The Great Civil War

During the summer of 3606 2ER, the great city of Docean and its sister Morninglord crumbled beneath the crust of Gaz’roc and into the darkness. The chaos above on the surface was nothing like down below. Buildings in crumble, stranger monsters hunting the survivors, and the cities’ resources gone in a matter of minutes. Riots and chaos, stores quickly depleted, held together by a thin string of magic. For years, a century, the cities starved to survive until they grew roots in the caverns and learned how to start flourishing again.
 
They adapted. They changed.
 
I was a child when Docean returned to the surface in 3928. The first time I saw the sun I wept and ran to my mother afraid. She weaved a spell of darkness over our estate to ease my fear and save our gardens. I barely remember their fluorescent glow. I used to play among their glow with the Ashava’s lights in the dark. The mushroom trees died before our Lord Sovereign, Gaz’roc, took back his lands with his champions next winter.
 
The years after were trying to say the least. The champions scattered after the war or disappeared entirely, including my mother’s cousin and his family. Great Aunt Naval lost her son a second time and then we lost her to grief.
 
We were all adapting to this new world and without a war to focus on, things devolved quickly. Riots broke out in other cities over mage presence, Docean was saturated with refugees, and the political games of the Great Arcane Houses and the ungifted nobility from the surface were boiling on a second war.
 
No one expected the elves of the Forlorn Forest to step in and enforce the peace. Those that resisted found their necromantic magic a thing to fear. We all expected a second war, but that was not their purpose. My mother believes they are playing a long game. Only time will tell if that is true. For now though, we all have a relative peace.