The Beginning

In the beginning, there was one land among many people. Isthorin was an ideal utopia, striving every day for perfection among the ill will of the handful of people who did not understand.
It was in a literal sense an impossible utopia, as things went forward. Magic was being left behind for science, but still people needed magic. The old gods were falling out of favour with those who walked forward with science in their minds and hearts, but remained deeply ingrained in the lives of those who fought off the temptation of scientific discovery. Ancient Houses divided on opinion.
People struggled to find balance between families, but there was none to be had. As each new discovery came to light, more people could not rectify their differences. Differences in opinion turned to arguments to fights to wars and finally to the Wall.
The Wall is a misnomer, it is two walls, both surrounding an invisible border, both holding in and keeping out. Uqa and Askein were born of desperation. Each country maintains their own wall, with patrols and repairs. The land between the two walls is wild and untouched by magic or science, simply left to be.
Both new countries thrived, stamping out any remaining thoughts of what lay beyond the wall - magic is foolish superstition and science is mad heresy. Children are taught to hate and disband the terrible thoughts the people across the wall.
Generations came and went and people lived on, learning hate from the generation before them, that learned from the generation before. A vicious cycle that never ends and refuses to end even in times of relative peace. Peace comes and goes, the wall itching to move East or West, seeking purchase in land it doesn’t own.
It was during a time of peace when the sickness came to Askein and sought to bring death where He might not normally touch. Those with the most magic were brought down swiftly, whole tribes and families falling within hours of the first sign of illness.
The illness swept up along the sky in the wings of black birds and tore across on the land on the pale tails of running rodents. It took to the winds and sailed down rivers and streams and touched all.
Those who did not fall ill were not lucky: they lost loved ones and leaders, children and parents, lovers and friends.
Magic could not cure the illness and those who sought magically healing only lived a short while longer, prolonging the suffering. Thousands died in a matter of days and people began to feel fear, deep within their bellies, seeking those who follow the Violet path - the path of seeing, demanding to know an uncertain future.
All they learned was the past: the illness was brought across the wall.
Blasphemous scientist created the illness and had given it to them.
The time for peace was over.