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Since very near the beginning, creation has sat on the gaping wound that is the Abyss. Corruption and destruction oozed like malign pus, spreading across the planes for so long that even the gods resigned themselves to its presence. It was barred from them, and no exarch or hero that entered ever emerged. And so as they kept the Primordials pinned, contested with each other, and held the Far Realm at bay, they stemmed the tide of the Abyss and focused on other matters.

But Far-Seeing Ioun knew the gods would face the Abyss, and began to prepare. To Asmodeus, Lord of Kings, she spoke of power hidden in the Abyss’ bloody depths. To Erathis Nation-Maker, she spoke of untamed wilderness, and she spoke of the Game of Making. Together they built the impossible Worldship, an enormous spelljammer of spell and stone and soul. They filled it with the faithful, the hardy and adventurous, and cast it into the scab that barred entry into the Abyss.

For three hundred years, the citizen-crew of Worldship has maintained the powerful magics holding their home together. Three thousand strong, they have survived mutiny, plague, and demonic incursion, slowly carving a path into the mysterious, deadly Abyss. And as the spelljammer-city inches through the last layers of the scab, its crew holds its breath in preparation for what waits on the other side.

It doesn’t occur to many that they might not make it that far.

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