On the world of Ksar, water rules. Great storms swirl round at the equator, as civilization thrives on the archepelagos that chain their way across the surface, threads of shimmering life. Here you can find wonders - palaces hewn from mirror-black obsidian, made of such polished and perfect reflections that they can only found if you've visited before. Cities of algal bloom that last but a single night, cramming the life of a hundred years before the moon slips from the sky. Atar, the home of 1000 kings, where dreams go to die, bright belief fading to fuel the mirage that is the present.

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  The small island of Lundy sits outside of the march of humanity, hundreds of miles from the next scrap of land. It stands proud of the churning waves of the m?r anorven, the endless sea. Scattered around the base of the bare mountain, the population of mostly herders, farmers, and fishermen eke out a precarious living from the thin earth of its rocky shores, trading rations for small luxuries with passing traders travelling between more interesting places. In the normal course of things, we would leave it there, a passing footnote in a future historical paper on the development of intercontinental trade in the early modern period. But this is a story, and you've been promised swashbuckling adventure, tales of derring-do, heartbreak and loss, and no small portion of joy. So let's get started, shall we?