Chronicle I: Beginnings
The Founding and Rise of Trastmoor
Long before the ash cloaked its stones and sorrow filled its streets, Trastmoor was a beacon of quiet prosperity along the rugged coast.
Born from the hands of humble settlers who sought refuge from war and tyranny, the town grew around a sacred spring said to bless the land with abundance.
Its people, a hardy blend of farmers, fishers, and craftsmen, wove a life of simple joy and shared burdens.
The church upon the hill stood watch over them, a symbol of faith and unity, its bell ringing out across the fields with the rising sun.
Over generations, Trastmoor became a place whispered of with fondness — a haven untouched by the darker tides that troubled the wider world.
The Burning and the Fall
But peace is a fragile thing.
When the dragon Malakar, bearer of the Voidfire, descended from the blackened skies, Trastmoor’s fate was sealed in flame and ruin.
No walls could hold against the creature’s wrath; no prayers could turn aside its hunger for despair.
The church, once a symbol of hope, was the first to fall — its bell silenced mid-peal as the fire swallowed it whole.
The spring ran dry. The fields turned to cinders. The streets, once alive with laughter and trade, became silent graves.
Those who did not perish in the first onslaught fled into the wilds, carrying little more than memories.
Only echoes remain now, whispered in the mist that clings to the ruins.
Thus ended the Age of Trastmoor.
