History of the Sundering

In the heavens the sky trembles, and the earth responds in kind…
An army, strong and secure, races for victory sure, but a woman, primitive and simple, stands in their way, calling for Heaven’s might. Holding above her a wolf’s pelt, pure and white, she screams and throws her face high. The army surges forward, heeding not her cry, ignoring the Power that she is. Shining armor and tailored tabards are sent ablaze at her command, never more to be led in ignorance and destroy what another hand hates.
Two swords appear in the sky, nearing each other, heralding the end…
Across the land a boy, not quite a man, leads another army, dark warriors with shadows across their faces, Warriors true and stout of heart, they fight the things before them. Odds against, they push onward, the boy leading with face grim. A shadow rises before their might, and against this, they cannot fight. The boy, now a man, raises his fist and slays what man cannot touch.
The swords cross and the earth cries out, crust tearing apart, the people dying…
A man faces himself, his eyes so fierce steel melts at his gaze. He is strong, and perhaps the most powerful of them all, yet he cringes from what he sees. He covers his eyes, unwilling to admit the truth, but is forced to see beyond and know what lies buried deep. With a cry of anguish, so profound and heartbreaking, he steps toward himself and the future. Rising up, he grabs the swords with his hands of bare flesh and tears the metal asunder. His hands bleed and his life is forfeit, for it is he who caused it all.
The Crossing of Swords destroys the world… Yet three heroes will rise…
—The Crossing of Swords
From the Hardfoot Writings

A thousand years ago a cleric had a vision. Ja’acob Hardfoot was a renowned holy man, respected by his peers and trusted by kings. So compelling was his vision that he shared it with his fellow clergy and his sovereign, the king of Aerith. The nation reeled as Ja’acob’s vision was debated over and over until finally a decision was made: Aerith would prepare to fight this enemy that wielded swords in the sky.

The Demon War: A Tapestry of Hubris and Hope

Aerith, once a unified continent, pulsed with the dream of utopia. But this dream was threatened by Ja'acob Hardfoot's vision. A grand alliance formed, fueled by unwavering faith and potent magic. From every corner, resources flowed freely: gleaming weaponry, valiant soldiers, and the arcane arts wielded by powerful wizards. Yet, a chilling fear gnawed at the hearts of the leaders. Was it enough?
Then emerged The Maeg Anri, a clandestine sect of wizards and clerics who proposed a radical solution – the creation of ultimate warriors, the Belaithin. Each race would offer a champion, their essence imbued through an agonizing ritual into a single, unstoppable being. The sacrifice was immense, but the potential reward – salvation.

Although trolls are considered monsters that live in the mountains, sometimes allying with goblins and bugbears, there is evidence inthe historical record that they were once held in the same esteem as humans, elves, dwarves, etc. Could trolls at one point have been civilized? Are they, like the rest of us, victims of the Sundering?

The chosen, heroes from human, elf, dwarf, gnome, halfling, and even troll, were offered not as mere pawns, but as beacons of hope. Stepping into the glyph-etched circle, they willingly merged their destinies, emerging as the Belaithin – beings of unparalleled power, glistening with otherworldly luminescence. Their might was undeniable. They cleaved through practice dummies with ease and unleashed arcane blasts that would shame even the most seasoned mage. Yet, a disquiet stirred within some – the creation process was agonizingly slow and consumed vast resources.
Seizing upon these anxieties, The Maeg Anri presented a chilling alternative: the Belaithaman. These lesser beings, mass-produced through a twisted version of the ritual, required fewer sacrifices but lacked the Belaithin's intelligence and control. Blinded by desperation, the alliance agreed.
The Belaithaman, however, were a monstrous mockery of their noble kin. Brutal and savage, they broke free from their magical tethers, unleashing a wave of terror across Aerith. Panic seized the land. These weren't saviors – they were demons in their own right! The unified front fractured, with many blaming The Maeg Anri for their hubris.

My grandfather used to whisper about the Belaithin. Said they weren't demons exactly, more like fallen angels. He swore they still walk the earth, disguised as humans, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

The Belaithin, however, saw an opportunity. Leading the fight against their monstrous brethren, they convinced the alliance of a fragile truce. A summit was called, a desperate hope for peace. But amidst the hopeful whispers, the Belaithin committed a horrific betrayal. In a hail of arcane fury and inhuman strength, they murdered the king, his council, and the entire delegation.
The demons, sensing weakness, surged forward with renewed fervor. The continent descended into a brutal war. Hope seemed lost, until a spark ignited - a rebellion. Men and women, elves and dwarves, united by grief and fueled by a desperate yearning for survival. This ragtag band, led by the dead king's son, rallied the scattered forces. Wizards channeled their dwindling energies, while soldiers charged with a righteous fury.
At the war's climax, under a sky choked with smoke and despair, the heavens intervened. As the last defenders braced for annihilation, the combined prayers of the surviving clerics reached the Creator. A blinding light erupted, banishing the shadows. An angelic host materialized, their celestial blades cleaving through the demonic ranks. Inspired by this divine intervention, the united forces of Aerith pushed back the demons with renewed vigor.
The tide finally turned. Decimated and weakened, the demons were driven back to the Forbidden Lands. Powerful magic, woven by the continent's remaining wizards, erected an impenetrable barrier, a testament to their resilience and a solemn reminder of the cost of hubris. The Demon War became a cautionary tale, a stark warning of the dangers of seeking power through forbidden means and a testament to the unwavering spirit of a people united against annihilation.

Elven Betrayal: A Wound That Will Not Heal

The embers of the Demon War had barely cooled when a new betrayal ignited fresh fury. The Assarall, the haughty high elves, had remained aloof throughout the conflict, sequestered in their glittering towers. They viewed the war as a consequence of humanity's arrogance, a cleansing fire their lesser kin deserved. This isolation fostered a simmering resentment, but the true horror came after the demons' defeat.
With a hubris that rivaled The Maeg Anri's, The Assarall unleashed a cataclysmic ritual, their magic tearing at the very fabric of reality. Slowly but inexorably the land they claimed as their own rose into the sky, a subcontinent blotting out the sun until it rose so high it disappeared. The earth groaned in protest, vast chasms splitting the continent. Entire cities crumbled, swallowed by the yawning abysses. The remaining bastions of civilization were plunged into chaos. In a single, arrogant act, The Assarall had condemned Aerith to a new dark age.
The Wood Elves, ever wary of their kin, watched in horror as their ancestral home was ripped apart. The tremors echoed through the Sharian Bryralei Forest, a constant reminder of The Assarall's treachery. A chasm left behind by The Assarall's floating island, evidence of their powerful magic, soon filled water from the northern sea.
The Assarall, their island paradise cradled in the sky, became a haunting legend. Some whispered they remained aloof, reveling in their perceived superiority. Others believed they faced an unforeseen consequence of their arrogance, trapped in their celestial prison. But one truth remained clear: the Sundering was a wound that would not heal, a bitter reminder of the elves' betrayal and a monument to the arrogance that had nearly doomed Aerith a second time.
A thousand years would pass before the people of Aerith would rise anew...

Historian's Note: Aerith used to be home to dragons. Some of the surviving documents give testimony to this. But what happened to them? Were they destroyed in the Demon War? One document, called the Nisseanne Revelation, seems to imply something entirely different. According to this document, most of which is not legible, the dragons of the time approached the king of Aerith and demanded he not enact the Maeg Anri's plan for the creation of the Belaithin. This caused a great division between the king and dragonkind. Is it possible the dragons left our world after this disagreement? If they did, where did they go?