Walvenlight spanned the whole of the continent of Ashra. The Empire of Magic was the stronghold of humanity, the beacon of all that was best, plagued by the vices and greed of its worst. All that it was, all that it could have been, was shattered in a war against extraplanar invaders, with Walvenlight exhausting itself to extinction to spare the world from that menace.
...So the legends say.
Around 200 years later, Ashra is an alien landscape to the world that was. Deprived of central authority, the survivors eke out a living in tiny pockets of rough civilization. Lacking the institutions and infrastructure of what was, magic has become the province of pariahs and the privileged, or bestowed haphazardly upon the ill-starred. And without a standing civil or military presence to enforce order and safeguard the masses, wildness and a resurgence of barbaric demihumans and worse things besides have erupted from manageable numbers to life-threatening proportions.
Into this uncertain world, there are few with the training and skills to go further than a sparse living, and fewer still with the courage and the hunger to try for it. They are the defenders of what is left, the protectors of the tiny lights flickering in the dark. For glory, for fame, for wealth, for knowledge, for power, for peace, or for hope. There are many reasons to brave oblivion in the uncertain times, but all who try are painted with the same brush.
They are the few willing to roll the dice.
They are Adventurers.