Ancestral Hat

Long ago, there were people in Ashenfall. Not humans, not elves, nor anyone you might remember, but sentient beings with a life, a culture and a civilisation all of their own. No trace of them remains today.

Millennia ago, the Kobalios settled in Gielinor, on the only part of the world that could sustain them - Ashenfall. They were beings infused with magic. It was their food, their blood, their very essence and, because of this, they were dying. Using teleportation magics that would make the Wizards' Guild salivate, they travelled across the stars in search of worlds that might sustain them. On Gielinor, they found Ashenfall and the Wellspring at its heart. A font of anima, infused with all the resonance they could eat; a veritable geyser of magic for the Kobalios to feast upon.

And feast they did. Their race, already few in number, gorged themselves upon the mystical font and, like so many others have across creation, they grew greedy. It only took one to start the cascade that would lead to their destruction - a single Kobalios that took more than her fair share. She used a spell to divert the flow of anima; just a little, so that the outpouring stream would flow straight to her and not her siblings. She feasted, whilst the others around her grew hungry and weak from the lack of magic. She felt no guilt, for she believed they could have done the same.