Resh-Khali, the Great Sapphire, was a jewel in the crown of the Sun. It was a world of magic and life, of wonder and adventure.
The world has changed. Once vibrant, filled with trees and rivers, mighty cities of stone, crystal, brick, and iron dotting the landscape, the world is now covered in ash, the results of the Dance of Shiva. The clouds have broke. The Centennial Night has passed. The Sun once again bears down, hot and angry at His long exile, upon the ruins of once might races. The Moon looks forth from Her palace of stars, a mix of paradoxes, bringing hope and madness, all with the same hand.
There are those that claim that the world is now smaller than it once was. Other claim that it is now larger. Nonetheless, after the Years of the Dance of Shive, the face of the entire world has changed. Once fertile lands became deserts; huge lava fields spread across the land, creating black stoned badlands, with obsidian spires jutting out of the cooled volcanic earth. Finally, the lands cracked. some lands, formerly joined, not had a narrow lake-sea between them. Others found portions of their lands submerged into shallow seas. While even others found black ice glaciers impede on them. Finally, the southern most lands thrust northward. A land of ice and snow, uninhabitable, was suddenly thawing, becoming a lush jungle, filled with structures long hidden in the frozen encasing.
Even the Lands Below were not unaffected. Once thriving metropolis caves were suddenly filled with lava. Other caverns, filled with strange life, long forgotten, opened, their tendrils reaching forward and claiming the unsuspecting. Many races ran to the surface, as their only option. The Lands Below are now lost to the surface world. It is unknown what survived and in what condition.
No one knows what triggered the Dance of Shiva. Old men that claim to be sages argue back and forth over the cause, the death of a god, a purely natural phenomenon, or even more unlikely, an accident trigger by a single careless wizard. Honestly, it doesn't matter. It happened, and the world suffered.
The Gods feel from the heavens, greatly diminished in their once divine might. Some attempted to rule as king, others just wandered. Most were slain by mobs of rival deities or in battles against their rivals themselves; some by their own followers, terrified and angry, lashing out at the ones who should have protected them; and some died as martyrs protecting their people from some great danger. There are few, if any, of the Divine Immortals still wandering the world. No one worships them, no one remembers their names. They are shadows of a time that is no longer of consequence.
The fires died, after a time. How long they erupted from volcanoes, fissures, and the depths of the sea is, again, another argument for old men. Both the High and Low races barely survived the cataclysm. The First Travail had ended, the Second Travail, the Gods-Purge continued, and the Third Travail, the War of Titans was about to begin.
Great beasts rose up from the depths of the oceans, the voids between stars, the sands of the deserts, the fires that erupted from the deep earth, and from the crumbling mountains that once contained them. They battled each other, amidst the remnants of belching flames and the choking smoke. Nations that barely survived the initial eruptions were suddenly trodden underfoot of titans. Death under the claws and spines of creatures caused many to flee to caves, and beneath the ground, in desperate efforts that the strength of the earth would be sufficient to grant some safety. Where their blood fell, the land changed, becoming more fertile, or even more barren. Many of the titanic creatures were wounded, beaten, but never slain. Then, as quickly as they appeared, they crawled back into the world, or drifted back to the stars, and vanished.
Through it all, the Centennial Night left behind gifts and nightmares. Magic was once rare, the province of the few, but at the time of the Unquenchable Flames, it spread like a plague on the land. Spell casters all suddenly found magic easier to grasp. The dead rose. Dragons and other beasts long thought vanquished awoke. Oddly, outsiders; demons, angels, genies, and the like; found it difficult to enter the world, unless specifically invited, or bound to the soul of a living being.
Magic was now easier to obtain, in some ways, but all the schools of magic had been destroyed. A studied spellcaster could only learn from the spellbooks of rivals, from parchments found in ruins, writing on temple walls. The other option was to turn to another source. Dragons, liches, vampires, and other mythical beasts saw the benefits in beholden casters and would teach willing apprentices... for a price.
The Fourth Travail has only recently concluded, The Carving War. The clouds had broken, the Abandoning Sun returned. No great beasts battled and bleed, the earth was, mostly silent, with only the occasional eruption or tremor. The Centennial Night had broken, the world returned to a balanced cycle. This means that the survivors could unify and attempt to rebuild. This also returned the desire of power and greed to the world. Great beings, men that had stolen the power of the gods, dragons, powerful undead, barbarian warlords all attempted to declare territories and kingdoms. They raided their neighbors, marched forth in armies, built fortifications, and ignited new flames, bringing death and misery to a people already weary. While there were some "great battles" fought between rivals, in the end, most people accepted their "new ruler" with just the desire to survive and not be drug further into death.
Resh-khali has seen much change. It has been only half a century since the Centennial Night broke. The world has begun to stabilize. Rough cities and towns now dot the viable landscapes. The world may never return to it's former state, but the High and Low Races survive and move forward. Tyrants rule most lands, in varying degrees of oppression. Where once magic was rare and faith common, the roles have reversed. Magic and science now are the hopes of the future, the means that the world will rebuild. Now religion is a hobby afforded to the eccentric, fools, and madmen.
Resources are still scarce, trade is dangerous, as bandits and pirates, some of them kingdom sponsored, roam the travel ways. Exploration, to make contact with far off lands that may have resources lost, is a thriving business, but also a danger. Some places are doing well for themselves, and do not wish interlopers that could bring the threat of war. Adventures dive into ruins and tombs in hope of finding lost powers to help their nation... or overthrow it for their own.
In the background, seers of all traditions have started to talk about the Fifth Travail. The rulers and leaders explain that this Travail, if it ever happens, will be many years down the line. They also use it, though, to spur paranoia and xenophobia. "We can only trust ourselves. Use others only to gain strength. When the worse happens, we will be prepared, if we are strong. The others are weak and would only drag us back into the caves."
This is the world of Resh-Khali. A world just recovering, in need of champions, in need of unity. It is also a world of paranoia, xenophobia, and anxiety, as the people look at the earth, the sea, their neighbors, the stars... wondering, waiting, dreading the day that Shiva makes the final steps of his dance.
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