History

🌌 The Era of Creation

The Overgod and the Four Archangels

In the beginning, there was only the Overgod, J_on the source of light and life, who sang the cosmos into being. From that divine song came the Four Archangels, each a vessel of his will, each embodying a facet of mortal experience:

• Asmodeus, Angel of Creation — the Great Builder, tasked with shaping matter and magic into form and law.
• Gadreel, Angel of Light — the Guardian of the Lattice of Heaven, protector of cosmic order and divine pathways.
• Jophiel, Angel of Love and Knowledge — muse of inspiration, learning, and the bonds that unite hearts and minds.
• Sindatari, Angel of Death — patient and still, he weighed the souls of mortals and taught them reverence for their endings.

For an age, they built a perfect cosmos. Mortals were born. Magic flourished. Even death was sacred.

But creation cannot exist without entropy. And into this design, something unnatural was born.

⚔️ The Dawn War

The heavens did not fall in fire or fury—they rotted from within.

It began with Tharizdunn, the Forgotten One, who gazed too long into the void between stars and came to believe that the act of creation was an abortion. Tharizdunn sought to undo all things, he saw the Overgod’s design as flawed—that to truly transcend, existence itself must be reset to nothing.

He tore a hole in the Lattice, birthing the Abyss, a wound in reality that bled chaos into the multiverse. From this churning pit, demons spilled forth—mindless, endless, devouring.

The gods, unprepared and divided, with dozens of their kind dead, they turned to Asmodeus, their most cunning general. He was entrusted with the Tides of Chaos, a collection of divine artifacts forged by the gods themselves—tools of creation too dangerous to use recklessly.

Asmodeus led a host of angels into the Abyss. But he did not return.

Instead, he carved a kingdom into the Abyss’s edge and forged the Nine Hells atop it—a bulwark of law to contain the spreading chaos. To fight madness with purpose, he used the Tides of Chaos to shape the first devils, fallen angels bound to order, not goodness. Their mission was to hold the line.

They succeeded.

But Asmodeus had tasted too much power. He harnessed the divine essence within the artifacts to elevate himself into godhood, severing his ties to Heaven and declaring Hell sovereign.

To this day, the gods remain divided:

All fear the power he keeps: the Tides of Chaos, now in the hands of his archdukes—a divine insurance policy, should the heavens turn against him.

🌩 The Days of Thunder

In the wake of the Dawn War, the mortal world was left scarred but fertile. The Overgod’s early creations, the Leviathians, still roamed unchecked. These colossal beings were born not of evil, but of elemental excess: volcanoes with minds, oceans that hungered, storms that dreamed. Left unchecked, they began to devour creation.

Gadreel led a silent war against them, binding the Leviathians into slumber beneath the seas, mountains, and the very crust of the world. Their prisons were sealed with runes, veils, and pacts, forgotten by most, but not by all.

During this time, the first mortal peoples emerged:

• Lizardfolk, born from the humid swamps and dragon’s blood.
• Tortles, calm philosophers of the sea.
• Aarakocra, who worshipped wind and sky.
• Goliaths, storm-kissed giants of the peaks.

Though mighty, they were eventually overshadowed by the rise of Elves, Dwarves, and Men.

🔥 The Age of Fire

The Dawn War left the gods wounded. Their voices dimmed, their power diminished, and their attention turned inward to repair the fractured Lattice of Heaven. In their absence, another power rose to fill the void:

Dragons.

Not merely beasts, the ancient wyrms saw themselves as heirs to the heavens—immortal, magical, vast in power and wisdom. To mortal eyes, they seemed divine. And so, humanity turned to them for guidance. Across the world, tribes knelt to wings and fire, and from these worshippers emerged the Dragonborn, chosen emissaries and “Speakers” of draconic will.

The dragons divided the world into realms of scale and dominion, each species ruling over a biome as if it were their birthright:

• Black Dragons ruled the fetid swamps.
• Green Dragons claimed the deep forests.
• Red Dragons towered over volcanic ridges.
• Blue Dragons ruled deserts and thunderous skies.
• White Dragons brooded across frozen tundra and glacial wastes.
• Metallic Dragons, fewer in number, acted as judges and stewards—sometimes benevolent, sometimes reclusive.

In these dragon-empires, mortals were classified into castes, their roles and worth dictated by the color of the banners they served. Dwarves were conscripted as smiths, Halflings as farmers and stewards, Humans as soldiers and priests, all ruled by Dragonborn governors and draconic tyrants.

For a time, it was order—harsh but structured.
Then came the rebellion.

Mortal kind, no longer content to kneel, rose up in defiance. Armed with magic, dragonlances, and vengeance, they hunted the dragons to the brink of extinction. Their temples were shattered. Their hoards stolen. The castes collapsed, and chaos followed.

It was then that Io, the eldest of the dragons and god of their kind, descended to the world.

Rather than retaliate, Io did what no other being had dared: he brokered peace. From the wreckage of dragonkind, he established the Divine Compact—a covenant to keep the gods accountable, active, and invested in the world they had all but abandoned.

He chose four gods, each aligned to a season, and declared they would take turns acting as the Overgod, one season at a time, so that no single will could again dominate the world unchecked:

• Pelor, God of Summer – light, strength, and growth.
• Corellon, God of Spring – renewal, magic, and chaos.
• Sehanine, Goddess of Autumn – dreams, fate, and twilight.
• Nerull, God of Winter – death, endings, and preservation.

Together, they reshaped the world.

The gods drew straws to divide the mortal races across the world, assigning each a biome or homeland. The results, now sacred legend, were:

• Elves – Forests
• Dwarves – Mountains
• Halflings – Hills and farmland
• Humans – Ambition; no single land, but the right to adapt and flourish anywhere
• Gnomes – Hidden groves, hedges, and liminal spaces
• Dragonborn – Deserts
• Orcs – None

Gruumsh, god of the Orcs, drew nothing. Corellon, ever the Fey trickster, rigged the drawing, ensuring that the Orc god, received nothing, and when Gruumsh realized his children had been given no land, he struck the mountains with his spear, piercing the stone and declaring that his children would carve their place by force, taking what the gods denied them. From that moment, Orcs waged a merciless campaign, raiding the strongholds of Dwarves, the woods of Elves, and the frontier towns of Men.

Meanwhile, not all dragons accepted the Compact.

The surviving Chromatic Wyrms, embittered by their defeat, rejected Io’s truce and withdrew to their biomes, hoarding power and treasure, demanding tribute from those who dared trespass. They declared that their dominions remained sacred and sovereign, no matter what the gods proclaimed.

Thus, the Age of Fire ended not with peace, but with distrust, danger, and division. The world became a fractured map of ancient grudges and simmering threats—dragons brooding over broken empires, orcs hunting through the hills, and the gods now active, but competing to shape a world they nearly lost.

And yet, it is said that this was the first time the world became truly adventurous—perilous, yes, but open for bold souls with steel, wit, and dreams of power.

👑 The Crown Wars

The Elves were not born fractured. In the early ages, they stood united beneath the twilight banner of Corellon, god of beauty, magic, and transformation. In those days, Elven society stretched across the forests and starlit plains of the world—elegant, ageless, and confident in its place as Corellon’s favored children.

But pride breeds cracks.

Among Corellon’s spawn rose Velatha, a visionary archmage whose brilliance was rivaled only by her ambition. Once Corellon’s most trusted daughter, Velatha did not reject her god; she claimed to complete his work. She preached that Elves were not merely stewards of magic, but its destined sovereigns.

To her followers, this was not blasphemy—it was revelation.

Corellon pleaded for her to stop. But when she refused, he could not bring himself to strike her down. And so, in his hesitation, war came.

What followed would later be known as the Crown Wars: a series of civil wars, magical cataclysms, and genocides that burned across centuries. Cities were turned to crystal, forests to glass. Elf turned against Elf, and entire bloodlines were erased.

Those who followed Velatha became cruel and cold, building a draconian society called Eldamar to spread her gospel. They would become the High Elves, though in their tongue they still call themselves the Taimavar (“The True Elves”).

Others rejected both Velatha’s extremism and Corellon’s silence, abandoning high society to live among the wilds. These became the Wood Elves, protectors of nature and reluctant inheritors of a shattered culture.

The Drow, tried to preserve the old ways—but their society never recovered from the genocide of their people. Many Drow cities have become cults of the Spider Demon, Lolth, in response to Corellon not sparing them from Velatha’s wrath.

When the final war ended and Velatha was slain and Corellon vanished. Some believe he exiled himself in shame. Others say he walks the world unseen, watching, waiting. Whatever the truth, he has not spoken since.

Even now, the Elves remain broken—a people of splinters, shaped by a god who could not choose between justice and love, and a queen who believed perfection was worth any cost.

🏔️ The Age of Civilization

As the Elves retreated into shattered enclaves, and the gods turned their eyes away from the world, the Dwarves rose. From deep beneath the mountains, their hammers echoed like thunder, and the fires of their forges never dimmed. Nor Thordrimm, the First Empire of Stone, stretched like veins beneath the continent—its roads unseen, its halls eternal, its kings crowned beneath mountains.

They worshipped the Forgelord, a divine smith said to be Moradin’s chosen. The Dwarves claimed that while the Leviathians had left behind their secrets—hidden in stone, fire, and rune. And so, they built. Halls of impossible scale. Weapons that never dulled. Runes that channeled the very bones of magic.

From Nor Thordrimm came not only wonders, but order. Trade routes were carved, languages codified, treaties etched in granite and bound with blood. The Dwarves kept the peace—not out of kindness, but through strength, craftsmanship, and unbreakable oaths.

But nothing eternal is ever truly safe.

Some say the fall of Nor Thordrimm began with greed. Others say it began with fear. One tale claims the Runepriests tried to harness a Leviathian to power a city of living stone. Another tells of a Tide of Chaos unearthed from the Underdark—a divine artifact too powerful to touch, yet too tempting to leave buried.

Whatever the truth, Nor Thordrimm collapsed in a single generation.

Entire cities sank into the earth. Forgeflames turned black. Rune-gates failed. The Forgelord fell silent, and the empire that once held the continent together cracked and crumbled. The Dwarves fled, scattered, or sealed themselves away. Only the Principality of Khim Khalduhr remains—an isolated stronghold, its people clinging to the dream that one day the Forgelord will return, and the Empire will rise again.

With the Elves divided and the Dwarves diminished, the Age of Civilization passed not into greatness, but into vacancy.

And in the silence that followed, the first Human kings carved names into the dirt.

🔮 The Age of Humanity – (Current Era)

Now is the Age of Humanity—an era not defined by divine miracles or ancient empires, but by the ambition of mortals.

Elves brood in the shadows of their fallen legacy. The Dwarves sing to empty halls. The old kingdoms are fractured, exhausted by centuries of war, silence, and decline.

But the humans endure. They multiply. They conquer. They build.

In the span of mere generations, humans have redrawn the map. Among them, one name has become legend in life: King Rose, once a minor noble of Jovenshire, now a conqueror-king whose banner stretches across half the Vale.

Rose is no mere warlord. With charm, coin, and steel, he has absorbed the fractured realms of man—toppling tyrants, uniting petty kings, and bending magic to his will. Behind him ride armies with enchanted blades, war-mages trained at the College of Ioun, and foreign gold whispered to come from the Taimavar across the sea.

And above it all, magic reigns unchecked.

Spelltowers float. Astral ships connect cities. Even commoners possess trinkets once fit for kings. The College of Ioun meets monthly to regulate arcane laws, but its grip is slipping. Magic has become a tool of war, politics, vanity—and something is going wrong.

Deep, in the cracks left behind by Nor Thordrimm’s fall and Tharizdunn’s madness—something ancient dreams.

The Leviathians stir beneath the earth.

This is an age of triumph and terror.
A golden age cracking beneath its own weight.
And an age where kings believe they are gods.