Welcome, Outcast.




Or are you just a wanderer? Harder to tell with that hood up, all sneak-thiefy like. Hiding the brand, are you? Well, what’s that to me? I don’t much care, so long as you can get the job done at the rate you lot tend to charge…

The world of the Middens is one full of political strife and racial tension. Dwarves, halflings, and men have all borne the yoke of the elven Empire which had, until the Fracture, ruled uncontested for time immemorial. Now, where there once was an expansive, singular empire, there now exists three domains – the Human of Matriarchy, the Independant Dwarven Coalition, and the Immortal Empire. The Emperor still rules from his seat of power in the pristine metropolis of Nanterre, however, signs of decline abound as its grip loosens on the periphery of civilization.

You are one who lives between those loosened fingers. Whether by exile, birth, or choice, you shirk all nations and peoples, living a life free of national pride or responsibility. Of course, such freedom has a cost… and that cost is dear one. Most would consider you a traitor to your race and, as such, are not to be trusted. You will be scorned. Mocked. Wrongfully (…or rightfully) harassed and imprisoned, merely for being what you are.

Those who have been exiled are officially branded – at the culmination of their sentencing, the rune “Outcast” is burned into skin of their left cheek, marking them forever as someone not to be trusted by any nation.

What will earn you a brand?

Multiple thievery offenses.
An inconvenient amount of political power.
Insulting or otherwise offending a Lord.
Being a half-breed abomination.

But take heart, my friend. Rumor has it that there is a place for people like you. A place whispered of by all the dirty and the downtrodden, the cast off and thrown away. Some say it’s a city. Others, merely a hole in the ground. Some call it Haven, or Refuge or the Sunken City.

Most, however, growl that it’s proper name is the Middens.

The Middens

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