I received spell amplification, so here goes.

Varseleim was a dying world. And as it died, so it's magic dwindled. Tales were told of ages passed where the limits of magic were nigh unimaginable, any decent Sign Weaver might be able to destroy a mountain, raze a city, teleport am army; all with a simple gesture. But this was long ago. Now the core of the planet cooled, and it seems the source of magic cooled as well, for no longer was the world subject to the mere whims of the Weavers.

It would take months of training now to disintegrate a rock, longer and longer gesticulations to call forth even small flames, and only the most talented of the Weavers could teleport even themselves anymore. Gone were the shining cities of the old kings, the fantastic machines that harvested crops automatically, replaced in large part with overgrown ruins and barren ground. Small towns and pockets of life still existed of course, clinging to the last vestiges of once fertile soil. Larger cities existed on coastal areas, the ocean still providing a ready source of food and fertilizer. These were plain though, utilitarian rather than flashy as it used to be, but provided a good life for the people that lived there.

There was only one city left that still shone like the kingdoms of old, Demophcene. It was here that a special order of Weavers, the Augments, made their home. Not limited in the same ways as traditional Sign Weavers, their power was strengthened not just by the earth but also the light of day and the Augments could draw on power that was out of reach of most. Those gifted with the power of the Augments probably always existed, but it wasn't until recently that their gifts became relevant and necessary.