Everything fell apart in an age of chaos.
Uprisings flared like wildfire. Governments were toppled. Trade ceased. Old enemies waged new wars, and allies turned on one another. On the brink of total collapse, we assembled our fleets and traveled to the Forge. A new home. A fresh start.
The crisis was sparked by: The rise of a fascist power.
Mysterious alien gates provided instantaneous one-way passage to the Forge.
In the midst of the cataclysm, our ancestors found a strange metal pillar on our homeworld's moon. A map on the surface of this alien relic detailed the deep-space locations of the Iron Gates—massive devices which powered artificial wormholes. With no other options, the Exodus ships fled through the gates and emerged here in the Forge.
We have made our mark in this galaxy, but the energy storms we call balefires threaten to undo that progress, leaving our communities isolated and vulnerable.
Starships navigate along bustling trade routes between settlements. We've built burgeoning outposts on the fringes of known sectors, and bold spacers chart new paths into unexplored domains. But this hard-earned success is threatened by the chaotic balefires, intense energy anomalies which cut off trade routes and threaten entire planets.
The Ironsworn bind their honor to iron blades.
Aboard a starship, where stray gunfire can destroy fragile equipment or pierce hulls, the brutal practicality of a sword makes for a useful weapon. A few also favor the silent efficiency of a blade for infiltration or espionage. Most importantly, when the Ironsworn swear a vow upon a sword, they bind their commitment to the metal. If they forsake a vow, that iron must be abandoned. To be Ironsworn without a blade is to be disgraced.
Much of the settled domains are a lawless frontier. Criminal factions and corrupt leaders often hold sway.
Powers rise and fall in the Forge, so any authority is fleeting. In the end, we must fend for ourselves. A few communities are bastions of successful autonomy, but many are corrupted or preyed upon by petty despots, criminals, and raiders.
Our faith is as diverse as our people.
Many have no religion, or offer an occasional prayer out of habit. Others pay homage to the gods of our forebears as a way of connecting to their roots. Some idealize the natural order of the universe, and see the divine in the gravitational dance of stars or the complex mechanisms of a planetary ecosystem. And many now worship the Primordials—gods of a fallen people who once dwelt within the Forge.