In the final days of the Age of Gods, Imos was still a single, unbroken land—verdant, vast, and bitterly contested. Peace had become a memory as a shadow fell across the world: the rise of a terrible being who called himself the Demon Emperor. His true name was never spoken, for to utter it was to invite madness, but his servants knew him as their god-king, their apocalypse made flesh.
From the Howling Abyss, he emerged, a being of lies and cruelty made manifest—later revealed by sages to be none other than Fraz-Urb’luu, the Demon Prince of Deception. His armies, known as the Dark Host, were a nightmare tide of corrupted men, beasts, and hellish things from beyond the Veil. They swept across Imos with fire and malice, each city burned becoming a new altar to their Emperor’s glory. Imos was to be the first of many—Aphirion itself, his prize.
But he was not unopposed.
From across the continent rose the defenders of the old world:
- The Shining Men of Bulzimer, golden-blooded mortals descended from forgotten celestial pacts.
- The Spirits of Nature, awakened avatars of the forests, rivers, and skies.
- The Dwarves of the Mountains and Hills, the oldest children of stone and flame.
- And the Elves of Elfwood, ancient, proud, and bound to the land by oaths of blood and root.
These four, for the first and perhaps only time, united under a single cause. They called themselves the Covenant of Dawn, and together they fought a war that would last a century.
In the war’s final decade, one of the Demon Emperor’s greatest lieutenants, Dagor the Vile, raised a fortress in the northern peaks of Hesi’Thaczil, a place already steeped in wild elemental power. His stronghold was forged in shadow and blood—its walls inscribed with soul-binding runes and its towers crowned with the bones of slain gods. The land itself twisted beneath it, and from this seat, Dagor sought to consolidate the Emperor’s dominion over the North.
Knowing this fortress was a lynchpin in the Dark Host’s supply and command network, the Alliance launched a desperate final assault.
What they did not know was that the Demon Emperor himself had already arrived—drawn by visions of fate, perhaps, or the pull of his own arrogance. He intended to bear witness to Dagor’s final triumph or to unleash his wrath should he fail.
The battle that followed was legend. The gates of Dagor’s keep were torn open by dwarven war machines. The Spirits surged like storms through shattered walls, searing the darkness with the light of primal power. Within the fortress,
King Altharion of the Shining Men met Dagor in single combat—radiant blade against abyssal flame. Their duel ended in mutual ruin, with Altharion maimed and Dagor cast from the highest spire in flames.
But even in their victory, the allies were undone.
From the fortress’ broken heart, the Demon Emperor strode forth, his presence a wound in reality. He crushed the spirits beneath his will, shattered dwarven lines with a word, and with a single motion—twisting the neck of young Prince Artorias of Elfwood—extinguished the hope of Elvenkind. The prince’s death became the breaking point.
In that moment, whether by design or instinct, the land cried out.
The Spirits of Nature, in despair and fury, unleashed their full might—calling upon the Worldroot, the veins of aether that wove beneath Imos. The world responded. The mountains heaved. The rivers reversed. Volcanoes wept light.
And Imos shattered.
A thousand quakes split the continent. Mountains were sundered. Valleys became seas. The Demon Emperor vanished in the chaos—whether killed, banished, or trapped beneath the broken earth, none can say. The Dark Host scattered. The alliance lay in ruin, their leaders dead or dying.
When the fires ceased and the seas calmed, Imos was no more. In its place lay an unrecognizable sundered land, the scars of war carved into the bones of the world.
In the centuries since, the truth of what occurred has faded into myth. Some say it was the sacrifice of the Spirits that sundered the land. Others claim the Demon Emperor’s final curse tore it apart. Some whisper that the Elf Prince’s soul still wanders the ruins, seeking revenge.
All agree on one thing:
The world broke to stop him.
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