Empires Under a Setting Sun

January 7th, 251 After Victory

Two and a half centuries ago, the powers that ruled Bysia set aside their differences in the face of the greatest crisis they had ever known - the rise of the one known as Matok, who promised devastation in the name of peace. Eleven years of bloody, bitter fighting ensued, as the might of the Eclipse bore down on the fledgling Alliance. Only through great sacrifice were the Enemy's followers ground to dust, and from the Great War an Alliance emerged victorious, on the brink of collapse. It was the rebuilding efforts of the Humans of Decia that dragged the survivors into the unparalleled peace of the Third Age, their self-proclaimed reward for defeating Matok.   Their optimism proved short-lived. The disputes that divided Bysia decades prior had festered, and no amount of aid could make up for the death of entire generations in the War. And so, despite a meteoric rise to prosperity, the Kingdom of Decia began a steady decline. Unable to recover, its rulers made increasingly desperate grasps to maintain the power slipping through their fingers, as its northern colonies broke away, mages fled eastward, and coups were violently suppressed.   Two hundred years later, all that remains of Old Decia is a magically-irradiated wasteland, populated by insane combat golems, corrupted husks, and crumbling towers, the death toll exacted by a sabotaged weapon far outstripping any atrocities Matok and its followers ever committed. Understandably, the glory of the Kingdom has long since faded from the memories of all but the reclusive Elves and the genocidal delusions of the Decian Remnant.   Once more, the leaders of Bysia are balanced precariously before the abyss. Nations tremble beneath columns of proud soldiers and landships, while squadrons of soaring dragons and airships answer the deafening cries of ecstatic crowds with thunderous roars of their own. This time, there are no prophecies promising salvation, no whispers of a chosen one saving Bysia once more. The fate of the Fourth Age lies solely in the hands of mortals, guided by half-remembered dreams and a dreadful certainty that if cooler heads do not prevail, the bloodbath of the Great War will pale in comparison to the horrors that will consume the Alliance's children.