The Wandering Star had fallen out of orbit. Its destructuon was sudden, unprecedented; but the debris that fell to the planet did not bring hellfire. It brough a blanket of sulfur and soot.

The following days after the death of their moon, there was no chaos. Most Skirls where unphased, or where not even aware it had happened, aside from noticing it suddenly dissapeared from the sky. And their lives went on.

Death plumed in the form of a black cloud. In weeks it had altered the atmosphere; the volcanic activity on the planet skyrocketed, smoke smothered the sun and suffocated the living, desecrating crops and livestock with it. The planet became hot. In weeks their home had become a hell, and in their struggle to survive, the Skirls where given no choice but to flee. They fled underground, bound to the earth for the forseeable future, unable to spread their wings ever again.

In the search of comfort underground, exploring previously uncharted caverns, the Skirls uncover something that has been forgotten, deep beneath the earth, lying asleep under their feet for eons...