It all started with the demon-lord Arnak, and his unquenchable thirst for returning to the mortal planes. In my vision, I saw that the threads of reality tore apart as his infernal power became manifest into a gateway linking his prison with the great city of Tamia.

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An age had passed since he first fell into such a darkness and the Realms lived and prospered as it were without fear or concern that the great demon would ever escape. I sense that the world had simply forgotten, and that the passage of time only aided in his eventual return.

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As the hordes of undead, werewolves, and demons began to spread deeper into the wilds and further out into the reaches of the world, Arnak regained much of his strength from the power of his Idols. Every citizen; man, woman, beast, or child knew the greatness of the Idols and the vitality that they granted upon their subjects. But, few, if any, seemed to realize that the Idols also served another purpose. They granted the gods a force of renewing energy so long as they were in their rightful shrine. This is what gave the Realms their power; the very power of the Gods themselves.

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Alas, the day had come when Arnak sensed that his rebirth was soon at hand. Even Niord, the Father of Light, regained much of his former vigor and Ra'Kur, too, had ascended closer and closer to celestial form; yet neither of them were prepared for what would come to pass.

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Being the utmost essence of evil power in the world, Arnak feverishly relished the thought of completing what he believed to be his destiny. After a mere taste of imagining the events that were likely to follow during the wake of his fabled return, he grew even more insane than previously thought possible. He clawed desperately at the darkness around him in a fit of rage, taking what he could sever to finalize his liberation. With the demonic portal nearly in its tangible state, Arnak convulsed with great power. Then, a terrible voice broke through the void:

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"ARNAK... CONTINUE... AND IT SHALL BE YOUR UNDOING..."

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Although Arnak momentarily gaped with astonishment at the sound of someone, or something else's voice, Arnak would not belay his actions for anyone. Sparks of flame appeared from nothing, signaling that the time was near. Ignoring the ominous voice, Arnak continued to unleash his demonic fury upon the darkness, shredding it into tangible masses. As more and more flashes of fire emerged, Arnak fed the hunks of shadow to them, empowering the creation of the gateway.

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The haunting voice continued,

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“ARNAK... CEASE YOUR ACTIONS...”

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but the demon-lord simply hissed in return,

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“I will never bow to YOU,” and continued.

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With a loud <CLAP>, dark flames flared in front of Arnak and gave way to a billowing portal shining with the image of Tamia’s castle. As Arnak’s eyes widened, he stepped slowly toward his destiny as if in a trance; he whispered,

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“Finally... my time has come...”

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Just as he reached the threshold, the abyss that was his cage for thousands of years began to quake with the roar of a thousand gods.

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“My one chance...” he thought to himself as he stepped through...

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What would follow this moment would spell the end of days. Arnak did finally return to the mortal plane, but what he did not realize was the great power he had awoken during his impatient fit of vengeance. As Arnak poured forth from the demonic gate set in the sky above Tamia, so too did all the darkness and all the shadow the universe could conjure. It funneled like a great tornado of terror at first, but continued to grow in size as an endless hemorrhage spewed from the portal. Arnak was the first to be swallowed into nothingness, followed soon after by the city itself. Nothing could escape the wrath of this mighty force.

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It was during this time, myself and my leader Ra’Kur could see the disastrous sight even from far across the waters of the Rigan Sea. Ra’Kur, our divine leader, ordered me to gather at least two members of each clan and find safety within the deepest caves of the oldest mountains. That was the last time I saw him.

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We believe that since the great calamity, a century has passed. Though few of us survived, we know not the ultimate consequence of Arnak’s actions. I have tried and tried to scry the surface of the world, searching for any forms of life but none were to be found. I presumed that all life had perished, including the realm of light and its’ protector, Niord, until the night I was visited in a dream.

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In this dream, a Tamian wizard appeared in front of me suspended in mid-air. His eyes were closed and his body limp, yet I sensed he was maintaining a deep spell of protection upon his surroundings. I remember the urge to see beyond the clouds which blocked our view, and, as if he understood, I began to teleport wildly through the air. Though my aged body would certainly not have cooperated, what presence of mind I still had enabled me to ascertain that the Niordians were in a similar predicament as our clans. What few fighters were left stood ground against malformed shadows not far below the floating wizard. Those who became injured would re-enter the sphere of protection for a short time, and return to the surface once more. My mind and my heart did not fully comprehend, for I felt relieved to see others who were alive, yet these were still my sworn enemies. As if on queue, I appeared one last time before the entranced wizard. Very slowly, he lifted his head and revealed a set of milky-white eyes and a grimace of immeasurable pain. He knew it, too; we will always be enemies.

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It is with this final entry I conclude my writings on the events of the world thus far. My old age is setting in, and I fear I have done all I can. If we manage to survive on what little provisions we have left, then I pray that our future selves are dealt a greater fortune than those who have perished.

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Rosh’Helor, Elder Shaman of Ra’Kur’Ga