Once upon a time there was a brilliant shining Empire. An empire so vast that a man could walk a handful of lifetimes and never reach it's end. A proud and noble empire, ruled fairly by the wisest men there ever were. An empire filled with wonders of architecture and engineering, fabulous machines, ships that flew the skies, and roads that stretched as far as the eye could see. Its people were strong and healthy, courageous and noble, proud and free. A golden Empire of all Men, united in purpose and resolve. A perfect place.

But that Empire is no more. The True Empire is gone.

The Sundering, the Shattering, the Rending of the All, The Dissolution of the Empire of Man, the event carries untold number of names. And few are those who have no opinion on the why and how of the downfall. But those are distorted rumors of half-forgotten legends based on distantly remembered tales spun from third hand retellings of accounts of people who were never there.

Now there are only the 10,000 Lands of the Disjoining.

To be sure, none can doubt that the True Empire once was. Far too many relics, having endured the countless eons since the Rending, can be found. Many peoples, many cultures, many places have claimed to be the inheritors of the True Empire. In times past, those petty groups have strived to weld together the people of the Lands, but none have achieved any more than the palest of shadows of what was once.

One of those Realms, more ancient than most, possessed of a terrible vigor and a multitude of secret powers and ambitions, is Glain. They are not the reincarnation of the True Empire. Yet.