The system. The Reborn campaign—that's what the slavers called this new age. After the God Wars, when the old empires collapsed, the Dorei had been reshaped. Their magic-suppressing collars were no longer iron. They were will . A Dorei could only be freed if a free person bought their contract and chose to break it. And the Guild—the Silent Ledger—had turned that into the most profitable economy in the broken world.
"Focus," Vex said, not unkindly. "You want to save them? Do the job. The Guild pays. You buy freedom-slips. That's the system." tal 39-dorei campaign setting reborn
For one breath, there was silence.
Behind them, the first guards fell to a wave of freed slaves wielding broken shackles. The rain of the Scar of Lamentation began to fall clean for the first time in a century. The system
Kaelen nodded. He’d been Tal 39 for three years now. The number was a brand over his heart, magic-etched so deep it pulsed when the Guild whispered his name. He was a weapon. A reborn —one of the broken things reforged in the Black Forges beneath the Spire. Once, he’d been a Dorei slave himself. Now, he wore the collar by choice, because the Guild’s leash was the only thing keeping the poison in his blood from dissolving him from the inside. Their magic-suppressing collars were no longer iron
He drew his blade. Not the Guild's standard-issue straight sword, but the curved, single-edged Kael he'd hidden in his false leg. Old Dorei steel, folded a thousand times, its edge singing with pre-war magic.