Ferrum

Ferrum

Act 1 - The Wound That Wouldn't Close

The world has places where the Sundering Rite sealed cleanly. Rivers turned warm. Wind turned kind. Grass grew gold.

Ferrum is where it tore.

When Chuth Maw flew into the largest volcano on the continent and inverted her soul, the force did not stop at the blast. It went down. In Obsidia it turned to glass. Further north, it went deeper — hard enough to shudder the plates themselves, to slip the world off its seams and drag up what should have stayed buried.

No one opened a gate to the Hells there. No one needed to. The world was struck so hard it bruisedstraight through to them.

It is still burning. A black waste of cooled flows and fresh flows, of ash that never settles and smoke that never clears. Small volcanos break the plain. By day it is a choked, endless dusk. By night the ground glows from underneath, like you are looking down into a forge. Everything is black. Black rock, black sand that cuts your boots, black glass that is still hell-warm to the touch. The air smells like hot iron.

If Obsidia hums, Ferrum roars low and constant in the world’s throat.