A Note from the Historian
I was not born with ink-stained hands or reverent eyes for scrolls. I was born in ash. Among the relic-hunters of the Godscarred Wastes, where bone and ruin are all that remain of divine war, my people search for fragments—shards of the past traded like coin, prized for power more than truth.
But I chose a different pursuit.
These are the tales whispered between stone and silence, lost beneath conquest and doctrine. The Lost Histories.
I have given my life to seeking them. In crumbling sanctuaries and blood-stained ruins, through forbidden texts and the dreams of the dying, I have gathered what remains. I know the danger in this work. To write history is to shape it. What I record may someday define the gods themselves in the minds of those who follow.
So I make this vow:
I will not soften their cruelty, nor gild their virtues. I will not stitch fables to comfort, nor omit horrors to please. I will tell their stories as they were told to me—in truth, however fractured. In grief, in glory, in shadow.
Let the reader see them as they are.
Let the gods answer for themselves.