The known world of Tyria — hover a region.
The elf king Torgun marches on the human realms — one hand on his sword, the other held by a counsellor who is not his own. Lydia’s castle is under siege, and beneath its chapel sleeps a fountain that wakes the blood of forgotten lineages.
Crowns are being counted. The next king of Tyria may not yet be born.
King Ulric died on a hunt, ambushed by orcs. That is the official story, and it suits everyone.
The Five Rings left just enough clues to pin it on Vosgar, and not enough to trace it further. Humans stopped seeing neighbours and started seeing a threat.
The Rings never wanted a war. They wanted a bleeding — every domain weakened in turn, until the elves need only walk in.
The heroes defeated Baal and gave Kronos back his power. The price was six months torn out of the world’s memory.
A Horn raised in a Temple of Blood, and time recoiled. Most passed through that void like a dreamless night. Only the dragons remember — and a few gods who already knew.
And the Awakened, back from a plane they should never have walked. Ansel Gone hunts them: he senses the link between these surplus souls and the war rising.
There is no ending. Someone takes the throne, and the next day they have new enemies.
This is where your party stops being adventurers and becomes powers: armies raised, provinces held, trade routes negotiated, the blood in your veins awakened.
Between sessions the world keeps moving — rival factions act, caravans set out, armies march. The AI orchestrates it; the engine keeps the canon. What is true stays true.
Baal did not rule the rain. He ruled what bursts — the storm, the rage, the blow struck past taking back. Nobody prayed to be spared. They prayed for it to land on someone else.
A divine domain does not stay vacant. What follows is who took what, and what nobody would.
Altof Doombringer raised the Temporal Horn under his vault. Six months were torn out of the world, and Baal went with them. Only the dragons, a few gods who already knew, and the Awakened remember that the sky once had a master.
The storms that break against an invisible barrier at Odin’s sanctuary no longer wander. They obey. Thor took what was there to take, and nobody contested it.
Zeus claimed the thunder and got it — but thunder is not storm, and law is not rage. He took what can be governed and left the rest. Over the southern mesas the sky still turns around nothing at all, and that is exactly where the Maelstrom climbs.
Ubato and Altof were prisoners of the spider queen in hell. They forged a sword there to kill her, and named it Chain Breaker. It sails the Sea of Tel Vyl today in the hands of Altof’s daughter — who knows exactly who her father is, and has no idea what she is carrying.
Sailors have a song for the water. Nobody has a song for the sky.
Tyria has two empty thrones. Only one of them has a crown.
Reign of Blood is included. No extra cost.
