So many stars. The universe so vast.
One star, called the Burning Mother by some, shines on a planet visited by creatures from many worlds. Some of the locals complain about this, more loudly ever since someone opened a rift to the Abyss. Some of the locals are unhappy, also, about the shining star; but this story is not about them.
On the other side of that rift, too, not everyone is satisfied, and have sent emissaries to invite someone new and rather more exotic to the party.
We’re so very small, in the end.
The Worldwound: a frozen waste full of demonic corruption. Adventurers of every stripe flock here, to hold back the Abyssal hordes (or, sometimes, to help them) and grow stronger in the doing.
A half-orc lies bound and unconscious on a makeshift platform; a green-robed woman is carefully painting a ritual circle around him. A half-naked man leaning on a sword watches her in apparent boredom; a halfling follows her every move with gleeful anticipation.
The last man reclines in a camping chair. He is sharply dressed all in red, fine well-tailored clothes contrasting with the rest of them, seemingly out of place in the muddy surroundings. He is reading a book, and whistling. It is impossible to tell what he is looking at, besides the book. He has the head of a fly and gossamer-thin wings.
The first bullet hit me from behind. The second hit me before I could fall, before there could be any pain.
The green-robed woman pours liquid on a dagger from a small vial, chants, and carefully slits the tied half-orc's throat.
A portal opens, and a girl drops through. She is wearing strange armor. There are several bleeding holes in her head.