Many years ago, in an age of hatred, the land of Teraknorn was split into many battling states. Civilization was lost. Mankind knew nothing but war. The dark times lasted hundreds of years.

Out of this darkness, gradually, arose a nation, the country of Naridor. Led by an ancient succession of dukes that had somehow survived the battles of the past, Naridor was ruled severely but kindly. It was the land of Naridor from which we have our first record of the arts of magic, but there is evidence that they pre-date the formation of Naridor, and indeed, even the dark times.

From the formation of Naridor is our measure of time: Derrat Sorcerum (Oldspeak) meaning "In the age of magic."

The few who could bend the power of magic to their ways grouped together, for they were persecuted and feared by the common people. In an isolated corner of Naridor, a small fortress, known as the Crimson Tower, was built over several hundred years. The fortress weathered resistance and eventually became accepted by the sparse population. Magic users were soon, (if not common, at least not rare) in the countryside and in the cities. And the Crimson Tower was abandoned, the rooms silent and the walls corroding.

Soon, though, the line of dukes was corrupted. In the year 447 Derrat Sorcerum, the country of Naridor was in political chaos. The mad Duke Chort's blanket condemnation of the magical arts had led to an ordinance forbidding the practice of magic at the risk of banishment from the land. KNADATORN, Naridor's capitol city, was struck particularly heavily by the ban. Free trade of spell-related spices and powders was immediately shut down by the government, effectively cutting off the majority of spell-casters from their work. Public practitioners of magic were hunted down and banished, or hanged! The Duke had allocated a giant budget to the enforcement of his law, and patrols of militia roamed Knadatorn's streets day and night. One by one, many of the great sorcerers began to disappear. To where, no one knew.

Unbeknownst to the Duke, the Crimson Tower was again in full operation, this time secretly. And the hierarchy of mages was re-established, promising young scholars stealthily recruited to the Tower and advancing in the ranks of wizardry.

Now, in the year D.S. 872, the city of Koraydn is again ruled with a just hand, by the good if somewhat senile Duke Darwin. The Crimson Tower is filled with hundreds of mages and the magical arts are flourishing.

You are Corin, a young apprentice recruited to the Tower three years ago. After much tedious menial labor (and in your off time, magical instruction) you have reached the level at which you have the opportunity to become a Journeyman mage. You easily complete the routine magic tests, and now the final obstacle is before you. You are bound and locked in a prison cell and must escape to prove your skill. But upon successfully completing the test, you walk out of the cell and realize something has gone wrong! There is no smiling Master Wizard waiting to congratulate you outside the door...

As you explore the silent Tower you discover piles of bodies. Bodies of your friends and teachers. The floor resonates with the clink of faraway metal boots. The Tower has been taken over while you were in the cell.

But why? And why is there no conquering army?

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