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Initial Exposition
Topic Started: Mar 6 2015, 12:48 PM (11 Views)
The Narrator
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Six hundred years ago, Golarion was still immersed in the golden age of magic. The greatest gift the gods had ever given to their charges, the ability to change reality around them was so prominent that it was almost viewed as mundane and ordinary in their lives. And yet, as was the way with humanity, a force emerged who felt that wasn't enough. These souls strongly believed there was more to be gained amongst magical forces, a way to make any spellcaster as limitless as the gods themselves. For reasons known only to themselves, this nameless order believed the key to unlocking this power was the great and terrible Mana Wastes between the lands of Geb and Nex. Hundreds of them gathered there, performing a ritual whose exact details were lost with them, and began what would be forever known as the Spell Drought.

It is unclear what happened in the vast reaches of the Wastes that night, even after centuries of examination and scrutiny, but what few details are certain have scarred humanity forever. Whatever these power-hungry souls did sent a palpable ripple through the world, and in the blink of an eye, all traces of magic were erased. Floating castles crashed to the ground, golems collapsed and shattered, intelligent items and torches that would normally remain bright for eternity went silent and dark. The spellcasters who reacted first were the first to taste the backlash. Since those first moments of the Spell Drought, casting even the smallest of spells resulted in horrible backfires for the casters, unpredictable and gruesome. Many simply exploded from the inside-out. Some disintegrated. Others were warped, driven insane, or possessed by some inexplicable force to immediately and unflinchingly take their own lives. In their uncertainty, mankind turned to their gods, believing the divine would deliver answers or solutions unto them. No such consolation ever came. All those who once communed with the gods, directly or through portents of some sort, were cast into just as much darkness as the wizards and their kin. Since that day, confirmed contact with the gods has been permanently cut off, and faiths have devolved unto vague and blind worship.

The worst was yet to come, however. The magical purge was not limited to man and their relations, the world at large was being wiped of its trace. Though not as quickly, the beasts of Golarion were being purged of magical traces as well. Perhaps driven by agony, or fueled on by the same energy that stripped humanity of their magical prowess, incredible amounts of monsters turned and attacked human settlements. Still struggling with the confusion of their powerlessness, a significant amount of lives were lost in this desperate push. By the end of the night, entire cities, countless lives, and untold resources were lost. However, as the dawn came, so exited the more magical of these creatures, as monsters whose existence was closely tied to their magical powers collapsed at the touch of the sun, stone-dead.

In the centuries that followed, mankind has reaffirmed their grasp over the world through steel and fire rather than spell and trickery. Where before the iconic weapon of man was magic, now it is the rifle, and steam engines have given easier access to the more remote reaches of the world. A handful of the greater organizations from the age of magic have remained, including the Pathfinder Society. Once collectors of great magical relics, they've now become more akin to explorers, historians, and treasure hunters. In a world obsessed with industry, they are the leading academic force, directly responsible for nearly all of the knowledge the world has gained since the loss of magic.

You are fledgeling members of this group, sworn in for only a year, and trained for the last month as a task-force together. A small section of the Mwangi expanse, a place civilization has struggle to get a foothold of since the outset of the Spell Drought, has drawn their attention, and you have been dispatched to investigate it. According to reports from the locals, some of the more ancient ruins there have been found to have images depicting what seems to be the Spell Drought, and are easily hundreds if not thousands of years newer than the locations themselves. The Pathfinder Society is curious about the changes in these iconic stepped pyramids, but not so foolish as to immediately rule the find as legitimate. Forgeries and vandalism of ancient structures are known to occur from time to time, and they won't send out a larger investigative force until they have some idea of its legitimacy.
Our story picks up here, as your steamboat nears the ramshackle docks of a shanty-town on the Mwangi's western shore, near the destroyed remains of Bloodcove, which was lost in the first night of the Spell Drought. The town has been given the simple name of "Guan," an old Mwangi word meaning "Turn around," or "Go home" to reflect the Expanse's inhospitable nature. The Pathfinder Society has a small outpost here, one of the few buildings not made of reeds and palm-fronds, which you are told to report to as soon as you secure lodging. There are only three other real buildings in town: the branch of the local government- part courthouse, part prison, part gallows- an Inn bearing the proud title "The One Night Stand," and an office of Alkenstar Firearms, the world's most widespread brand.
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