It is said that once the world was a much different place, a world where buildings stood so tall that their tops vanished into the clouds. Where men had machines that could fly and ships as big as houses that could sail over the line that marks the separation of sky and sea. But that was before they came back, that was before Loki's Hammer. That world is rarely spoken of today, most people don't want to remember the world, they are scared of what it would bring. Now the world is different. It is a world of fear and world of superstitions and toil. My father once told me that we would never understand our future, unless we understood our past. Perhaps then the past is the place to start. Back then, back when legends speak of men who could fly to the stars.

Nothing remains of the world before Loki's hammer, well nothing but the stories, and even they are hidden and hard to find. Talking about them opening can bring the wrath of the Inquisitors, so listen carefully, and guard what you hear well.

It was over a thousand years ago. Mankind had reached the peak of their science; they had even scaled the very heavens themselves, reaching towards the stars above. Their cities had spread across the world and their machines roamed its paths and roads, taking people from city to city, planting their crops and reaping their harvests. Millions of people lived in those cities carrying on with their lives, none knowing what was to come. It has been said that it was man's disobedience, that in his pride of what he had created he was to downfall. Scaling the heavens themselves and seeking a way to find the home of the gods was an insult to them and so the gods sent them a messenger. There are very few records that are left of that time, but what there are say that few really knew the truth. Even the governments of the time only discovered the asteroid when it was ten days from Athran. Ten days to stop it, ten days to save themselves. They used the greatest of their science to try and divert Loki's Hammer, the name given to the rock, and yet it was not enough. The rock entered the atmosphere and crashed into the sea, a wall of water ripping over the lands, water and dirt being thrown into the skies, blanketing it and shutting out the sun. The devastation was immense. Many died in the first few hours, they were the lucky ones. For those with the misfortune to be on the other side of the planet worse was to come, much worse.

A global winter fell, plants and waterways freezing, the wildlife dying. Food become scare and starvation looked to be the end for all people. Then they came. Out of the darkness, a long forgotten race. Most had thought them nothing but stories, nothing but myth. They were real though, very real. The Elves. Nothing in the stories of the elves could have prepared them for the truth. The savage hunters fell on any they could find, slaughtering them, feeding on the bodies, and taking the ones they didn't kill as slaves. In the darkness and cold, starving and thirsty, it seems that even the remnant of humanity was doomed. Lost to the blades and bows of the Elven raiders. Somehow, for five hundred years the survivors managed to battle back, fighting for their very lives, running when they were discovered, foraging and settling as they could. It was a hard and desperate life, but it was life. After five hundred years of attacks and running, the survivors stumbled down into a valley. Even as the first rays of sunlight broke through the gloom that they had known all their life, they beheld a new sight.

Shaken by the glimpses of the sun, yet determined to move on, they headed down into the ruins of an ancient city. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start to rebuild. They built walls and trenches as defences, slowly crafted houses and shelters. As the sun got brighter, the ground melted and waters flowed once more, they channelled it and irrigated the crops. Life was beginning again and even the threat of the Elves was fading as no new attacks occurred. There numbers grew and with them the city of Last Haven. More survivors struggled in and the city swelled, increasing its size and prosperity. Walls grew bigger, farms stretched out further as the wasteland was fought against, and ships started to ply the sea to seek out other survivors and cities. Generations passed, and the hard times were being forgotten. Outside of the valley, the wastelands still festered, dangerous creatures roaming the ruined lands, but in the city of Last Haven life was good.

Like all things it could not last. Soon the people started to become divided. Those that were on the edges of the wastes believed that by investigating the science of the old world would lead to greater strives into the wastes, bringing even greater success. Those that were holding to the traditions of the founders of the city spoke out against that. "Science was the cause of the world's destruction," they claimed. "No one should be allowed to study it, or investigate it further." While those living on the wasteland's edge were often the stronger in battle, the traditionalists controlled the army and in the end those whose wish it was to explore the old sciences were defeated and exiled.

No one knows what happened in the wastes, but whatever it was it revealed the presence of Last Haven to the elves. The first attack was not long in coming. Numerous people died in the outlying sections of the farms. Children were stolen away and many of the women who were left alive had been raped multiple times. Humanity was on edge once more, but this time they had too much at stake to run. Having recovered much of the land about the city there was no running into the wastelands. This city would be their last haven. It would be their last stand.




For more see Gods, Societies, and Characters.