Anderall Fractures

Disaster / Destruction

The final calamity of the War of the Colossus born of a decisive battle between the Seekers and the ancient creatures that warred to rule them. The land cracked and split apart, scattering pieces of the Kingdom of Wothe and Ren to the Esmus Sea to wander until they found perches.   Witnessing this devastation, the Creator Gods cast a creation to the world to seal the remnants of their work away from the devastation, creating a jagged and deadly ring of islands around Anderall known as Nor'Jhaskar, a land of unending and blinding fog. Dural, the Fire Colossus, in reflection, retreats to the Esmus Sea to guide the fractured Kingdoms to a safe space far away from the smoldering lands he aided in creating.   With the last of their strength, the Seekers complete a ritual to banish the Dragons to the ends of the earth and the remaining Colossi to the Planes beyond.   The bells of war stop ringing. The struggle of the mortal folk has ended. Peace at last.

Anderall was decimated in the battles that had ensued, the people without food, shelter, even water. One of the remaining Colossi, Dural, broke off pieces of its "heartstone", with parts of it gaining sentience and power at a fraction of its owner. These giants of flame and molten stone became the Earthbreaker Titans, creatures that descended into the ocean's depths as soon as their forms hardened.   Only but a few moments later, a cataclysmic earthquake shattered the lands that held Anderall together, where the ancient neighbouring lands of Wothe and Ren broke apart and drifted off into the unknown. Great tsunamis tore asunder the coastline near the city of Caelor, splintering the cliffs and sank the place whole.   Great spire jolted from the seabed near the coast of the realms of Icune, as if the ocean had been pierced by daggers. Yet, those who survived this cataclysmic event believed that to be the end of it, yet that was only the beginning. People began to saw strange seams of warbling energy speckled across the lands. The end of the war had done more than claim lives, homes, and fractured the world. It had weakened the veil between extra-dimensional realms, as if the War, itself, had scarred the cosmos.   They questioned the Primordial Colossus, the one they only knew as Dural, but it had no answers. Its knowledge could provide them with nothing but a vague response to the strange phenomena. As the people grew worried, some grew furious with the sentient mountain, and it left, marching into the icy depths of the oceans, towards the sailing lands of the now broken Wothe and Ren. Where it went, nobody knew, but its old blades mark the greatest of battles, wedged inside of mountains, cleaved in twain.   As time rolled on, the chaos of war gone, curious folk would camp near the rifts. And, as they rested near the strange threads of power, the untamed rifts poured wild magic through the lands, spreading like a virus and festered within the blood of all who were close by. Those people vanished without a trace, their campfires running cold. What remained in their stead were pools of primordial sludge, believed to be those people, and the Scars would only grow larger with each disappearance.   Centuries rolled by as the Scars grew larger and larger, with beasts and beings poured out from within, of all shapes, sizes, and abilities. These Otherkind, as they were once called, would only become a part of the world in due time, for the Great Arrival had come to Anderall.