The realms that make up the great expanse of the afterworlds are not independent of each other, as much as some might hope for it. They are singular, yes, but they don’t exist in adamantine bubbles (or, at least, most of them do not); planes can, and do, reach out and touch each other.

This touch – an incursion – is very seldom passive and very rarely benign. A “lance” of realmstuff pierces the veil between worlds to plant itself into another plane, and wherever that tendril reaches, however it did so – called through great workings, willed into existence by a being of enough power, generated by fearsome machinery, dragged along by the metaphysical weight of the worlds themselves – wherever the incursion touches, any who desire to may cross over from the invading realm to the other.

(Travel in the other direction is more difficult, but also possible, in theory.)

More insidiously, the environment surrounding the incursion begins to slowly take on traits of the invading realm, living beings not excepted.

Incursions are not looked upon fondly. They are, after all, beachheads of invasion as often as not. Which means that those who can end them, or at least halt their influence, are often hailed as heroes (or villains, depending on who you ask).

Wilusa is an exception to these shiftings of realms; there are no recorded incursions into, or out of, the City Of Chains.

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