A. Background history

Before the Beginning.

Small embers fell continuously from the sky now, mixed with the dark soot of what was left. Men hurried from the rails of the ship, throwing buckets into the water, which was covered by a layer of black soot. As the buckets came up, hauled up by the tired sailors, pulling their ropes wearily, the soot had to be brushed off and caste back into the eerily still waters of the ocean. The remaining water was then carried to where-ever the embers were landing on the deck, whilst others were poured into more buckets and hauled aloft to be poured over the sails to prevent them catching fire.

A gentle breeze caused the sails to flap lazily and the ship headed toward the open ocean casually, much to everyone on boards distress.

The captain paced back and forth on the aft deck, looking behind at the city they had left, then to the sky and finally toward the darkened horizon to which they were headed. Just barely he could make out the sails of the ships that had left before him. Then his gaze turned backward again.

Behind him the city burned. Huge sheets of flame could be seen leaping into the sky, which reflected the red and yellow light back toward the ground to make it appear bloody and wasted. Most of the city was alight. Tarrash, great capital of the western lands, was no more. She was the last to fall. All the other great cities had succumbed, the land and its people also. No one was left, only Darkness.

The Captains gaze broke from its routine and flickered momentarily on the white robed figure of Ashran the Wise. His robes were not white any longer, and only the Captains memories could sift through the dirt and grime to see what once was. A faint light surrounded Ashran, growing brightest at his left hand. The Captain looked at the Ring of the Sun Lord that Ashran wore and his eyes faded into past memories.

...

He had first seen the priest as he walked through the city on his way to the Assembly. The Captain had been resting in a nearby cafe, indulging in a rare brand of Pelogosian coffee and a spicy blend of Arkashar tobacco, as was his want after a successful voyage. His thoughts at that time were on the serving girl who was casting glimpses at him from the bar where she awaited signals from her customers, indicating they wished service. Those thoughts were interrupted by the silence. Where normally the surrounding market street was a low rumble of voices and footsteps, silence now prevailed, spreading like a wave down the street. The Captains nautical eye followed the spreading wave back toward the source and came upon an unassuming man in a clean, plain, white robe.

The old man grasped a gnarled staff in his left hand and walked with a slight shuffle, his legs obviously aged and worn down. His back also was slightly bowed as if from carrying a heavy burden for a long time, having forgotten what it was like to be straight. But the Captains eyes were split between two smaller objects, the eyes of the man, and the flaringly bright ring that rested on the middle finger of his left hand, prominent as it grasped the staff.

People were falling back from the old man, either from his ring or from his gaze, which seemed also to burn with a bright fire from inside. Those with dark secrets or dark hearts fled quickly from him, many falling or tripping as they retreated. Those who remained fell quiet, their minds stunned by the visage that approached them, then passed them. When they recovered they followed. A vast crowd of humanity now slowly followed after the old man, heading down the street to the centre of the city.

The Captain, being a somewhat more worldly man, covered his eyes to see more clearly. The old man had white hair that reached down to his shoulders, mostly

covered by the hood of the robe he wore. Thick bushy white eyebrows, piercingly blue eyes, a broken nose that had never been set properly and was twisted just slightly to the left. A white full beard that reached down to his chest, where the beard was gathered and tied into a single large knot, through which pierced a golden lightning bolt needle. The golden needle was the sign of the Sun God, as if there was any doubt which divinity this man followed. His lips where thinnish but strong and suggested a sharp tongue. A tattoo of the burning sun emblem could be seen on his right cheek, blood red in the traditional manner. Around his neck there was the rosary of fire seeds, one for each year of his life, and he had lived long. Beneath the robe he wore a simple cotton ankle length tunic, cinched at the waste by a cord made from the skin of three desert fire salamanders, a sign of his power. The Captain had never seen any priest with two such skins, let alone three. His feet wore simple sandals, aged and worn to be comfortable and strong.

The Captain was intently taking all of this in before he realised the old man had progressed from down the street, to now stand quite near to him. He had stopped moving, and had turned to face, and his eyes now looked squarely at the Captains. The old man smiled, a barely seen movement of the lips, but a sign that could not be mistaken. Heads turned and many quickly examined the Captain before returning to the old man, who had begun walking again.

The Captain followed the old man's progression until he was lost in the crowd and the distance. He took a deep breath, realising he had stopped breathing, then turned and looked around. He was standing, but he did not recall having stood. He sat back down and lifted his coffee, taking a sip and leaning back into his chair to seek comfort. His life was marked, his time of peace was coming to an end. He did not know why he knew this, but he accepted it gracefully. The Darkness was coming to Tarrash. He smiled at the waitress and summoned her over, he still had a little time left.

...

The Captain returned his gaze to the routine of watching forward and back, his job was to sail tail end of the fleet, and to make sure Ashran was there. The old man had been most insistent that they be last, for none would be safe after him. Never a truer word either, several ships had left the docks after The Captain had dropped his lines and he had watched them all catch fire and burn. The embers that fell from the dark skies seemed to gather toward those ships, as if drawn by each other and the growing flames they ignited. Those that fell toward his ship seemed to fade and go out as they approached, only the largest getting through to contact the sails or the deck. The Captain assumed that Ashran was protecting them.

The ship was sluggish in the breeze, slowed even more by the layer of ash that floated on the surface of the water. The Captain stepped to the starboard rail and looked down. The ash was thicker where the ship meet the water, as if the ash were clinging to it, trying to slow it. Behind the ship there was no wash even, for the ash quickly moved back in and smoothed the water, preventing even the slightest ripple or sign that his vessel had passed.

"The ash will begin to thin shortly Gordan," the old man said. "As too will the fire from the sky."

"I am glad to hear that, we will be able to pick up speed and catch the others then," replied the Captain.

"No, we will not catch the others for quite some time, there are tasks that must be done before then".

"But we will join them, wont we old man?"

"Yes, you will join them in a few days."

They exchanged eye contact at these words and one could sense the warmth that rested between them, and the sadness at what must be. The old man gave his brief smile and turned to face the city, which was more and more becoming a glow without detail. He looked to the Caliphs Peninsular and could still make out the Tower of the Faithful, backlit somewhat by the fires of the city behind it. The Tower would succumb shortly though, and all would be lost. The old man shook his head and resignation at the fate he must bear because of the weakness of others. Raphael had been his favourite, how could things have come to this.

...

"But Master, why is it forbidden?"

"Because the Gods have said so, what more reason do you need Raphael, or do you seek to defy them?" Ashran queried.

"No Master, but you only repeat the wisdom passed onto you, how old is it? Is it still true, has anyone asked the Gods lately? Perhaps now it will be alright?" the young man persisted.

"Were you a member of my order Raphael you would be doing 6 months penance for those words, but mages do not need humility, mores the pity," Ashran sighed.

"You do not answer my question though Master, how can you be sure these lores still remain when we have not had a prophet for over 800 years, well not a real one anyway."

"If the Gods wished to change the lores then they would have sent us a prophet, they have not, so the old lores apply. The faithful accept this and abide by this, why do you so vigorously pursue this idea, which will only get you into conflict with the Council."

"Because I can see great things coming from the combination of our powers. The Mages with their Arcane Lores, and the Faithful with their Divine Lores. Together the lores could be used to change the face of the land, the heal all woes, and to give great prosperity to all the people, what can be wrong about that."

"It is not for man to decide his future, that is why we have gods, who have much greater wisdom than ambitious mages who have only just reached their one score and 5 years. Man lives for the present, remembers the past and fears the future. That is the order of things. What you would do with your powers would make the future a very fearful place. No man has such a right, and the lores recognise this. It is forbidden. That is the end of the matter."

Ashran gently tapped his staff on the ground, a sign that the conversation had been settled. Raphael considered breaking this taboo also but held his tongue, he was young and had much to learn, no point antagonising one of the great teachers of his time. But there would be a time...

...

The Grand Master Aldore held his Great Staff of Power up and brought it down on the Pedestal of Decision. Sparks flared around the meeting point, arcing outward to the small wire lightning-catchers that surrounded it, channeling the power manifested downward and into the bowels of the Councils Citadel where it would be used more appropriately. The Light globes flared perceptibly as the power surge was absorbed and distributed.

"The Council has heard all the arguments, this question has been debated now for 10 years, the Ruling of Nasthan the Old still remains. Will you release the motion Archmage Raphael so we may continue our business."

"No I will not! The ruling of Nasthan is over 800 years old, are we to be bound by such archaic dogma for eternity, or will the Council of Mages move forward into the new Millennium?"

The Great Chamber of the Council of Mages roared with voices of The Hundred as they echoed back and forth. Voices raised louder to be heard, and louder still to counter those. Mages of The One Hundred were rising from their seats and vigorously debating the question with their neighbours, with those on the opposite side of the Great Hall. Pandemonium was coming quickly to a body that spent much of its time sleeping through these meetings.

"The Emperor has urged the Council to become more involved in the issues of the Empire, to become involved in the day to day struggle of the common man. For hundreds of years the Council of the Mages has remained aloft from the normal world. It took one hundred years of argument and debate to allow mages to not accept payment for their services, thus allowing them to perform tasks for the poor. This Council enforced that ruling ruthlessly until it was changed, and now it is seen as a historic moment, where magic finally was made accessible to the common man. What I am asking is merely an extension of that intent, to open the services of the mages to a wider market."

"The Council of Mages is not bound by the Emperor and his wishes! Indeed we remain beyond his influence for a very good reason, to keep the balance. The Emperor, the Churches and the Arcane Masters have provided this land with stable government and peace for over 500 years," called another mage.

"The Churches will not stand for this, even if you change our Lore Raphael, you will not change theirs, your proposal is a waste of time." yelled another.

"But the change must start somewhere! You are right, the Churches will not change, and my hopes will not yet bear fruit, but if I do not start here I will never get anywhere in my lifetime. If a new Prophet were to come tomorrow and renounce the lore that forbids this, this body of Mages would spend the next 10 years arguing. By over turning Nasthan's Ruling now, at least we will be ready." Raphael responded.

...

"My Emperor, I have good news, the Council has voted and the Ruling of Nasthan has been overturned", whispered Raphael as he bowed before the elderly man on the Great Throne of the Empire of the Sun.

"This is good to hear Master Raphael, how quickly can you begin your studies then?" asked the Emperor.

"I will have to be careful sire, the Churches edict still forbids much of my studies, but I am hopeful I will be able to find those who share our enthusiasm to combine the two Lores."

"Renegades or apostates will be dangerous allies, can they be trusted?"

"I will make sure they can be sire. I have developed somewhat stronger versions of the standard Geasa spells, these will be very binding on those who agree to help us. Sufficiently binding to make their choice a one time decision." Raphael smiled slightly as he said this.

"Good, I do not have long Raphael, you will need to work quickly to prevent my body from abandoning me."

"I know Sire, I will work to find methods to cure you as quickly as possible, in the mean time your court mages can help to preserve you."

"Only for so long, then the church will issue an Edict of Natural Life and I will pass from this world."

The old man gave a small cough, then another, his physicians moved forward quickly and covered his mouth with a cloth soaked in magical elixirs that would prevent his cough growing worse. Even so he coughed deeply a few more times before taking a rasping, deep breath.

"Old before my time because of this illness, who would think I am barely two score years, I look more like one of four score."

"Time will become our ally my Emperor, we must merely tame it and make it do as we wish." said Raphael.

The Emperor raised his thin boney hand and dismissed the Archmage with a quick wave. Raphael backed away from the dying man and then turned and moved briskly past the guards and courtiers who milled at the other end of the court. His plans were finally made real. He smiled happily to himself, thinking of the work he would now be able to perform. Soon the two Lores would be one and he would be acclaimed the greatest Mage who had ever lived.

The people who watched him leave shivered ever so slightly as he passed and wondered who had stepped over their graves.

...

In the Year After the Prophet Star 850, the 25th Year of the Emperor Alexai's reign, the Emperor died of an incurable illness that had made him old before his time. The Great Council of the Churches had waited much longer than anyone expected before pronouncing the Edict of Natural Life on him and forcing the withdrawal of magical forces that would keep him alive. He passed over in his sleep within 12 hours of the removal of the last spell.

He was succeeded by his son Sarcrit, only 20 years of age.

Sarcrit was young, ambitious, vain and filled with fear of death. He had watched his father waste away from an incurable illness that had also taken 2 other members of the inner royal family in the last 100 years. Some had suggested that the illness ran in the family. Sarcrit was easy prey.

Raphael obtained royal assent to continue his work within 3 months of Sarcrit gaining the throne.

...

Ashran lowered himself gently into the chair and allowed his body to relax a little at a time. His skin was still red and sensitive to touch, and blisters were prone to appear if he was not very careful. He signalled for water and then looked around. The bar was run down and lacking in any finery, old wooden tables, old wooden chairs, old pewter tankards were all that could be seen. No glass, no crockery, obviously the place must get a little rough at times. The owner must have given in to his fate and merely adapted his wares to be the most resilient, and cheapest, he could find.

The barmaid approached and placed the tankard of water on the table, slopping some over the side and not even giving it a glance. She looked the old man up and down but her eyes quickly focused on the burning sun tattoo on his cheek, which was particularly red at this time, surrounded by reddened skin.

"Are you well father?" she asked, genuine concern showing on her face. She kneeled down a little lower, to be at eye level with him, and stared intently at his skin, which caused her lose top to fall outward and reveal her breasts more fully. Ashran did not move his eyes from hers.

"I am fine child, I am merely recovering from an ordeal in the desert. As you can see it has left me rather sun burnt and tender." He smiled at her. She was quite attractive actually, blue eyes, golden brown hair to the shoulders, a round slightly plump face that suggested a comfortable nature and body.

"We have some ginga root growing wild out back, I hear it is good for skin ailments, perhaps I could make some up for you?" she asked.

"That would be most kind, yes ginga root would be welcome. My own supplies of salves are quite run down at the moment."

Something moved close. Both the girl and the priest felt it. She quickly looked up and stepped back, her eyes dilating as they saw the man before her. Dark was he, dark and foreboding. He wore dark clothes and black leather gloves that aided this darkness, a deliberate choice surely.

"Raphael you are prompt, still." said Ashran, not bothering to move or turn around. "Forgive me if I dont stand but I am somewhat over cooked at the moment." he smiled at his own amusing joke.

"So you have gained another belt then my old Master?" Raphael asked.

He moved to the side and pulled back one of the old wooden chairs, flipping it around, and sat down quickly. A click of his fingers and the serving girl was gone. He reached out gently took hold of the old mans cloak, lifting it up and back to reveal his waist. A belt could be seen cinched around his waist, a belt made of two skins entwined around each other. One of the skins was old and dried, the other was bright red and yellow in hew, suggesting a burning luminance without showing any actual flame or heat.

"Was it as difficult as the first?" he asked.

"In some ways, not in others. Each test is different, when I had passed the first I thought the second would be easier, as I had learned much from it. But the second was," he paused to consider his words. "Different in new ways. What was the same as the first was easier, but when they became easy it caused other things to become greater. I had to adapt quickly, and even then I was burnt rather badly, as you can see. And this is after a week of healing. If you had seen me after the event you would probably have thought I was done for."

"Ha! Not I, never would I underestimate you. You are undoubtedly the greatest living disciple of the Sun God in the empire. How many other men have two belts and remain mobile. Arturas is bed ridden, his legs wasted. Drominas lives in a bathtub, his skin forever blistered. Only you walk free. You should be proud, if you were not a priest." He smiled at his own reflection.

"Pride can be a sin, as you well know. I am humble, blessed with good fortune is all. The Father has blessed me and I must carry the burden." Ashran stopped and looked at Raphael, seeing through the darkness to the mans eyes. "But you know all this, and yet you follow a path that will cause you to renounce them all."

"I do not need to renounce anything, I merely seek knowledge and its fruits. A fruit that would be of benefit to you right now I might add, for example." Rapahel reach out with both hands toward Ashran. With his left he rolled back the sleeve of his right, exposing his thin sinewy arm. On the right hand he wore a large ring, a very large ring, with a beetle gem set on the top, blood red in colour. He concentrated on the ring and it began to glow, a deep blood red colour at first, but becoming brighter and more the colour of fresh blood. After a moment he reached out and took hold of Ashrans left hand, then with a guttural sound he unleashed his magic. The ring flared briefly and the red glow flowed from the ring, into his hand, which became translucent, and then into the hand of Ashran. Ashran remained still. The red glow began to spread from his hand and up his arm, fading as it spread. The glow got nearly to his shoulder before it faded. Raphael let go of Ashran's hand and sat back.

"You see the blessings I have been given." he said, pointing with his ring to Ashrans arm.

Ashran raised the arm, letting his loose sleeve fall back. Where before it had been red and burnt and swollen, now it was pink and healthy. As he looked up his arm the original burnt skin slowly began to re-appear, where the healing spell had faded.

"If you wished to spend some time with me I could cure all of your body in a similar way. You would be restored to normal in less than a day, rather then spending weeks on tender hooks."

Ashran continued to examine the arm, touching it gently with his other hand, comparing the two. He pulled down his sleeve and sighed, leaning back gently in his chair.

"You have progressed further than I had expected Raphael. Such healing powers would take me days to prepare. What sacrifices have you made to gain this, for magic never comes for free, there is always a cost."

"That is the old ways, old man. I have broken new ground, overturned the accumulated earth of the old lores, revealed that which lies beneath. I can offer the Great Councils such wonders already, and there is little cost. This healing I drew from my own vigour, I am a little tired now, but some food, some water, some sleep and I will be as before. My new ways offer ways to control even this though. If I had some of my brothers here we could have healed you on the spot, spreading the burden of the casting amongst us."

"And how many brothers have you now Raphael, how many have you lured from their vows to partake of your designs?"

Raphael tensed visibly at this. Ashran could sense his quick anger, the dark presence that had loomed around him seemed to grow and become even more oppressive.

"I have lured no one," he hissed. "I have gathered those who wish to seek knowledge, new knowledge and new ways of knowledge. All came willingly to me."

"Willingly? You offered them power and prestige, you appealed to the weak and taunted their weakness. You teased them with what you offered, and they succumbed, as you knew they would. You may not have touched them physically, but you played with their minds."

"And their minds are free to chose what they do, as is mine. Free from the dogma of the Councils and the Churches, free from the restraints and conventions. I have discovered new magics, new ways of magic, and soon I will be able to teach the world and everyone will be the better. My healing magics alone will improve the lives of thousands, I can cure things the churches refuse to. What wrong is there in that?"

Ashran watched calmly, taking in the words and their meanings, but also watching the man. How he moved, how the shadow moved with him, but slightly after him. Raphael could not see it, Ashran knew it would be pointless to try to persuade him. He had gone too far. The shadow was with him now and only the greatest of magics could pry it loose.

"I am not here to argue with you Raphael. I am here to deliver a message from the Church, a final warning, seeing you have chosen to ignore all the other more subtle warnings they have sent you."

"Deliver your message then."

"You will cease your experiments in magic, you will destroy your research, you will release your followers and you will renounce your work. If you do not do this then the Inquisition will be sent against you, and not even the Emperor or the Mages will be able to protect you. You have 14 days to comply. That is their message."

Both men sat quietly, contemplating the other, trying to gauge their response. Ashran had expected Raphael to explode, but he was quiet. The church had expected him to react violently, which is why Ashran had been sent, as the mages old confessor they had hoped he would hold back from harming him. In part Ashran had expected violence, which is why he had undertaken the second test. The fact that he had passed was, well, a god sending, literally. Raphael sat quietly, brooding. Finally he stood, stepping back from his chair.

"Tell the Council that I reject their demands, it is too late now. I have discovered a new world and nothing will stop it now. Too many know of my work and its progress. The Church can try to hold back change but it will overwhelm them. The same way the labour revolutions changed the balance, so too will my magic." He paused and looked down at the old man, for a brief moment fondly. "Do not come with them Ashran the Wise, that is the only thing I ask of you."

Ashran looked up at the man, and remembered the young pupil he had councilled. "I cannot comment on such things. I doubt the Council would use me anyway, due to our history, and my teachings on violence. They will find some hot head fundamentalist with fire in his belly. I have spent the last week dousing my fires." he chuckled to himself, holding out his arms to display his hands, forgetting that one of them was now healed.

"Farewell my father." Raphael turned quickly and left the tavern.

The serving girl returned, looking in several directions nervously. She placed a waxed napkin on the table and quickly returned to the bar. Ashran looked at the napkin, reached out with his good hand and opened it. Inside was the crushed remains of the ginga plant, converted to a thick paste for smoothing onto his skin. He looked at his healed hand. Change had escaped and now rode the high winds, and change always brought trouble. He must find sanctuary and seek guidance on how to handle this.

...

Twelve days later it was a full moon. The sky was clear and the stars were clearly visible despite the slight haze from the city dwellers below. A cool breeze was beginning from the west, from the sea, and would bring a chilly morning. Raphael studied the stars and the moon, enlarged by its proximity to the horizon. They were not exactly right, he needed to wait till the next full moon for them to be perfect, but he had run out of time. In two days the Inquisition would come for him and his followers. The Emperor could not stop them. The Great Council of Mages had no intention of stopping them, in fact several would be helping them. It must be tonight then.

He turned back inward and spoke to a shadow that was waiting against the wall behind him.

"Gather the brothers Mantius, we must do this now."

"As you wish Master, but it will be dangerous, you have told us this many times."

"Yes it will be, but if we use all the brothers, doubling up at the points of power, we should be able to handle it. We have prepared for too long not to complete this work now."

"Aye," said Mantius, who stepped back through a portal and into the tower.

Raphael looked up to see the peak of the tower he owned, fooling himself he could see the stars move past it as it jutted resolutely into the sky. The white marble covering stones were gleaming in reflected moonlight and looked particularly stunning this night. He stepped closer to the railing and turned to look downward to the streets below. From here he was one hundred foot above the nearest building, towering over the city and its dwellers. The white walls of his tower plummeted below him, marked here and there with a small portal window to allow a small amount of sunlight in. At the base of the tower was his house proper, a two storey mansion of considerable worth. He was a rich man, all arch mages were, money was thrown at them constantly for their services. The wealth was nothing to him though, merely a means to an end. All his life he had dreamed of being the greatest mage who had ever lived, and tonight he would make it true. He was eighty years old in six weeks, but he looked barely forty. HE was strong, healthy and handsome, but he was driven, obsessively so. He had no wife, no children that he knew of, no family. The only man he had ever respected had been used to deliver his death sentence. He wondered briefly what Ashran was doing now, tempted for a second to conjure up an image of the old man and check in on him, but Mantius returned.

"Master, the brothers are waiting, we are eager to begin."

"Yes, eager. We are all eager. Ashran would tell me to go meditate for a day to overcome my eagerness. 'Control is most important in all things', he would say. He taught me well, let us hope it was well enough."

Raphael took one last look at the stars and then turned and entered his tower. Mantius followed in his shadow, barely distinguishably.

...

In the 10th year of the Reign of the Emperor Sarcrit, the world ended.

The Arch Mage Raphael conducted the Ceremony of Junction in his great tower over looking the Emperor's Palace. From its top he could see the Great Council Building of the Mages and the Holy Temple of the Faithful. The city of Sarakand stretched out in all directions from him. Half a million people lived peacefully below him, slept, made love, argued and held hands. Standing in the centre of his meticulously crafted Symbol of Power, surrounded by six Circles of Divinity, with the aid of thirty six fellow mages and priests, Raphael cast the joining spell he thought would give him the One Lore he so long had sought. Instead he summoned the Darkness.

The Darkness appeared briefly in his hands as he finished the last spell, floating gently there before him. His brothers all looked on in awe at what they had done. Most briefly thought about why it wasnt a ball of light considering its divine and magical nature, but only briefly. Raphael slumped down to his knees,exhausted. He took a few deep breaths and then looked up at the darkness. If anyone had survived they would have told that they heard him say 'This does not seem right'. Then the Darkness expanded. As it touched Raphael he aged suddenly, his body withered and shrunk as if all his insides were being sucked from him. Then it simply crumbled into dust and was sucked into the Darkness.

The Darkness then grew more, taking the 36 brothers. By morning it encompassed the entire city and a not a single soul remained alive. Half the government of the Empire had died. One third of the 100 Arch Mages were dead. One quarter of the most powerful priests of the Churches of the Gods were no more. One half a million souls had vanished.

The Darkness had expanded to cover the entire area of the city, then had paused.

Those that had been beyond its touch fled. Some tried to enter the Darkness and were consumed. After this everyone fled.

...

The New Beginning.

Swift Swords Tactica is about survival, which is what combat is about. The remnants of a beaten race bring themselves to a new world and on the way reforge themselves into something new. Whether this new society will survive is what the game is about. The players are the Heroic lead in the story and are the centre of everything that goes on. They are the ones that will save the day, they are the ones the songs and the stories and the statues will tell about... or they will all be totally forgotten.

In the old human world things were different, an old staid well defined society ruled and people had places they belonged to. Nobles to peasants, rich to poor, men to women, all these things were laid out and defined. Magic existed and for many reasons mostly supplanted technology, to the point that industrial technology was extremely slow. Iron and steel was almost entirely unknown because it was not needed and because it was actually not abundant. The fact that iron hindered magic only meant that those who used magic hindered the development of iron. Those who used magic were very, very powerful.

When the Dark Lord was unleashed the sold world could not defeat him. He was strong in all areas where the Empire was weak, and he was resistant to all the areas where it was strong. It was a massacre.

The survivors however will need to be strong everywhere if they are to defeat the array of forces that opposes them. They will be forged in battle, hardened and skilled in new ways their parents would never have understood. Women will be the equal of men, not in a physical sense but in a social manner, in the ways of who will have a voice about the future. A women's voice will be listened to as an equal, because there just aren't that many voices left.

To play Tactica you must get yourself into the survival mindset. There are 10,000 human beings left in the entire universe. You are standing on an unknown beach in an unknown land, with unknown sets of eyes watching you.

What do you do?