All is as it has always been upon the Gearworld. The ancient primal machinery lays still. Wind blows over the Sentinel Range and sweeps brass dust through the fingers of outstretched prismwood trees. The bards and their stories have been drowned out in the south, in the Brasslands. For none can hear them over ceaseless construction and the sound of hammers banging out progress. No mech alive could know the proud North had been slaughtered. No mage or king could know that mighty warriors of that land, the geist, have fallen. Or that a secret they kept vigil over has consumed them. And now, it comes for the south. Creaking dead claws seek to wrest the future from the grip of the gods above, and plunge all into an ancient blackness. But destiny was a bit more clever than that. It gathers a purposeless warrior from the North, and two dreaming twins from the South. Order, and chaos. Light, and shadow. A new chapter in an ancient story will be written, forged in brass. All is as it has always been.