Vasara The Dark Side

“Hmm, you weren't due for another fourty-three years, seven months, three weeks, and four days... While you're here, knocking on my doorstep, why don't I regale you—just a touch—about my homeland, outlander?” The Plumebearer stared down at you, traveler, bleeding out on the deck of a ship coming into one of the few functioning ports on the continent.

The figure clad in black feathers and leathers continued after a brief cough, not waiting for your answer, “Vasara is a land rife with turmoil, strife, and death at every corner. Those that remained after the Schism rebuilt from the ashes of a once powerful, continent-spanning empire known as the Dominion of Vasan, or the Vasani Dominion. Its spiritual successor, the Wissan Dominion, was governed by one of the only surviving members of that ancient empire in the far west. Rising from the industrial wasteland far to the east was the Luminforge Syndicate, a conglomerate of industry leaders and guilds that governed the day-to-day. Occupying the central desert was Jaddregos, a militant state comprised almost entirely of a species that survived the test of time—scaleborn,” he paused, glaring at you with red, somehow comforting eyes.

“Mmm, as a note, the name ‘Vasara’ is derived from the Vasani word for land—‘va’. Any questions, far-traveler?” he asked, turning the page of the thick tome resting in one hand.

You shook your head no, clutching at your bleeding stomach where a seabourne Silhouette had slashed you with its rotten, bony fingers.

“Very good, then, I shall continue,” the Plumebearer replied, shifting the raven mask upon its visage to better rest on his face. “These three nations have seen the rise and fall of cities known as Elysian Bastions, designed to fend of the encroaching Gloom and all that lurks within it. Only three such holdouts remain: Eo' Wissae, Hope's Cradle, and Stahlrest. There are factions at play that wish to see the final Sols burn out within these cities, and with it what little hope remains of mortals retaking the continent of Vasara. Only time will tell if the slate will be wiped clean, for I do not have such foresight.”

Your vision fades to black as your hear the massive book's cover shut. A comforting hand is laid upon your shoulder and everything goes dark. The next time your eyelids flutter open, you're staring up at twinkling stars shining through the Veil. Looking around, you seem to be on the boardwalk of an unfamiliar pier next to a homely cottage; a single candlelight dances within.