The stars gutter and the skies fade and the earth grows weary with years. Under a dimming sun the grim realm of Llaigis chokes on its own infertility. Never unduly burdened with wealth, its isolation has long made it a haven for vileness no other province would admit. Its paltry fields and rocky hills are barely enough to sustain its population, and what luxury can be afforded here is bought with the salvage dragged from the inscrutable ruins that dot the countryside.

Who are you?

>Ignatius, the Exile
Once a Adunic hagiodemion of the Order of the Final Reconciliation, you were driven from your order and thrust into the streets of the First City after a love affair, a thing itself forbidden to men of your station, was uncovered, and your lover brought to the block for her breach of virtue. Hunted by her brothers, you have fled to Llaigis with only a sword and cloak.

>Owen Witchson, the Debtor
When you were expelled from the Thurian College of the Great Engine, your hopes of admittance to a guild were dashed. Your debts grew as you tried and failed to eke out a desperate existence, until the collectors came and took all you had: your freedom. A year a debt-slave, you escaped to Llaigis with a stolen hand hurlant and little else.

>Kor, the Lost
You were once a warlord of the distant Hyperborean Tribes. While leading an expedition into the icy sheets of the Far Wastes, you wandered through a Black Gate, and were hurled through a thousand iterums until you washed up on the side of a hill in Llaigis, alone and stranded in a world that may not even be of your own reality, with no clues how to return.