“Cutter, let me tell ya, the Last War? You ain’t never seen anything like it. Towerin’ machines built for nothing but smashing through front lines. Rivers of blood running from piles of bodies stacked up on scorched land and the screams of men all around. Eldritch cannon blasts from elemental galleons raining fiery death on whole cities at a time. Maddening creatures stitched together in dark laboratories sneaking clockwork bombs into the trenches. By the Nine Hells! Between the ‘Forged and the House mercenaries, the whole cursed continent was one big battlefield.
Then came the Mourning… I lost m’wife and son… I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sent with a company to the lines just west of Whitehearth. Just as the enemy attacked, a blinding white light erupted in the sky to the east like a million shards of Siberys falling at the same time. When it finally faded, what was once the Kingdom of Cyre was a wasteland of bones and madness consumed by the Grey Mist, which no man could cross and come back sane.
This scrap of rock survived for some cursed reason… Yup, the last island in the Dragon’s Maw, here in the Kraken Bay – Fogdown – survived, only to become a haven for army defectors, ex-mercenaries, murders, vagabonds, thieves and all the other refuse that wormed out of the brunt corpse of Crye and the Last War. And worst of all I tell ya, with the disappearance of the Lord-Mayor Armus Kolric ir’May during the Last War, the Houses seized control of the City Council, turning it into their personal political sandbox. They spit on the Korth Edicts because the nations are too weak from the war to stop them, and the Houses have too much wealth invested in them anyways for the nations to pose any real threat. So now the bastards wheel-and-deal in the City Council, jockeying for power and don’t mind stepping over a few bodies to get there.
I’d find your niche quick cutter. I’d figure out your friends and ya foes, and then I would remember no one is a friend in this place…”