This world is a prison of fog, through which the Sun never fully shines. The land is cold, damp, foul, and so are its people. Whether in the bastion-states or out in the Grey, life is a currency. Give an arm to take a head, trade a friend for a fortune, or even lend your soul to borrow greatness.
The World Is Savage…
There are few dawns without storms or nights without terrors. Greedy raiders, bloodthirsty elves and deadly Fog Spawns infest every hill and valley, every diseased grassland, mountain, crag and cave.
Then, the Bastions are as fool's gold, beautiful and full of false hopes. In there, your life is only worth what you make or what you can take.
Something Eats At The World
It ebbs and flows like a sea, and is everyone's deadliest concern. It is a sentient, malevolent entity that subsumes all life and twists reality itself.
Even at its thinnest, its pervasive influence can be felt as rash actions and intrusive thoughts. It is malice, raw and unadulterated.
Your gods are deads
The gods of the outside world haven't pierced through the fog for millenia. Their only legacy lies in broken temples and tribal traditions.
Only The Kindler and The Flame remain, and even they are growing weaker by the year. By gifting power to their followers, they have made their last gambit. It is now or never.
Meanwhile in the bastions, the rulers enjoy their own worship, whether through miracle making or brutal repression.
Worshipers of the Fog also exist, and they are invariably insane.
...But There Is Hope
All nine Bastions have been claimed by their immortal ruler-once-hero, and all choke in their grasp… All but one! Deephaven stands alone, free and unbowed. Thought it is flawed and corrupt, all is forgiven to the last city to kindle hope.