Age of Storms

Some will say Enchanted. Others will say Cursed. The world of Deluvia has been called both by many travelers passing through or inhabiting these tormented and magical lands. The world has been wretched with wars and storms for the past millennia and new conflicts seem to be on the horizon. In the beginning of the age of Mortals things were good. They had just won their war against the gods and they prospered. There was a truce with the gods and many continued to worship the gods as before. Those mortals that were on the sides of the gods were punished, imprisoned or enslaved. It was a dark time for those mortals, but those that triumphed had an Age of Glory.

It was at this time that the Central Kingdoms developed in the high lands of Deluvia. Pallamost became the capital city and its armies kept the lower mortals in line. Kings came and went and their power went unrivaled. Then came the cataclysm.

The Great Deluge of the Second Age ripped the lands apart and heaved and threw them about. Mountains sank into the sea and the waters rose to swallow up all the land and the mortals drowned. Few survived this unceasing stream. They blamed the gods for seeking revenge. Two kingdoms arose as strong after the torrents; House Pallamost and House Druvenrog. Pallamost was redubbed New Pallamost, for most of the lower parts of its kingdom were destroyed. Druvenrog was a new and rising powerhouse before the cataclysm, and because they were on high lands, their cities survived.

Of the fraction of mortals that survived, most scattered to the edges of the map to find new land. Resources were scarce and hoarded by the two kingdoms. Many mortals fled to the Riftlands to the west or wilderness to the east. These wanderers and nomads give allegiance to no faction and most distrust the Houses and wait for their demise.

This is the world from which you, the player are born, live and will die. You start from rags, in the eastern wilderness, for it is to there that your small band has sought refuge. It is up to you to pick a side to join, or start your own, for you know it is only a matter of time until peace is disrupted. For as the wanderer's say, A storm is coming. . .

Neath the sea, the land sinketh the stars dimmeth,
Gusheth forth steam and gutting fire,
To the very heavens soar the hurtling flames
The old wyrm swallows the moons in mighty rage
In the threatening waters thou finds the endless sleep
From The Deluvicon Poettica