A fire burnt down the world, and the survivors blamed a dragon. One by one they found their way to Pale, the last city, humanity's refuge under the moonlight glow of the Tower at its heart. Pale isn't a place you'd want to live in or visit. Every day is a fight for whatever Color you can get your hands on but, in the spaces between desperation and disparity, there's a vibrance that could only come from a body at the edge of its own extinction.
What was left of the world after the fire had something vital taken from it. Most folks call it Color, but who knows what it actually was. In its place was left a Ruin, proper noun, as far as the eye can see and as deep as the heart can feel. It doesn't work like a normal landscape anymore, with major landmarks that should stay put suddenly moving around, and things that can move... well you'll pray to god stay where they are. Ruin births are no joke.
