In the time of fraught paladins and wavering wizards, of contemptible fighters and indignant druids, of wide-eyed rangers and of bards the people of the continent of Hyron recover and rebuild in the aftermath of the cataclysm. But after all for every inside there is an outside. No disaster was the first of its kind, except, of course, for, well.

And so in the years before the event that would come to be called the

erasure in a time of civil conflict, the people of Hiron faced calamity and

they sought to recover and rebuild. For a long

while blessed Sammities led his somber campaign against the heretical armies of the boy trader Samine,

clashing steel in the valleys and volying arrows across the plainlands.

In time though, your wise lord, the god alive, recognized that there had been a stalemate

and that you, his people, were suffering.

And so he returned to you, to his home, to your city in the south moving at fast pace to the dust of the

trader charioteers rolling like thunder behind him and as they pursued Sammities

climbed the mountain of fire from which he forged our first tools with which he built the first bridge, and he reached inside that mountain, turned the ruddy summit just so.

And because he is great, it bent to his will.

Viscus fire erupted rushing down the peak and into the riverways that separated the

city of light from the continent.

He pulled up on the blaze like a rained mare and yanked the city and its surroundings further

away from Hiron.

The ground itself shook without mercy.

Ocean water filled the new gap in the land and then the fire fled into that self-same sea,

creating an inseparable blend of liquid heat. Now,

Samothies has returned to the mountain to work on some new holy device,

and we have been left to rebuild this city as his faithful disciples.

In the wake of this destruction, we are left with this one quiet year in a city we now call Mariela.

...