Imperiums

In the far and distant past, a small nation of sorcerers and magicians grew to fruition on a distant Isle far to the Southeast. The island of Phaetra was a gathering place of strong raw natural energies and with the harnessing of them the Phaeton grew in power and strength until the council of elders who governed the island felt that nothing was beyond their command. The very threads of existence were at their command. But like all who desire such power, they forget that the tiniest thing may spell the end of their reign. A small volcano, little more than a hill for over a thousand years exploded shattering the power of the Phaeton wizards and sending them scattered like the winds.

Today, little remains of the Phaeton as a people, and no nation claims them as the native people. They are slender, as a rule, and tall. The few traditions left leave them to keep their black hair long and they are known for eyes of either deep grey or darkest violet. The Phaeton continue the ages long traditions of thaumaturgy as well, and few find any other calling acceptable. To a fault, they are cold, aloof and even the poorest exhibits the demeanor of lord to an underling even to the closest of friends. Many times they can be encountered in small towns and hamlets plying the wizards trade, but rarely are they found in places or circumstances of power, perhaps due the grating disposition or perhaps the feeling that most men of the Empire acquire— that the Phaeton would have power again, even if it meant the end of all its peoples.