One thousand years ago, the Earth was destroyed. Mankind now sails a burning sea - an accretion disc; a whirlpool of fire, born of the tears of a dying sun. Onto this post-apocalyptic stage lurches The Pilgrim: Last night he arrived in the ancient monastery town of Firesend, and promptly drank himself into a stupor. Today, he has awoken in the pub to find that he owes the landlord money... that he has none, that fate seems to want to drag him into mysteries and adventures that are really none of his business, and that the narrator doesn't seem to think too highly of him. It could be worse. And before the day is out, it probably will.
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