Magic has faded, and the forests are fighting back. Folk who once lived among the trees have fled toward the mountains, leaving the ruins of their once proud cities to be overcome by the rapidly encroaching wood. Now, rather than brave the dangers of walking on foot, airships have taken to the sky, and there are cities that float among the clouds, traveling over vast distances from mountain to mountain like great vessels.
Even still, there are some who cling to the old ways — refusing to believe that the ancient magics to be dead. These sorcerers harness their power through unnatural means, drawing from the blood of others and themselves to fuel crude and misshapen magic. Though it cannot compare to the magic that stemmed from the nature of the world, it remains a decent substitute for those who see no harm in tapping into the horrors of the dark arcane.
For a time, these folk were seen as loons to the masses — until war struck and rulers sought them out as tools for battle. Now, in the wake of a conflict that razed cities and brought floating castles crashing to the ground, these false magicians have found favor among the elites, and enjoy lives of luxury with ample time to study further their twisted arts.
However, with favor comes expectation, and these sorcerers and their benefactors have become disenchanted with the limits of their power. Though great, they know well they will never be as great as the mages of old. It has come time to seek to renew the magic of the forests, and already there are those who have sensed the flicker of an old flame — one that has the potential to become a raging fire once again.
In the hunt for the spark of ancient magic, no one expected the source to be a mere man; a blacksmith living alone among the forest, who has no idea the power that rests within his very being.
He whistles as he works, unaware of the claws lurking in the darkness, waiting to snatch him from his quiet life.