A century ago the mighty Dragons returned…

Once the loyal mounts of lost heroes, they fell onto the world in a cataclysm of fire and death, their metallic scales now tarnished and warped. Their arrival shattered the very earth, creating new mountains and seas, and then, amongst the chaos they fell upon those who still lived.

Daros, the largest of their number, took the newly formed burning lands. Nesting amongst the riches of the ruined Dwarven Kingdoms and swimming in lava spilling from newly formed Volcanos.

The Lady spread her wings and few to the West, and now rules there as a goddess, aided by a corrupt Tiefling theocracy that has turned the country into an oppressive police state.

Farod took to the new oceans, not being one to rule, but rather to terrorise. Even now the halfings of the Shattered Isles fear him and his pirate fleets.

Kursk, the last of them, flew East gathering a monstrous humanoid horde. However the Empire of Light was blessed with the Light Wall, and for a while it seemed like the Dragons would be stopped. However, inexplicably the Wall began to retreat…

Such has been the way in the East, the Wall slowly falling back as Kursk’s Goblins, Orcs, Ogres and Minotaur’s advance. Until now only the city of Anar, the very seat of the Emperor and the site of the Pavilion of Light, remains and still the Light Wall retreats, slowly, but surely.

The armies of Kursk now surround the city, and the steady stream of refugees has stopped, the end is near…

Desperate Times

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