The Golden Age of the Empire was a glorious time. Peace and knowledge reigned supreme. Those within the Empire knew no war, or hunger. But, as they say, all good things must end.
The imperial line became sickened with a succession of increasing brutal and deranged Emperors. Those on the fringes of the empire became disillusioned and angry, overtaxed and under appreciated.
The borders of the civilized world collapsed. The spark that was the Empire dwindled.
To the north, a vast wall was built. For centuries it held back the chaos and the unceasing hordes of dark creatures that assaulted it. Things settled and stagnated. The city grew up behind the wall, the last bit of civilization in the north, left it's old name, and simply became Wall.
The citizens of Wall are a hardy stock. They and their ancestors managed to survive the hostile environs, and some even to prosper. In the middle of Wall, tucked in the corner of a dead end street, is the smokey little tavern known as the Hole. Here, adventurers gather. These brave souls are few, but daring. They alone, go beyond the wall, into peril and certain death. Those that survive become legends. A new Time of Heroes is at hand. And I, a simple bard, will tell their tale.
Those Who Quit the Game
9 hours ago