In days long gone they say you could pick a direction and walk as long as you please, days or even weeks at a time and not once come to a body of water of which you couldn't see the far shore. Well those days are long gone indeed, and that heaven is surely not here. This is a broken place, broken over and over again by disaster, by war, and by magic.

Maybe it was the gods' war which broke the world. We've found their bodies at the roots of reefs, crabs and worms gorged on godsflesh and warped by their power. Even gutted and rotting these titans are more impressive than the petty bickering god-pups which now remain and play at human politics to muster prayer, to muster power. Ruins litter the isles, cities build by dead gods' dead worshippers, testaments to their power and accomplishment and to how little protection it gave them. The things they made have power which outlasted them, which grave robbers now loot and pawn - or use, if they have the wits. Our own modern industry is only just starting to compete with what gods and graves have to offer. Steam engines can power mills, saws, forges, mines, even ships - faster than galleys and no need for rest. They are a threat to free peoples, as foreigners come to conquer. Outright attacks have been sparse so far but their empire has already established one city and several small forts on outlying islands. Their boats are few but fast and powerful, and they send them out hunting pirates. For this, the local traders are coming to love these invaders. Fools.

Despite what traders and conquerors would tell you the pirates are not nearly so vicious, nor indeed numerous as they claim. Everyone lives a hardscrabble life, and there are few people who have no stories of losing something they sorely needed to piracy, but most people will simply never have enough to be worth robbing while trade vessels ply the sea, and they know it. And so do the pirates, as many of them are recruits from those same trading ships. Navigation is a right fucking bastard, you see. Tides and currents are inconsistent, the light of the moons plays tricks on your eyes, and the shifting blightfog means even the known safe routes don't always stay open. Sailors who get caught up in it are changed by the experience - if they're lucky enough to survive it. When you come across a strong sailor or blessings be, a navigator - you'd be a fool not to offer them a job.

Magic is the one small blessing we have in this harsh world. A sailor who can call up wind is never becalmed. Someone who can summon fire is never cold and rarely hungry, and many such men are fuel for the fires of industry. There are even those who can change their shape, and have decided they would rather live among the beasts of the wild instead of struggle against them. Many's the day I wish I could do the same.

But hell, at least the dead don't walk. Right?

—

I don't have any play reports yet, because I'm still writing my region. I hope you enjoyed this narrative overview of the world's fundamental truths!

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