The setting for Weir’s world is Vaguely Fantasy Medieval at its baseline, with a heaping of Eldritch Horror and sometimes even a side of Sci-Fi when certain entities make their presence known.

Magic exists, though truly powerful magic is wielded only by a select few, and technological advancements are developed and utilized much more prominently in the capital city. This sprawling center spreads its power and influence to every corner of the continent, tapping into various resources—whether they be material assets or people—and bringing them back to bolster its own advancement either magically, technologically, culturally, or all of the above.

The farther removed a place is from the capital, the less of this it sees, though a small town will likely participate in this one-sided advancement through trade. For many years now, the capital has been particularly interested in an underground world fondly dubbed the Ceaseless Pit, where relics from a strange, past civilization can be unearthed at the risk of poisonous gasses, dangerous terrain, and strange, violent monsters. Many towns utilize individuals to delve into these depths and bring back its many assets for both their homes and for trade. These poor souls are called Dredgers; given that these individuals rarely have anything else to call their own, the job title itself often becomes one’s surname.

One such town is where Weir’s story begins.

Near a small village called Turner’s Vale, Weir was abandoned close to a river weir as a baby and thus named accordingly. He was raised to forcibly scavenge and gather resources as a Dredger in the Ceaseless Pit, hauling up myriad items at the risk of his own life. This instilled in him a rather pessimistic, almost fatalistic perspective from the outset. He learned very quickly that life is unfair, death is swift and random, and the only person that will look after yourself is yourself if you can even manage that much. This notion was driven home after a particularly disastrous expedition in which he watched his companions get torn apart one by one by a ferocious monster. He nearly died, too, but was saved by an eldritch being that lived in the depths. It called itself a god and appealed to the wounded Weir. The two eventually struck a begrudging deal: power doled out piecemeal in exchange for a favor to be called in later. Weir agreed.

Several years later, this "favor" came into play when the god, dubbed "The Polymath" by Weir for its brainlike appearance, threw his name into the proverbial hat as a participant in a ritual overseen by another extraterrestrial god. Transported to an alien, faraway land, he found himself in the company of four others who discovered themselves in a similar situation, all for their own motives. They were to kill each other until only one was left standing, and then that one individual would be set free. Why? For entertainment's sake.

They all decided to kill the extraterrestrial god instead and split its heart, a relic with the power to change the world if wielded by a sentient being with strong desires, between them.

It wasn't easy, and they nearly died a few times, but they ultimately succeeded. Or rather, they would have succeeded if Weir hadn't backstabbed them at the last second, keeping the whole heart for himself and leaving the other four trapped in the corpse of the alien god. Why? Because the Polymath's required favor was made clear in his mind: take that god's heart and make it Weir's own, share it with no one, change the world as he saw fit. But the caveats were clear, too: the Ceaseless Pit must still exist, and the Polymath would house all the knowledge and experiences of the innocent people lost or erased in the process, bolstering its power and reveling in its newfound knowledge.

Most would balk at the very idea. But in the end, Weir hardly had any complaints. (Because life is unfair. And death is swift and random.) His world only ever truly revolved around one person: himself. And thus, the decision was ultimately an easy one.

Understandably, his companions were not happy about this betrayal. In the ensuing scuffle, the heart was cracked, but it still possessed enough power to make Weir's wish a reality, effectively pressing the restart button on the world. The current population was replaced with completely new individuals, like switching out an old set for something better. True magic could no longer be wielded by anyone. Interest in the Pit was stymied into passing intrigue, ridding the need for Dredging. Waking up in Turner’s Vale with a new heart beating in his chest, he soon learned that life was idyllic and (surreally? worrisomely? surely not.) peaceful, and easy for him. Maybe like this, he could finally be contented. Maybe.

And thus, he lives in his picture-perfect little town of Turner's Vale, so much more bright and colorful than it once was, in a house atop a hill next to a windmill. He works as a hunter and a sometimes-explorer of the Pit that still remains at the Polymath's behest, but he is lauded for his bravery and contribution to the village. Everything is at his own pace. Life is lackadaisical. And if the consequences of his actions will someday come to bite him in the ass, well. He hasn't seen any.

Yet.