This article is a work in progress
In an era when the clash of swords, the resilience of shields, and the early whispers of gunpowder weapons are the heartbeat of existence, the creeping blight of Demons looms ever larger. The divide between the noble elite and the common folk frays with each passing day, like brittle parchment in a relentless storm. Sorcery - the power of great legends and tales of old, is on the rise and threatening the status-quo of power. More and more, the common folk are gaining innate power, power that can not be bought.   Amidst sprawling cities, stone walls of monumental proportions rise defiantly, their solemn purpose to safeguard the fragile souls within. Caravans, laden with precious cargo and even more precious lives, are now fortresses on wheels, guarded by valiant armies or hired hands who've made a grim pact with the coin.   Venturing beyond the flickering glow of civilization, solitary sojourners are an endangered breed. The wilderness teems with nameless threats, and the lone traveller courts not solitude, but death itself.   Nary a settlement of consequence within these lands remains untarnished by the scars of conflict, battles waged against the hordes that fester beneath the great Nadirs of Sin. The memory of bloodshed lingers, etched into the very bones of the land - a memento mori written in claw marks upon the ancient defensive walls or whispered by the monumental skeletons that litter the landscape like forgotten gods.