Before the blessing of the Guardians — the twelve deities that created and protect the universe, the planes, and all that is good within them — life cowered in the shadow of the inescapable doom that is death.
Life suffered the trappings of hunger and greed, hatred and war, fear and distrust — all emanating from the instinct that plagued it. But these failings were marked against the intent of the Guardians, who would promise to set the world anew.
First came the Devastation, the Guardian’s judgment upon a sinful past. A scouring of the earth, purifying an arrogant and evil world.
Second came the Seeding, the source of all magick, from which arose all life. Of this life came the twelve tribes, who would pledge their souls to the Guardians, in a ritual now known as the Founding. And so the First Gift of magick was given.
After twelve histories spanning generations lost to time, magick was fully realized, and the twelve tribes burgeoned in their lust for power.
From their mastery of magick came raging a single, bloody war: the Mage Wars. A century-long conflict encompassing the entirety of Laodicea, leaving none untouched.
After an age and another of strife, the world worn and weary with war, the Guardians bestowed upon the twelve nations a second gift: Immortality.
The binding of the soul to the body: an immortal coil. A natural rebirth upon death, restoring life to its most proud state. A gift given only to the tribes who were present at the Founding, and their ancestors, who would forever be known as the Mythrilium.
And so the Second Gift of magick was given.
An era of peace took hold over the Mythrilium, providing newfound providence for their now-intertwined cultures to flourish. Great minds gave birth to towering cities, complex machinations, and beautiful magick. A gilded age now known as the Common Mythril Era, made possible from the calm bestowed by the Second Gift.
But the Mythrilium were not worthy of their fortune. For the corrupting influence of life can permeate even the holiest of intent. Every death led to the connection between a soul and the seed of Mythril within the heart of the world. The corruption that writhes within the souls of the Mythrilium, spurred by a lust for war, hatred, and greed, broke the Aether, the Leyplane; each passing soul’s impurities fraying the seams which stitch together the planes.
The Mythril seed now lies twisted, the pillars of the world shorn, broken, and maligned.
From this corruption pours the combined malice of the ages: time and insanity amok, magick untethered, monsters unleashed. Horrors fall from shattered skies, death claws from tremors below. Any wayward step may very well lead to far lands, deep passages, or a different age.
The Cataclysm is upon the world.
- Dangers of the Disaster: A Historian's Journey, Sam Finely