânforst, farther east than even the barren lands beyond The Clingenbalc, and south into exotic and mysterious lands beyond the Jungle of Ghalt and the Desert of Khesh. Now, only the lands surrounding the Inland Sea and the Great River pay homage to the Golden Emperor and his Thousand Companions.

The Percian Empire persists yet, either unwilling to fade into the mists of history or not aware that its time has come. The Golden Emperor and his Thousand Companions still stand at the fore of the phalanx; and be the challenge one of battle, governance, or even faith - all eyes within the empire look to the shining example of the Emperor and his chosen to guide them.

The ground shook in a steady rhythm as a thousand feet fell at once. Bronze shields shone under the sun, creating a golden glow that threatened to blind any who beheld the spectacle. Long spears reached to the heavens, a forest of bronze-tipped trees thirsty for blood. In front of the host stood the Golden Emperor, his body covered in armor to match his title and his face hidden behind an ornate mask. The chanting of mystics rose behind them, and the march of the Thousand Companions struck a beat to the chorus as they strode across the field of battle.

To the north of the Percian heartland lies Ætheland, an idyllic land of green fields and lush forests. Late to fall under the sway of the empire, this region has remained all but untamed. Tribes beyond counting once struggled to eke out an existence here, fighting tooth and nail with one another over land and resources. Upon facing the oncoming might of the empire though, many of them joined together into great confederations to resist falling under the sway of the foreign invaders.

In the nearly two hundred years since the conquest of Ætheland however, these old confederations have been all but forgotten. Tribal chieftains fell and swore fealty one by one to the Golden Emperor. If they refused, they were made martyrs and their lands and people were scoured from history. Provincial governors ruled over the Norfênkin - as the people of Ætheland call themselves - with a bronze heel upon the throat of the people. Thus was life in the north until the great hero Wulfgar Brögaenson united the clans of The Spêdigwald in revolt against the Percians. He was an inspiring leader and blessed by the old gods, but it was not until after his death at the Siege of Hastia that all the people of the Norfênkin rose up against their oppressors. Now the empire reels against rebellions in all corners of their vast holdings, and in the broken lands of the north chieftains and warlords once again fight among themselves for their share of the scraps left in the ashes.

Above the turmoil of mud and blood the gods watch over the lands of men. In the heavens a war of faith is waged as each of the gods chooses their sides in the conflicts of man. Dominion in the heavens is determined by faith in the mortal realm, and the old gods have too long taken a back seat to the pantheon of the Percians. Casting their lots with potential heroes, the gods select mortal champions and imbue them with inhuman abilities. While Percian war clerics chant to their divine host to bless the Golden Emperor and his Thousand Companions, the druids of the Norfênkin make sacrifices to the old gods and beg their favor for the warlords of the clans. Other spirits more mysterious and aloof see their own chance to wrest power from the will of mortal men, and the denizens of The Forstwald - the great northern forest - have risen up to form their own army as packs of wolves numbering in the hundreds now prowl the land.

Welcome to Ætheland

Although the region is a small corner of a greater world, the people of Ætheland find themselves at a turning point in history. From the most common man to the mighty gods themselves, there is no escape from the inevitable time of war that has come.