It is a troubling time for Golarion. Deep in the taverns and the courts, rumors of war are spreading like a virus, rumors of powerful preparations and the wooing of potential allies. Everyone can feel it coming, like the calm before the storm, like a silence before the entire world is drowned in a wave of violence.
From the north, a cold breeze blows. Demons and monsters howl, the wind carrying their terrifying howls across the continent. Something is coming. Something big. Something powerful enough to organize monsters, to make orcs more confident, to cause imps to break free of their lashes and attack their masters, to destroy everything in its wake. Contact has been lost with the Mendevian Crusades, and the worldwound has been left unprotected. Whatever is leading the demons from there has been collecting evil creatures left and right, with little regard for any town or village that gets in its way. Survivors have only listed one thing that this army wants - destruction.
Talks have begun for some kind of unified army, some sort of protection against this onslaught of beasts that is organizing itself, but every discussion between leaders falls apart, Cheliax, Taldor, Varisia, Ustalav, each chat risks starting another fight between countries, all while the dark forces grow ever closer, rolling over everything in their path.
In this uncertain time, there is only one thing people can be sure of: This means war.
