Magic is in the very fibre of Agemonia.
It wafts unseen through the air and lingers there like perfume.
It ripples through the pools of rainwater, eddies through mountain rivulets and valley streams, then ebbs and undulates in the oceans.
Magic seeps deep into the ground where over time it hardens into crystals prized by the lapidaries of the Amethyst Order – who long ago uncovered the means to tap agura as a source for energy and learned how to shape it into vessels for storage, and later became relentless in their pursuit.
But as clever as their contraptions are they pale in comparison to the inventions made by The Ancients, the lost creators of the marvellous devices strewn across the land. Imagine great discs that defy gravity, or colossal pillars that would seem to thrust from the very earth itself, or from the black depthts of the sea. Some of these lie in abject ruin. Others have kept humming through millennia, almost imperceptibly as if in some kind of patient expectation, but of late with more urgency.
But nowhere, from the overgrowth of Blade Thicket in the east to the sombre shores of western Rotwood, is there anything more mysterious than the great gates to the Breach, whose shadowy thresholds show the wear from fearless wayfarers’ steps, but that are now sealed like a tomb. Or are they?
As dusk falls, Agemonia recoils in the approaching darkness. Whispers are heard about tremors under Lok Torr, of unseasonal avalanches in the Reflection Range, of vast electrical storms over the Republic of Benem, and there are reports that Ambergate has been inundated by yet another tidal surge.
If this were not enough, the upheaval is bringing the peoples of Agemonia to the brink of war. Though they too have magic coursing through their veins, few are skilled enough to channel the flow. Most are left helplessly unprepared for the coming challenges.
Pattangans are left stranded as their walking cities have halted their seasonal moving. Ignisaurs are calling to their sun deity in despair, making greater sacrifices by the day to calm their angry god. Quothians hide away as an inevitable destiny draws near while the stargazing Nihteegri look up to a beloved sky, now veiled in near perpetual cloud.
And what of the other turmoil taking place?
The Kingdoms of Agemonia are mustering enormous armies close to their borders. The Amethyst Order is spreading its ever growing influence, trying to calm down a world in boil. The Cult of the Fifth Eye preaches the prophecies of the ancients in ever growing fervor while The Council of Eight remain suspiciously silent.
Who will step forward to unravel the riddles of the Ancients?
Who among us can answer to the call of the many while staying true to themselves in this time of need?
Who will rise to the challenge and learn to control the most precarious force of them all…