A land of utter chaos and devastation.
In the past, about 300 years ago or so, Syrill would have been considered a standard kingdom of the time. From stories you’ve heard, it was a prosperous kingdom, ruled by three powerful masters of the arcane. There were magnificent devices using arcane magic and bound elementals that allowed for fast transportation, even flight. It was a glorious time.
At the time, gods answered prayers and healed the sick. But their names, likeness and deeds were intentionally purged from memory after they punished Syrill with their Gods’ Hammer.
The Gods’ Hammer struck Syrill like a purple bolt of death, ripping the land apart and unleashing hordes of twisted aberrations and vile demons upon those that survived the strike. The Gods turned their backs on the people, and the people turned their backs on the Gods in defiance.
In the ensuing centuries, plague, war and famine stretched across the land. The skies filled with thick, green clouds, eventually blocking out the sun. A mighty wind rose, blowing from the south to the north, and the sea’s current began to speed in the same direction. Once great cities toppled into ruin and decay. Farms lay barren. And eventually, the dead refused to stay dead. Refugees roamed the lands, trying to eke out a living in this new era…