It is the evening of Friday, April 7th 751 BC
Semaine del la Mode has just concluded in the great city of Dementlieu and and the elite of fashion and society from across the Core are gathered in Port-a-Lucine for one last night of revelry.
The evening grows dark indeed, the moon just a few days shy of new. The wealthy walk the streets with porters to carry their lanterns and armed guards to protect their purses. All in all it has been a successful week for the great city. Every fashionable lady now sports a fringe of lace on her broad brimmed hat and no man of breeding dares show his face without a proper silk top.
In other parts of the core it’s business as usual. The Lamordians are still locked in the grip of their ferocious winter, though it troubles the hearty folk little. In contrast the Nova Vaasan horse lords are already thundering their great herds across the planes in search of spring pastures. In bleak Falkovnia the brutal Vlad Drakov masses his armies for an almost expected spring offensive against one of his neighbors.
Not all is routine, however. The specter of the mysterious Shadow Rift, where roads end at sheer cliffs and whole nations have vanished into the mists, still looms over the neighboring lands. The fey hunts in Tepest grow darker and less focused and the madness of fear takes hold.
The largest domain in the Core, great Necropolis, is still reeling from the destruction of its capital city and the waves of dread change that have swept across it. Many fear it is rapidly becoming a nation of the dead, as the Temple of Eternal Order has long prophesied. The school of wizardry in Hazlan is becoming known throughout the Core. Reactions range from fear to scorn to curiosity.
All across the known world great changes seem to be taking place, and the heroes are attending a play.