Magic implies to many a lack of reason. Some combination of thought, will, emotion, and faith in some measure. However, a world built upon these foundations does not last long, as the reality itself bends its own rules to those who draw the right circles, say the right words, or move the right way. This began a Golden Age of wonder and discovery, a world where miracles became every day, and man moved beyond what was seen as possible. The sun did not seem so bright as to scorch our wings because we could just tell the sun, with a circle of runes and a few chanted words, to not burn our wings. The sun had to oblige, it was the nature of magic to bend set rules, and thus the things that were wondered what the rules were at all.
Did we not turn water to wine? Lead to Gold? A paper ship folded out into a galleon? Yes, we did these thing because we could, but we never asked if we should. They say a candle that burns twice as bright lasts half as long, and thus, this world of magic, miracles, and golden wonder has begun to fade, depressing into the cold logic of entropy. What was once the Plane of Altessa, now is a grey husk of a world. Ruinous castles dappled the warped landscape from unknown wars, the stars themselves blink out to reveal and ever encroaching darkness, and the sun shines like a villain down upon the earth which once held so much promise. 702Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2lQHrPB3b6
Those who remain see no escape, and wallow within dens their ancestors once carved with their will alone. These peoples wait for an age to come where even death has left them, and all that remains is ruin, and darkness. Legends speak of a child who is born of death itself, telling the world that the time of the end is nigh, and that child will be the salvation of the world.
Thus our tale begins with a woman, hung from a tree.
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