Path of Exile

Story

All exiles have the same choice: sink or swim. Those who do not drown reach the deserted shores of Wraeclast, where only the embrace of death awaits them. A small group of survivors, however, have managed to cling to a dilapidated lighthouse, where they desperately fend off both the undead and the maniacal scavengers who stubbornly cling to the last shreds of humanity. Under the domineering gaze of the Axiom prison, snarling goatmen roam the craggy cliffs, keeping their claws away from the rhoa-infested swamps in the lowlands. All along the coast lie rotting shipwrecks. The ghosts of the stranded sailors still haunt the wrecks of their ill-fated ships, waiting to vent their grief and anger on those still alive. Meanwhile, the siren herself sings her sweet, sad song, luring more and more ships into her watery grave. Further inland, in the winding caves and dark forests, the ruins of civilization become more and more apparent. The ravages of time have reduced many buildings to rubble and stripped away the decaying flesh, leaving only grotesquely grinning bones. The dark, putrid caves and underground passages are a rickety haven for these skeletal groups, while the open forests and riverways are filled with monstrous beasts out for blood. Lately, ragtag groups of bloodthirsty bandits have set up fortified camps in the woods. They challenge each other, extorting food and supplies from the small, struggling village that lies between them on a stone causeway. Ignored by the quarreling bandits, strange newcomers in black armor have been seen prowling around various large ruins, their intentions as mysterious as they are disturbing. Atop a sheer cliff of torn mantle, spanning the river that feeds a mighty waterfall, lies the fallen capital of the Eternal Empire. Its former glory rots amid the ruins of a ruined cityscape, its buildings decayed and rotting. Yet Sarn is anything but uninhabited. Many of the original citizens still lurk in the dark recesses, their humanity obliterated by the cataclysm of centuries past. These immortals roam the city at night and skulk through the shadows during the day, for naked sunlight is anathema to their shriveled, leathery skin. The sun-dappled days, however, are anything but peaceful. A legion of Oriath soldiers has occupied the area west of the river and is waging a fierce war against the city's diverse inhabitants. Every day, their black-clad soldiers battle twisted insects that crawl about, multiply, and eat anything that moves. Every day they throw battalions against the army of hovering red ribbons that eviscerate all who enter their territory. Every day they engage in a skirmish with a small group of exiles who have barricaded themselves on a small island in the middle of the river, caught between certain death on both sides.