Yndra

The stolid, giant corpses of the Firstborn have rested all across every corner of the world since before recorded history. The god-fearing have fought to keep out scholar, looter, and ruler alike from probing these sprawling remains. Old tales say that they are merely in a deep slumber, and shall remain ever peacefully still, unless roused. Regardless, there is no bulwark against the insatiable tide of curiosity. This so-deemed Ivory Age, wherein all knowledge is carved into its finest form, could serve as no grander stage-ground for the discoveries that may redefine our past.   "But what of the future," you may ask? The Firstborns' dreams obscured countless secrets from us. With alchemy, every plant, creature, and mineral can be put to use suit one's needs. Tinctures, gels, injections, pipe vapors; nature itself can be reassembled with proper procedure.   For all of the excitement, there is yet dread. What is the limit to this tampering with the fundamental components of life? Which cruel king will be the one responsible for the next great plague? If the gods did not kill the Firstborn, then what did?