In the vineyards of Raen children run through the plantation tearing grapes from their bunches, laughing as they stuff their mouths full of the last crop that will ever grow here. In his manor on the hilltop the master vintner carelessly spills the finest vintage of his grandfathers' generation down his shirt as he toasts the end.
In the dying forests of Reigland packs of feral men chase refugees to the horns of the Great Hunt. Each day Count Freidrich leads a dwindling band of knights out to protect the fleeing throng and each day more horses are led back with empty saddles.
In the ruins of Myr thieves war over whatever treasures the armies missed when they tore the city apart. At night the sky blazes with colour as two sorcerors duel for possession of a wasteland that they both consider their home. In the shadows cast by their clashing conflagrations, a man screams as a swarm of rats boils up from the rubble and swallows him within their writhing number. In the morning he wakes and feels the scratch of the vermin's claws inside his chest, he looks down and sees a dozen tiny eyes studding his breast.
On the Gana plains the farming communities still work the land relatively unaffected by the end of ages. Were it not for the constant stream of refugees from the Lost Lands then it would almost be possible to forget the day that that the Gods were thrown down. Far from the edge of the world it is difficult for the hardy plainsfolk to relate to the blank eyed families begging them for succour. Still there are as many of them who show charity to the wretched vagrants as turn them away, and while the tales of burning cities and fallen empires mean little to those who have never left their farmsteads, there is an acceptance that the winds of change carry embers that will soon set the fields ablaze.
For the vast majority of people the end of the world has brought no unity of purpose, no clarity of vision, nor a renewal of their faith. It is but one more worry in their hard lives, and a worry that they see no one answer to. They try to go about their lives in a world that is beginning to collapse in upon itself.
For some the end of civilisation is liberating and in the savage barbarism of the last years of the world they are embracing a new way of life. Bandit groups range from genuine gentlemen highwaymen, assaulting those crossing the lands that their families once held, to feral tribes ranging down from their high holds in the Taennagh mountains and carrying off their victims to be devoured in cannibalistic feasts.
Others see the collapse of the old order as an opportunity to establish their own dominion. Generals turned warlord send soldiers of fortune scouring the land for food and supplies to fuel their warmachine. More noble minded sorts offer what protection they can to the communities within their domains, others take what they need and retreat back to their forts, recruiting those who seem able and abandoning the rest.
Across the Living Lands scholars, scoundrels and soldiers of fortune squeeze around tavern tables to discuss the Great Quest. Oracles and seers are pulled from their beds and asked the question- 'how may the world be saved?'. A thousand answers are given, a thousand quests undertaken, and if none of them have the ring of truth well then at least it is a purpose, a reason to go on living until the end.
"For fifty years I honoured my drunkard father, cared for my idiot children and made my pieties to the church. And for what? For the sake of my soul, for the promise of a better life to come. Well that promise is broken and I ain't wasting the last few years I got left worrying about right or wrong. I'm getting what's mine! I'm taking what's owed."
- Hellspit, the Butcher of Myr. Formerly Gabriel Clense, baker of Homston.
A collective name for the lawless bands of men that now make travelling the roads with anything less than a full mercenary company an act of desperation. Some Taker groups are little more than a rabble of petty criminals and scoundrels, others are thousand strong warbands of well trained mercenaries swarming over prosperous townships like rapacious locusts.
Leadership of these larger groups is often brief as the slightest setback sees the commander taken apart by his men. However some individuals have managed to tighten their grasp over their followers and their names gather infamy. Hellspit, Cruel Bella, Jurgen Krieg, the Grey Twins; in recent years they have become as renowned as any hero, and word of their coming alone is enough to empty villages.
There are even those who claim that the actions of the Takers are governed by some higher power; that the warlords themselves take orders from a shadowy figure. There seems little proof behind these rumours, and even less agreement as to the identity of this hidden leader. Speculation ranges from the political, blaming the Lord Protector of Eruwhon or the Iridican Emperor, to the supernatural: some sort of demon born of the disjunction, or even the vengeful spirit of one of the fallen Trinity.
"We accept the ultimate truth: you can't take it with you. All our riches, the gems, the art. It's worthless. But they don't seem to have worked it out yet, and I see no need to educate them. Our power lies in their ignorance, and power still has worth."
- Xanata of Raen, Circlemember
The economy of the world is in its death throes, in many places it is already dead. Despite this however the coin still has value. The world may end tomorrow but people still want to eat today, and many turn to theft, for others The End does not justify the means.
The Golden Circle are a group of incredibly wealthy men and women devoted to slowing down the collapse of society. Whilst nations crumble and cities fall, the Circle hurl their vast fortunes at societies ills and do what they can to maintain the status quo. A guardsman may lose his loyalty to his king, but offer his ten times the salary, and the markets stay patrolled. Crops may die in the scant light of the dying sun, but for the right price a sorceror can fill every granary in the town.
With vast mercenary forces at their commands, sophisticated trade networks crossing the land, and spies at every court, the Golden Circle has emerged as one of the pre-eminent powers of the end times.
"Nothing I can do will atone for the shame of ruling over the death of my father's Empire. The lands my family ruled for a thousand years burn. The diamond palace is shattered. The Lion Throne of Iridica now graces some looter's hovel. All is lost."
"Then sire, perha-"
"Never interrupt me! Iridica came from the dreams of my ancestors, and can my dreams be any less grand? If I cannot *rule* the Eternal Empire then I shall *be* it. I am Iridica now. I must survive until the end of all time. The last man. The last Empire. Now isn't that glorious?"
- 'Emperor Munsani' in discussion with his advisors, two days before his assassination.
Proud Iridica, the Eternal Empire, blessed by the Trinity and favoured in all things.
A thousand years previously, a young farmboy named Serraki Iridica departed his homestead, journeyed into the Erewhon Waste and having overcome many trials, returned bearing the Holy Sword of Justice. With this he cut down the evil Lord of Pains and established upon the ruins of his dread citadel the shining city of Serrac from which he ruled justly for a hundred years.
Over the centuries the blessing of the Trinity seemed to turn from Iridica, and the Empire slowly slipped out of its golden age of Righteous Glory and into the quiet, orderly decadence that often overcomes the great civilisations of world prior to their destruction at the hand of some great evil and the continuation of the grand cycle of Fate.
The death of the Gods and the coming of the Disjunction shattered the Empire. Perhaps the situation might have been controlled had the grandees of Serrac seized the moment and rallied the people. Alas then that as Emperor Sidiki stepped forward to address the people he was assassinated by his cousin, Princess Ptela. She was then cut down by the honour guard of Grand Duke Eron who died 10 minutes later attempting to flee the pitched battle that had erupted in the palace grounds.
Quite what triggered the murderous lunacy of the Royal Family remains unknown, but the past 30 years have been a sorry tale of aspirants to the Lion Throne trying to reunite the Empire only to be brought low by the daggers of their hidden rivals.
Since the Coming of the End a number of new societies have sprung up across the land. Here are but a few:
Professional assassins normally work alone, but the Justified Brethren are far from professional. Its easy to put grudges aside when you have other things to live for, but with the end in sight settling an old vendetta can suddenly hold a great appeal. The Brethren are a disparate network of people united by a single common desire: to see someone punished. The rules of the Brethren are simple: Firstly each member must assist two others before they can claim assistance for themselves. Secondly no member may do harm to another. Thirdly once their vendetta is settled the member leaves the Justified Brethren and may not rejoin. Lastly no member can question the right of another to take vengeance, nor attempt to prevent it.
The Black Court is attended by nobles from half a hundred nations that have been consumed by the disjunction. A caravan of hundreds of fallen dukes and bereft countesses, surrounded by thousands of former retainers whose loyalty has outlived their lands. The court is named for the sombre colours worn by its grandees, who travel the Living Lands in a grand funeral procession. By day they mourn their lost kingdoms, weep for fallen friends and wail out ballads of lament in the dead tongues of their homelands. By night the torches of the procession cast light over bright silks of every hue, as mourning is put aside to celebrate survival. They feast and dance, and display to the folk of the Living Lands the glories of what has been lost forever.
In a shrouded valley deep within the Taennagh's the Varkal Oak has grown for all recorded time. The mountain clans there have long regarded the ancient tree as a primal god and have worshipped it in open defiance of the Trinity. To the so-called Oak Wardens the survival of this great tree was proof of the gods' impotence. To the faithful of the Church, it was a sign of the Trinity's mercy towards the Other. Now with the Trinity cast down in ruin, the worshippers of the Varkal Oak walk in the open for the first time. They preach a doctrine of world rebirth, for even as the Disjunction sweeps towards the sacred grove, a great acorn has begun to grow upon the oak. The wardens hold that the acorn must be planted in the last patch of ground to be consumed by the Disjunction and from it a new world will grow. The High Warden of the Oak, has pronounced two duties for the faithful in these end times. First that they must learn the precise location where the Acorn must be planted, and secure it for the final days of the World. Secondly that the Varkal Oak be watered with the blood of every creature, that they be reborn in the new world.
Lady Eva von Reigland is the seven year old daughter of the Count Freidrich of Reigland and is famed as an oracle. Every day dozens of hopefuls enter Reigland Castle to seek the Lady's wisdom, many of them leave frustrated but others are invited to meet with Eva. Of these many will be sent back to their homes and families with a few kind words, but some few others are told to stay the night for the Lady has seen something of their future. To those that the Lady Eva bids stay an offer is made. If they will accept a perilous quest in aid of the land then upon their triumphant return she will gift them the knowledge they seek. Some of the quests are simple matters- driving a bandit group out of a local farmstead or seeking rare medical herbs in Riegland forest. Other tasks are stranger in nature and some seem impossible- to lay to rest a dead man walking, or to row a boat twice around Paneinai.
As in all things the Unaligned possess no one consistent view about the other groups, however there are certainly more popular streams of thought.
"An' they just sat there the whole time, singing and chanting and giving praise while the fires crept in. Didn't try to run, didn't beg for mercy, they just sat there! And people call *me* a lunatic!"
- Hellspit on the burning of Myr Cathedral
The Churchgoers are pitiful; clinging desparately to a belief that is obviously false. For some unaligned this makes them a target ripe for exploitation; an easy mark for fake miracles and false promises. Others view them with genuine pity- a child clutching at the body of its murdered parent. With the end approaching why not leave them the comforts of a lie.
"...more agents were lost trying to enter the City. Were it not for the crucial importance of discovering the tyrant's plans then I would have given up on infiltrating that godsforsaken place years ago. The Lord-Protector must know that his rule cannot stretch much longer, and he is not a man to confront the chaos without a strategy..."
- From a letter penned by Xanata of Raen, Circlemember
A glittering prize. It's well known that the City is filled with treasures and that its citizens live like kings inside its impenetrable walls. They hoard wealth and knowledge that might actually make a difference if it was distributed out into world. Worst of all is their attitude; they think that just because their city hasn't fallen they're something special. They don't realise that it's only a matter of time before they join the rest of us, scrabbling to survive.
"We offered to guide them back to Riegland; to gift them food and mules to carry them out of the cold and away from the Disjunction. It was as though they didn't hear us. This one woman looked at me, met my eyes, and I thought perhaps that we would save at least one of those poor souls from the madness. Then she just shook her head sadly at me and walked into the void."
- Count Friedrich on his visit to Brink
Dangerous lunatics, pure and simple. The Watchers roll along with the Disjunction and push into our homelands, spreading their madness and thieving the scant food that is left. It would be better if they were all consumed by the object of their fascination; at least then they wouldn't trouble the people who've managed to hold onto their wits.
If there is a single note that runs through the Unaligned it is independence. The unaligned are a million voices singing a hundred thousand songs, and if no one melody is heard, well at least it makes a hell of a racket. If they have allegiances then it is because they have chosen to give them. They cooperate when it's convenient, fight when they're at odds and pay no heed when anyone asks them to stop. The End is coming and they're going to deal with it on their own terms.
The Unaligned represent the single largest 'group' in the Living Lands. They may be leaderless, and entirely without direction but if you're looking for a group of people to help you with something there's bound to be someone who shares your dream amongst the throng.
Maybe you've got a great idea for a faction of your own in the dying world. Great! Got some other players interested in joining you, all the better! Being vast and mostly undefined the Unaligned can happily house your mad cult/secret sorcerer protecting conspiracy/international llama smuggling ring
Without an organisation to speak of then there's no one to boss you around. Where other factions may provide directives and unity, the Unaligned are most free to pursue their own goals without interference.