Fallen Star, Broken Sky

It is said that the gods make love and war, just as we mortal races, but rarely do these doings affect our lives. Not so here. Some seven generations ago by human reckoning, a great boulder fell from the sky. The boulder crashed to the ground, stirring up a great dust, covering the sun with a drab gray haze and endless wintry twilight. The gods fell silent.

Though we’ve searched for an explanation, the priests are gone, the heavens closed to their pleas. Once there were bards, keepers of lore, but they long ago hung up their lutes and drums for shovels and hunting bows. A few ancient elves, who’ve managed to survive this blasted cold, remember the cataclysm, but for most of us, this dusty, choking cold is all we know.

Most civilized creatures live marry and die in their own small villages, eking out subsistence from the crusty ground. Few venture beyond the meager protection of their fence-posted borders. The roads and outlands are infested by mounted bandits — human, goblin, orc — most of whom would kill without hesitation for a wineskin.

We were not altogether safe in our villages. Bandits came to us regularly, demanding food, horses, furs, women, girls and strong boys. On a good day, we lost only one of our numbers.

Without travel, the names of villages have died of neglect. One day, when we were children, a battle found its way to our huts. Outriders were fleeing, pursued by winged angels. We hid under our mattresses. The bandits won the day, aided by some accursed fire magic, and destroyed the village, killing everyone.

One of these angels, with blood on its lips, whispered a dying secret. Three boys, the only survivors, fled into the forest where they met a druid “agent”, who then delivered them into the custody of mentors. As the boys grew to adulthood, they learned more about the outside world, and how to survive in it. Now they trudge through the frozen wastes, seeking revenge for the destruction of their village, and answers to why the gods have deserted their world.

~ Excerpt from Sel’farel’s journal, may he find rest among the gods.

A Dark Time for Golarion

Welcome to Fallen Star, a Pathfinder campaign set in Golarion during the dawn of the Age of Anguish. The year is unknown as most timekeepers and astrologers have vanished or gone into hiding, but future historians will place us around circa -4294 AR (almost 10,000 years before Golarion’s “present”). Magic is rare on the continent and faith is centered around stories to frighten or entertain children. Creatures from nightmares walk the land and your neighbor could be your worse enemy. It is a difficult time for humanity. What little exists in the form of towns are fortified allowing no entrance to outsiders. People are alone and might rules the land.

Welcome to Golarion…

Wasteland by photodream

Fallen Star

Player1 Kolohe42 scarredsaint writegarrett freelancer0072