Year 1, AR (Age of the Resurrection)

It did not take long for the people of the Shard to realize a new age was upon them. The preceding year of devastation and resurrection now gave way to vast changes across the Shard. Everyone felt it. The political powers simply declared it, the Age of the Resurrection, and all knew that this year would be the first.

Even had the Dragon Invasion and subsequent Resurrection never come to pass, changes now spread throughout the Shard altering its cosmology in such a way as to demand a new calendrical reckoning. The majestic, floating Isles of the Fey now drifted beyond the upper atmosphere, glowing more strongly, the choreography of their wayward motion now greatly and mysteriously changed in the heavens. Where the Shadowfell once could be relied on to regularly surge toward, and ebb away from, the surface lands, its presence now absented itself. Only the cold, grey rock and ash of its scars remained.

Where the lands once gave way to the vast and unfoathomable Astral Sea, nothing could be seen on the horizons save vast expanses of water, tasting faintly of limestone. Airships now set sail by the hundreds to find the bounds of this new frontier. Ritualists gathered scholars and waterfolk alike to go forth and plumb the depths for knowledge.

The mighty Titanspike, too, saw the world beneath its snow-capped knees changing before it, as great masses of cloud, rain, and snow churned up from the lands to cloak the top of the Shard in a shrouded majesty. All about the towering dominion, a clockwise swirl of white, grey, and black swept out and around a radius of several hundred miles. Wind and lightning scored the lethargic tempest, creating cloud patterns and white scripture, as if the Gods were crafting titanic runes in the skies.

Where lands were once green and lush, they became more fragrant, less feylike, and and altogether suffuse with the heartiest smells of the earth. Deserts grew hotter by feylight and colder by feydark. Across these vast places and others, where the lands lay relatively untroubled by hill and dale, the winds grew fiercer and heavier. Storms of sand and dust, once almost of intelligence and purpose in their passings, now wandered aimlessly, driven by a patterned chaos in the now more ponderous weather systems moving across the Shard.

Everywhere one went, the world felt more substantial. Where that substance was by its nature violent, the world felt more perilous. Where that substance was by its nature more serene, the world felt more grave. Where that substance was by its nature more magical, the world felt more certain. Farmers rejoiced, though they could not explain why. Those closest to the soil felt a rightness in their bones. Wayward fools and thrill-seekers also rejoiced, and the words they used to explain the feeling burning inside of them all boiled down to the same concepts of potential and frontier.

Where people once felt themselves penned in, as if some force had painted their forms into a great painting, they somehow felt that everything was new, that possibilities never even considered now stood knocking at the door, asking to be let in.

* * *

Society on the Shard - its institutions, nations, laws, mores, ethics, economies, and all other manner of governance - reacted differently to the Age of the Resurrection. Where individuals felt a newfound freedom of will, social structures felt the sand shifting beneath their foundations. Everywhere, leaders sought to rebuild what stability they could. Many lacked the desire or the imagination to rebuild for a new reality. Societies large and small began to collapse. Anarchy threatened to overthrow all that once held people together.

It was in this arena that the Stormcrows exerted the full weight of their legendary influence. Rook, returning to assume political authority in New Arkosha, set out during the first year to reorganize the military of the Dragonborn Empire, transforming the Old Guard into a multi-cultural Elite Guard, centered upon the construction grounds of a vast new military college near the capitol. The Forge, as it was christened, slowly began to take shape, a gold and white complex of stone sprouting from the dunes like a marbled oasis.

Xanaphia, determined to take back the Valley of Corruption, made her way back to Yesa's Light. Everywhere to the south of the old Elvish fortress, folk flocked to this enterprise. From the Holds, the Dwarves brought 4,000 soldiers and 2,000 engineers. From the Fasfarren, the Elves sent 2,000 skirmishers to swell the ranks of their kin. From the rivers of Family Highwater, the halflings sent 500 hunting scouts and 100 cooks. From High Turath, the Tieflings sent 300 talented casters, 2,000 cavalry, and 1,000 elite soldiers of various roles. In the Plains of Endless Amber, another 10,000 humans and dragonborn massed to do the dirty work of mountain fighting south and east of the plain.

The war that followed soon grew to become slow, dirty, and costly. Everywhere in the Valley, foes appeared unaccounted for in the calculus of the Elvish command. The gnolls now fought with a violence and cruelty that far surpassed their usual thirst for carnage. At times on the field of battle, a gnollish captain or a demonic lieutenant would become filled with wrath and manifest deadly powers as if possessed by Yeenoghu himself. Battle lines became pitched, and from the Valley of Blood came many reinforcements from unknown paths, wholly wicked and crafty creatures of the Shadowfell.

Casabon settled down to attend to the growth of the World Tree. During the first year, thousands of common folk descended on the Silvan Grove looking for sustenance and employment in the gardens. Though few could do beautifying work with their hands, Casabon turned none away. Like an exotic fungal growth, predominantly composed of the Resurrected, a rabble grew up about the tree, generally doing more to reduce the aesthetic than increase it. As these folk mingled with the Elves and Humans of Kellie and God's Union, new friendships were formed, and the druidic order found themselves wholly engrossed in nurturing the social conditions on the ground.

Evan Cristo took it upon himself to devote a great deal of his time and energy to restoring social order and looking out for the welfare of the Resurrected. His efforts, though fraught with frustration and difficulty, helped to hold together a New Presbetia that would otherwise have collapsed in anarchy. And many folk knew of the great Artificer and heard of his care for the people of the Shard. Though somewhat mysterious and often away on ventures unknown, Evan became a figurehead of respect to humankind on his homeworld.

To the other races, Cristo came to be understood as the most humane and socially conscious of the Stormcrows. Where Xanaphia was a figure of action, Rook a figure of aristocracy, Casabon a figure of divinity, and Fear a figure of enterprise, Evan was very much a figure of the Shard itself. Though seemingly preoccupied with the weight of worlds, his scattered efforts did not go unnoticed.

* * *

Thus ended the Old Era of the Shard. For a year, there was relative peace. Then, shortly after that first year, in the Cooling Season, the Stormcrows departed to return a favor to a strange planar traveler. Evan stayed on the Shard, busy with his tasks. And it was at this point that the Scar, which had been cold and peaceful, began to ooze forth a slow, viscous cloud of sickly grey from its unfathomable depths. Long studied by Evan Cristo, the Scar seemed to have awakened from its temprary slumber, as if it could sense that the great Artificer was now alone to stand against it...