“This changes everything…” – Goddess of Death, Book of Sorrows chapter 9, verse 19.
As the preachers have said, “There was a great war in the heavens and a sword pierced this world making it bleed. This is the beginning of sorrows”. The Bleeding Goddess gave us Azerite and Azerite lead to Enriched Azerite. Enriched Azerite led to compressed and compressed to another form and another…eight forms each more powerful. Each a warning to stop but like a forager seeking clean water, the ancient’s thirst would not be slaked.
Then came the great machines – the skyships floating like great thunder clouds before the storm. The flow of blood had ceased and less of the eighth form could be found. A madness came over the world to fuel their lust – dig deeper…find more…and like a devil’s wish they found it.
One last rich vein they came upon – and the rest of the world refused to let the finder’s keep it. They sent their skyships, an armada, to stop the digging and they fought – the skies rained ashes from the mighty ships. It was as if the heavens shook the dead from the stars like dirt from a rug.
Then, in the midst of the great battle, the vein was pierced and the ninth form found – the heart and when it was unleashed, the world broke. The skyships burned, clouds ran in horror at what had been shown, and the smoke rained down poisoning the seas. A sickly color like that of the olives the wealthy can afford to eat.
All that they had built…all the knowledge was like the dew of morning burned away – everything that used any of the eight forms burned. Ships…buildings…people. Those who lived in the mountains or under the ground survived only to starve. But some learned…and lived.
Azeroth is dead, bled dry in a long forgotten arms race fueled with her life essence. Now, the world, known as Sarut, crumbles against the Great Dark. Legends abound among the pockets of scattered tribes that dot its pockmarked and altered surface. Those creatures which survived eek out a survival existence among diminishing resources and harsh conditions. Magic is rare and difficult to control and equal to the lost tinkergear of bygone eras. But in the midst of this bleak portrait, some still carry a spark for knowledge, adventure, and wealth beyond a good meal and a safe place to sleep.