Artán—the known lands—are shattered. The Confederacy of Five Kingdoms, once an enlightened bastion of progress and plenty, now wars amongst itself for the fetid remains of a dying continent. The Highlords grow fat on blood and madness while the people weep and pray.
In the south, the Doomwind screams onward toward the Alabastre Citadel on the northern coast, devouring rock and sea and sky and man without prejudice, its insatiable hunger peeling away the continent as it churns and roils. In the face of such fury, the magical Order of the Hoi-Ghisté have squandered their every resource to no avail, and now turn their collective gaze northward.
Diviners have discovered a fissure in the ever-impassable wall of burning mist floating on the Somber Sea. Too well timed to be a coincidence, the passage beckons travelers up into the weird wilds of the continent of Nimón, known only in legend.
What kingdoms remain true to the cause of the Confederacy now gather their finest ships and bravest men together to undertake a blind venture into dangerous and untamed lands. The people of Artán hold out hope that those who now sail into obscurity might one day return with salvation in tow, while the learned whisper that the land is doomed and curse the children of Nimón for what they truly are—a candle flame drawn from a dying bonfire and sent into the unknown in order to protect civilization’s legacy from dark, cold oblivion.