<div style="background-color:black; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><span style="color: #FFFFFF"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">In ancient times, the earth was populated by humans. Nobody knows what the world was like before the First Turn. <br/><br/>It was an event which wiped out more than half of the human population. They say that, before the First Turn, non-human races were subject to live in secrecy. It’s hard to imagine. But they say, it was only after the First Turn that the world saw any peace at all. Two hundred years of it, in fact. It was a time for progress. It was a time for innovation. A time when a family of werewolves could live across the street from a young vampire couple, going to church with their human neighbours and networking with the fey to further their careers. There were no wars for those two hundred years. It was perhaps the closest the earth had ever come to looking like a utopia. <br/><br/>But like a calm before the storm, that period ended in the event known as the Second Turn.<br/><br/>The earth split, the oceans rose, and the skies were thick with vengeance. As nature systematically collapsed Shangri-la on top of itself, the population was again eradicated by famine and disease. Two hundred years of prosperity buried in the fallout. And from it, the last survivors emerged to a new world, lawless, Godless, and hopeless.<br/><br/>The lands re-divided, the borders were abolished and established only by those which were patrolled and defended. Social structures crumbled to nothing. When the fingers were pointed, they all turned toward the remaining humans, who took up in their strongholds in order to survive. But the truth was, nobody knows who or what caused the Second Turn. The ways of peace had been abandoned, forgotten as mistrust began to breed like a disease among those who had made the ruins of the planet their final bastion. <br/><br/>Yet, in this bleak and forsaken land, there endured some who had a vision of a brighter tomorrow.</div></div></span></div><br/><br/><br/>The grand Summit had been in conference for three days, and he still hadn’t found a single worthy hopeful to join his company, even in the normally patrolled outskirt of the largest human fortress known this side of the flats. Its borders had been opened up to allow for the influx of travellers coming to ‘witness’ the historical Summit, and it had turned into somewhat of a temporary tradehub whilst a strict sanctuary zone was in effect. Nobody save for the leaders in attendance had been allowed into the city proper, so those waiting outside were simply there to be the first to hear the news.<br/><br/>As for Nol, he wasn’t so concerned about current affairs, he just wanted to replace his dead crew.<br/><br/>They were torn apart by a pack of mutated wolf dogs on a recent cargo delivery. He hadn’t known them for very long, but they stuck around enough to provide a fair payout to each of their families. Nol was the only one left alive when the caravan reached its destination. The work was more dangerous than perhaps any other career, but the pay was well worth it. With thugs, bandits, and monsters all being threats to traders out in the wastes, hiring a mercenary escort was not a question. There was plenty of work to be had. The only rub was that nobody wanted to do it.<br/><br/>At this point, he didn’t care if a bloody goblin signed on. Itching for a break from standing out in the sun, he retired to the pub which had been set up by a brave human looking for some capital. He was a big, dark fellow, easily dwarfing Nol, who was quite tall himself. The drinks tasted like fermented sweat, but it still beat having a parched throat. Plus, he was rather beginning to enjoy the company of the burlesque man working the kegs. The human seemed uneasy with him at first, but Nol, accustomed to this treatment within his multi-racial business, didn’t find himself especially bothered by it. Humans, he had to be patient with. They almost never ventured away from the safety of their bolstered city walls, some perhaps never encountering an Outlander in their entire life. Poor things. He almost pitied their tiny world.<br/><br/>“Bother you for a swig of your mystery drink?” Nol slid a fat, rusted bolt across the tabletop. The man raised a brow at him. Nol didn’t budge. “Don’t fool yourself Brant, I’ve sipped better tasting roach milk straight from the teat. Won’t offer more.”<br/><br/>The man reluctantly filled him a pint of the foul liquid. Nol slammed it down, awash with the taste of old grog, perhaps the remnants of the container’s former tenant. As was expected of a makeshift pub in a place like this. He set it down again, feeling queasy, but put on a good show of doing so in a more satisfied manner. The large man grinned at him, showing the gaps in his teeth as well as the ones he was close to losing.<br/><br/>“No luck?” Brant guessed, taking the container back and, to Nol’s surprise, refilling it. He didn’t know if he could handle another.<br/><br/>“Nope, haven't won the popularity contest, yet,” he confirmed, staring down a bit miserably at the shiny liquid below him. His disheartened face stared back, his rose-coloured eyes almost seeming to glow under a mop of messy black hair. Witches looked rather a lot like humans, if one were to conveniently ignore their very different eye colours, but they were about as genetically similar as a tuna and a rubber tyre. Still, he liked to think he was good-looking by both standards, with an oval face and soft jawline decorated by a thin beard. Not that he was looking for a mate or anything- far from it- but he wished he were more approachable. Being a witch came with the nasty side effect of everybody wanting nothing to do with you. “Can’t you send a stocky blighter with nothing to lose my way, good sir? Can't imagine the sort of people giving you business are anything less than a wet rag, anyhow.”<br/><br/>“No can do,” Brant declined. “Ain’t my circus. Just here for the coin, then it’s back to the inner city with me. If it’s any comfort, at least you don’t look like a total wet rag.”<br/><br/>“And you don’t look like you’ve ever used one…” Nol grumbled.<br/><br/>He was spared Brant’s wrath when the alert system set up around the perimeter blared to life with an obnoxious static. The district buzzed with the excited chatter of anticipation. They were all anxiously awaiting the next development in the peace talks at the Summit being held within the city walls. Sixteen factions had finally come together after over a hundred years of tension and unrest to arrange the common goal of unifying once more. The static carried on, and the chatter quieted into disconcerted mumbles. Then, an unfamiliar, timid voice reverberated throughout the square.<br/><br/>“<span style="font-style: italic">…failure… summit is a failure… <span style="font-weight: bold">bzzt</span>… return to your… <span style="font-weight: bold">bzzt</span>… territories immediately…</span>”<br/><br/>A loud click and it all fell silent. Then, the voices returned, accompanied by sounds of mass panic. Brant’s table was pushed over, sending Nol to the floor along with his drink. The foul liquid cascaded down his front. Disgusted, he lifted his arms away.<br/><br/>“What gives-!”<br/><br/>“Nice knowing you, pal. You better run before the enforcers arrive,” he warned, his serious tone sobering Nol instantly as the man scrambled to load up his entire business on a cart. Quicker than he thought possible, the man had cleared out. Nol stood, annoyed by the wet stain on his jacket, and more annoyed by everyone around him. Dozens of Outlanders were doing the same, gathering what they could and driven only by the confused energy produced by the fact that nobody really knew what was happening.<br/><br/>But he knew why they did it. It was really quite simple. The peace talks were supposed to be the final attempt to prevent the factions from declaring war on one another. The news of what appeared to be complete and utter failure meant only thing.<br/><br/>They were now standing in the middle of a warzone.