—Tacryllus of Ventara, 

Last Imperial Chronicler (13 A.E.)

The Hadean Empire is dead, and the vast world of Magis Terra smolders in its twilight.

Now the Sea-Kings of Wargoth descend on the crumbling remnants of civilization, plundering her broken cities for ripe flesh and imperial gold.

From the morrow-light wastes thunder the endless Sharg hordes. They sweep across Corthaea in innumerable droves, cannibalizing those who dare linger!

And more troubling still than these savage gourmands come whispers of the Trow, those abominable giants long kept at bay by Hadean steel. Alas, the empire is no more! And the North Wind bears rumor of their coming like a half-recalled myth.

As petty warlords wring their derelict city-states for coin and tribute, fancying themselves kings atop moldering thrones, the ever-present Red Death scourges the land, killing men and beasts.

But it is not gold, nor sorcery or wine or flesh, that their cruel hearts crave most. It is steel—that blood-bright metal torn from the earth’s bones. The cosmic steel. Invidium! Some whisper that whoever controls this steel might seize the fallen emperor’s crown, and with it, reforge an empire.

Where, then, does this dread metal lie? What shadowed hand beckons these tyrants to plumb its ancient secrets? What voice, like starlight’s hiss, extorts blood-oaths and soul-offerings from those daring to wield it? For such men would be like gods crossing the vermilion plains, sun-brazen and quenched in conquest.

This is an age of vicious kings and clashing armies. An age of prowling beasts in ruined keeps. An age where Men have lost their valor, yet dream still of its long-dimmed glory. O, how they tremble in the deep night watches, their tongues whetted by its bloody taste!