To be sure, everyone thought the crimson mist was contained. But, the Scion had devoured planets, taken over worlds and destroyed lives.
The people of Haven had fought a valiant battle, and indeed they seemed to have prevailed. In the end, the mist could not leave the knoll that enclosed it,
and the haunting death appeared to have finally lost.
But the Scion was as tenacious as a virus; always adapting, never yielding. And there was one that was connected still to the crimson death cloud.
Fury consumed this one, driving him into action. Rather than mourn the loss of his fellows, he escaped from those that sought to coddle him, and he headed south.
The Mystical Storm.
The magical energy engine that churned endlessly at the South Pole was something no man would ever be able to harness. It was something no
being could even fathom how to contain, much less put to practical use. The Maelstrom was power and chaos forever locked in a turbulent war against
reality and progress. To tip the scale in any direction would cause nothing short of a cataclysm. Well, at least the scion hoped this was true.
After weeks of travel, on the path that his dark wings guided him; he eventually made it to the edge, the Ring of Fire. The ever-shifting clouds of
chaos didn’t deter him, and he plunged through them, a new energy guiding him. Disorder pounded him from the sides, and mayhem assaulted his
mind. His world was turned upside down and inside out and even askew. When suddenly the air became a sea of ice, he was pummeled downward
and crashed upon a gulf of ichor. The impact was bone shattering. Emotions, rage and fury, kept him focused enough to do his task.
The planar-hopping scion suddenly flooded out of the youth, sending a multitude of consciousness into the storm. Before, chaos had fought
against technology, but now it fought against the influx of psi-energy. In that instant, the scion learned foolishly it could not predict what would not be controlled.
All at once three worlds collided; the Mystical energy exploded and split what was into…
A new reality.
The sun rose upon a valley, a bustling city sat within its warm embrace. Auvrynon, it is named, and it is in there that this new reality is
centered. And the people that reside in this City of Gates act and live as if the surrounding lands had been there forever and they had known no other way of life.
Beside the city is a river that flows from the mountains, northward to a bay and then to the sea. Beyond that, The Mystical Storm.
The Fyres and Chaos still rule the storm, but no longer is it tied to one place. Rather it shifts and reveals new lands, cities and kingdoms as it sees fit. Many have tried desperately to return to Rosha, the Storm denies all attempts, driving some insane, hurling others into oblivion.
Fifteen years have passed since the churning Storm unveiled the new land. It is the Year of the Harvest, 3216 vin.
Welcome to the plane of Zatrikion. Welcome to Mystical Realms!