Tales of how we arrived in this forsaken land are still whispered in hushed tones to this day, often with drink in hand and fire crackling in the hearth. They say we came from a distant and now unreachable continent long ago, arriving in a panic. They say we were comfortable and thriving on this continent, maybe too comfortable. No one alive now knows for certain. There are many variations on our origin story, but all seem to suggest there was some sort of illness or sickness forcing us to leave the place we called home. Some believe it was due to our comfort and complacency that led to our exile. Some believe it was a punishment from the elder gods for collective lack of faith and reverence.  Regardless, every variation seems to agree a pandemic forced us to flee to the seas. Ships of every kind launched from the ports bordering the Unknown. 

The Unknown was what we called the deep seas, areas unexplored and thought to be dangerous, home to all sorts of myth and legend. Fear kept us from exploring. And it was fear that pushed us to explore. We thought the Unknown would afford us some protection from the chaos of what would later be known as the Crimson Death. For a time, that is exactly what it seemed to do. But with incubation period unknown, we were lulled into a false sense of security.  

Then it happened. Ships veered off into the deep without warning or sign. Passengers and crew were tossed overboard at the first sign of sickness. Madness ensued as we tried to protect ourselves from the Crimson Death. Friend turned against friend. Mothers wailed as their children were ripped from their arms. Husbands and fathers sacrificed themselves. It was pure chaos. No one was safe. The confined space of ships on water seemed to be a death sentence for humanity. Our numbers dwindled but were not extinguished. It is said some were immune to the Crimson Death. No one knows why or how, but it was these who survived to reach the shores, the shores of the Ironlands. 

We arrived as suddenly as we left, most of us shipwrecked. Some wrecked on the islands bordering the mainland. Some miraculously made it through those islands only to be crushed against the jagged coast, yet still surviving. It was a perilous time, leaving our numbers increasingly dwindled. Though the Crimson Death was fresh in our memory, it was not our main concern during the period that would be known as the Arrival. Unadulterated survival was. This need brought us together as a people. The last of humanity.  

Shoddy open air wooden shelters were the first things the founders constructed. These aided us as we regrouped, getting our baring’s. With wildlife ever present, we found they could not protect us and allow us to rest. We were prey. Between the unfamiliar landscape and the abundant wildlife, the need was great for a more permanent solution. We risked what little we had, traveling inland, searching for stability and sustainability.