The world has been reduced to an arid wasteland, but, in a few corners, life still flourishes. Between these corners roll the mighty armoured caravans of the Groundlings. High above them soar the planes and airships of the Flites. What follows are the stories of some of the men, women and children who lived, worked and died in these lands.
The world as it was, is dead.
Man took care of that: filling the air with smoke, covering the land with ashes and poisoning the water.
Nature, in her wisdom, sought to end it. Sought to rid herself of the disease of humanity, and the attempt damn near killed her.
And now, all that is left is what little the good Mother could salvage. Small patches of the old world, clumps of forest and plain hugging the waterways for what little sustenance they offered.
And there we were, too. Along with the few animals to survive the destruction were the ones who'd caused it. Still with our machines, our weapons, our wars.
We haven't learnt.
And now, as the world struggles to hold on, struggles to re-grow to what it once was, we continue to try to dominate it, even as we once did when we brought it crashing down around us.
And I pray. I pray that the good mother might forgive us. Might let us live, if we let her. But my fellow men think me foolish. And so, I fear, we start again. Onwards into a forever decreasing circle, only to end when at last the final member of our doomed race breathes his last.
Opening excerpt from the journal of an unknown man. Discovered in a hut in the wildlands of the Himoshi Delta by a Himoshi City exploration team on the 19th of Blackmarsh in the year 436. Written in the old language known as 'Prussian'.