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The Whitespire Mountains. A rider from the neighboring Mera-Tev looks on.

The Bitter Taste of Victory

 

It is the year 70 of the Unified Calendar. Nearly 2000 years have passed since the Dawn Realms fell. The continent of Estrelesse, some would say, has at long last been made to wear the bit and bridle of civilization once more. Roads and walls have chained the brutal spirit of an inhospitable world, and placed enlightened hands firmly on the wheel of mortal destiny. All important decisions have—allegedly—been made.

All it took was the rise of the Latona Republic, and the sacrifice of one million lives.

In the span of 300 years, the Latona Republic swept across Estrelesse, with one goal: the eradication of sorcery, witchcraft, and other illicit arcana sourced from beyond the Material World. With a spellbook in one hand and steel in the other, the Latona wrought their law upon the world and shaped it in their own image.

It seemed that the unified nations of the Sholai were equal to the task of pushing back even the Republic’s tide of magically engineered and dominated monsters. A bloody stalemate was all but certain, until the Latona deployed their masterstroke, turning the nation of Muska into little more than glass and molten rock.

Since that horrific date 70 years ago, the Republic has claimed jurisdiction over the entire continent. The raw memory of the Eastern Conquest has given way to a suspicious world, scarred by war.

Despite its claims, the Republic has seen fit to enforce the rule of law only within the walls of its cities and along its roads. The Silvercloak police force are more interested in hunting witches than arresting bandits, and in the war-torn countryside, their lofty visions of enlightened civilization crumble. The magisters and politicians build their underground laboratories and bury their heads in study, and the world continues to bleed.

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