Terran Sah-lie

The second half of the world of Avia after it was split in two by the war between the gods in ancient times. Terran Sah-lie was a holy land for the native Aviar that had moved over to it. it is a material plane that was conquered by Dolorel, a demon prince from the abyss. now it is a corrupted layer on the edge of the abyss.

History

The world was crumbling under the weight of an oppressive tyrant. They controlled, they dominated and they ruled for a millenia. The Gods were behind them and they ruled. They became arrogant and dabbled in matters beyond them. They created a false utopia, one powered by slaves, magic and heresy. One doomed to fail, and the Imperil set in motion the angel of outcasts, The Angel Scorned and the fall of Terran Sah-lie.

Terran Sah-lie followed a different journey of creation, having been offered a second chance at their goals. This time they made more refined creatures, forming the first humans, elves, dwarves and more. They were beautiful and creative and new and brought them great joy. They also made the choice to take part in their children's lives. They would walk amongst them as if they were a respected elder. They were all powerful yet chose to simply look on as their creations flourished in elegant motion before them, they were proud parents of budding peoples.

They were ultimately ruled by twelve magicians of various power appointed to the position based on their skill and potential. Magic use was heavily favored and often mages lived much better lives given the expanded toolbox at their disposal. These twelve made the decisions for Terran Sah-lie, forming a hard authoritarian rule.

The twelve, known as the Imperil Council, was not often appreciated by its people. Their seats of power offered them great magical power that often translated into long lives. Their lives saw mood swings that brought times of prosperity and times of resentment towards the citizens. It was utopian in the respect that no one was homeless and everyone served a function. It was a utilitarian outlook and the people served the greater good of the world. They were subjects of the Imperil Council, and they were constantly reminded of it as they were put to work for the government.

Beneath the council are the houses with political sway as the landowners of their glorious kingdom. The first house is known as Narthel, the second as Vendoral, and the third as Taldoren. As the unseen partners of the twelve, they had significant clout in the council as the owners of the land over which they ruled, though they typically kept qualms with the council to themselves if they had any.

The council allowed the people one freedom, the formation of the Workers' Guild and the democratic election of its leader. Yet now, when the guild needed a strong leader the most, they were squabbling over who would be the next leader. Each guild sought its own leader and none of them wanted to concede. Even as violence started to break out between the guilds, neither the Old Gods nor the Imperil Council sought to intervene.

The guilds sought to dismantle their rivals. They sought control over the Guild, it’s leader holding the power of regulating the economy, thus swaying its resources in favor of their guild. It was a greedy business, and the Old Gods saw the flaws in lesser beings for the first time. They were not disappointed, just curious and honestly finding the sporadic conflict enjoyable.

Blood fell in the streets, and the conflict took on the air of a gang war as guilds ambushed each other from alleyways and buildings. It was gruesome, and the chaotic bloodshed lasted for ten long years. In that time, the fighting only got worse as no leader could be chosen. As one guild would grow strong, others would gang up on it and end it, only for another one to rise. It was an endless cycle and the senseless deaths never stopped.

The Imperil Council sought control a few times, but to no avail. During this time the economy halted as the guilds focused more on their war strategy than marketing tactics. It proved to be a time of poverty and hunger as the enraged citizens had idiotically set fire to their fields when the farmers had sought to ask for the seat. If not for a wondrous event, it's unclear how long this would have continued as it showed no signs of stopping otherwise.

Their power grew, they prospered under the council of tyrants. They were twisted by things they do not know.

The Imperil Council announced a great discovery to their people. The shifting planes had manifested a rift, and through it they found another world. It was empty plains, rolling hills and blue skies that stretched to the horizon and in their hubris and thinking themselves all powerful, declared this world, Battle-Ground.

The Imperil Council sought to redirect the warring guilds in a strategic move. They commanded the guilds that their war was to be carried out in this empty ground, hence the name given to it. The council decreed that all war will be fought in this new world. The guilds were happy to oblige and the people were freed from the carnage in the streets. The green fields were soon painted red, but the city was rid of ten years worth of hate boiling on their doorstep. The council was praised for this, and their view was reaffirmed by the people. Thus they began the decline of the false Utopia and the rise of the Hopeful.

The relocation of the war did not solve the stagnant economy though, and the people still lived in poverty as the workers had simply left this time. It was as if they all had died instead, and they returned in sparse numbers with irreparable injuries, if they returned at all.

Nonetheless this was part of the twelve's plan, and slowly they sparked the economy themselves. With the rebels removed from the land they could exercise the control over the laborers as they had wanted all along. They returned everyone to work, and had raised a small army of their own during the first ten years to enforce their new regime. They were in absolute control as no significant force stood in their way anymore.

The fighting amongst the guilds continued for ten more years. The Imperil Council chose not to inform the forces of their rise to reclaim power. The forces at war dwindled over time until one was able to take control. In an odd way, the forces rejoiced that someone had finally won and ended the bloodshed. They could now return and carry on with a leader unanimously decided upon.

But they returned to the new regime with their well-rested, highly trained, and well-armed forces. The united guilds posed no threat at all to these soldiers, seasoned veterans of battle. The sporadic upstarts that still carried on the assault with heroic war cries were quickly put down by manacle or spear. With that the Guild Wars came to an abrupt end and the rebellion was put down.

With the control of the guilds now safely in the hands of the twelve, the people were upset. They had fought for control of the economy for twenty years, pushing through years of suffering and desolation, only to find out it had all been for nought and they could have stopped long before. They were rightfully outraged, yet there was little to do about it.

The council had made one grave mistake, they had revealed the plane of existence to them, and it became the plane of escape for a lucky few. On the rarest of occasions some of the workers and their families made a great emancipation. It was a dangerous journey, highly illegal and riddled with agents of the twelve. Punishment for attempting to escape was certain death.

Just fifty years after the Guild Wars, the twelve grew restless as their insatiable hunger for more power could not be tamed any longer. They turned to the three families of power, targeting the First House of Narthel, the biggest and most powerful of the landowners. They announced publicly that they would be relieving them of their land, to which Narthel declared another rebellion take place.

The house rose in force, yet even the most powerful house stood no chance. The private military of the twelve made quick work of the citizens and the land stayed in their hands. For his treason, the leader of House Narthel was executed in a public beheading for all to see. No one cheered, nor did they shout, boo, holler, or make any commotion. They looked on in silent horror, the only honor they could offer him in their dire times.

The twelve wisely let things settle, not disturbing the people again for quite some time. Yet, on pace with their last stretch of power, they invited the Second House of Vandorel into negotiations, offering the illusion of any say in the matter. The meeting was a ploy, a show at democracy as they offered two simple options; give up the land or fall in war. Vandorel wisely gave up their land, though begrudgingly as the end of all freedoms was near.

During this time, the council also saw fit to place sanctions on interplanar travel. Their security on the rift tightens and it is rendered impossible to cross into Battle-Ground. It was a crime to attempt to cross or come back and any exchange across the opening is claimed by the twelve, immediately forfeited by the owner.

The Third House of Taldoren was wiser, learning from the past and not wanting to befall the same fate the other families had. They waited twenty-five years before launching a rebellion of their own before the presumed fifty years were up. They were tactical, and as such they took the council by surprise. They held the upper hand as they took outposts of forces and wrestled control of some of the defenses.

It wasn't enough though, and the Imperil Council recovered quickly and took no time to respond. The remains of their forces removed the weakest family from power faster than the House Narthel despite the advantage. No conquests remained for the twelve as they had gained control of all of their kingdom.

The remains of Terran Sah-lie were bare, civilization was sparse and had lost its way. The twelve had whittled away at its people for centuries now, and the civilians had no remaining will to put up any sort of resistance. They were drones, cogs in the political machine that had ground all life to dust as its goals steamrolled over their own.

Yet when all hope had been lost a figure emerged from the shroud the gross overuse of power had cast. Rumors of a young man blessed by the divine began to spread, and the people whispered that their salvation had come. His name was Dolorel, and the youthful wizard could be the resistance the workers needed to destroy the overlords there.

He showed a prodigious control of magic for such a young mortal, and his potential seemed to grow every day. Rumors were confirmed when he made a show of force as a sign of resistance in the face of the council. He made the statue of Tyrendor, one of the twelve, vanish, all the while denouncing their tyrannical rule. He publicly vowed that if they did not change their ways they would befall certain doom. Their fate now rested in their own hands.

The council underestimated the foe. One mortal, barely a man's age, couldn't be seen as a threat. They believed that in admitting the boy had gotten their attention though would be conceding to him, legitimizing his claims and labeling him a true threat to the ruling order. They chose to do nothing, but that only allowed him to build up his following. He spread his word, constantly tearing down the twelve in lengthy, powerful sermons. He was touched by the heavens, and as such he was charismatic and charming and it only helped gather more behind him.

The twelve began to panic as more and more joined his cause. They did what any government would do and declared martial law. Anyone caught supporting Dolorel would be arrested, and in no time the jails were packed with new inmates. None of the detained were Dolorel though, he had fled to avoid conflict but he did stop whenever he found the opportunity to help free some of the wrongfully imprisoned.

The people finally found other ways to rebel. The Coven of Matern has established an underground railroad that offers safe passage to the rift to a new life. This rumor made them the forefront name in hope and safety. It brought many people from far and wide into its protection and gave the gift of the new and safe world to many. They were highly regarded by the people, and as such were highly despised by the twelve after being undermined.

Dolorel continued to remain hidden, finding safety in any town as they sheltered him for his prophesied rise to power. Unfortunately it didn't help him escape their reach. Soldiers had come to their town on rumors the townsfolk were holding rituals in honor of Matern, an outlawed act. The people there refused, and the leader, an elder of the town, asked for mercy for they had done no harm.

The soldiers did not seem to care. The soldier who appeared to be in charge struck the elder, a quick and precise backhand that knocked him to the ground. He collapsed in a heap as the soldier moved to grab the wife of the injured elder.

Dolorel couldn't look on at this and not end it, forcing him out of hiding. With a blast of energy he joined the affair, casting the leader to the ground twenty feet away. He brought his hands up in a series of graceful yet powerful motions as he uttered arcane words, sending assaults of fireballs and lightning bolts down from the sky.

As he brought his assault on the soldiers, he condemned them after they had been warned to change their rule. For their actions, the poor soldiers in front of him could only flee in terror or die honorably as nothing could stand in his way. In response the twelve were finally forced to classify him as a terrorist and denounce his actions to the people, but it was too late. The twelve decreed it illegal to speak to, harbor, or help Dolorel in any way, yet the people paid this no mind.

Meanwhile, on Battle-Ground, enough people had escaped Terran Sah-lie and started to settle a land they named Dul'Vesh. The first large educational magic facility was founded on Battle-Ground during this time. The benevolent founders were known as the Arcanum Council and they started training people to use magic. It caused the land to develop rapidly as magic users started to come in the plenty and aided in the building process. The Arcanum Council wanted to keep their new home safe and out of the hands of the twelve, and this was the best way to do that.

Dolorel used his following to form an army that began to stretch to the size of the nation. To bring up his numbers he worked on liberating the towns as he gathered volunteer troops. He was carving his way through the private military and the twelve was in full panic as he roamed free on their land. The council hastened to rebuild their forces, bring more troops, training them at a grueling pace and hardening them for battle with hours of sparring. They armed them with the finest weapons money could buy and fortified their defenses with the best men the company had to offer.

It appeared Dolorel was on a trajectory to collide with the Imperil Council and they couldn't evade him any longer. War seemed imminent and it would be sure to decimate much of the remaining population, until Dolorel received a message from a nervous pageboy, terrified as he jogged into the tavern Dolorel had set up shop in from whatever town was most recently liberated. Dolorel heeded his message in polite silence, even offering him eye contact as he spoke. He heard his words and thanked him before bidding him farewell, not harming the man in any way after he departed. The messenger had brought word that the twelve sought an audience with Dolorel. The meeting would take place one year from the date he received the message and they would talk of peace. He decided to go to the meeting, wishing to avoid bloodshed at all costs. He waited the year and arrived with the people in tow at Gahl Hadran, the city of Terran Sah-lie.

The city had largely been constructed by magic and it offered it a supernatural architecture befitting its leaders. There were five ringed walls in the city, each getting smaller as they got to the center where a castle sat that held the twelve. The walls had large and narrow spires that grew impossibly thin with a floating crystal hovering as it twirled over the point. It had white walls that shone in the sunlight, giving it a glowing effect. Its elegant terracotta roofs balanced the glow, absorbing the light and warming the rooms within.

Dolorel approached the outer city wall, its massive oak doors requiring four people to open just one. He pushed them open as a blade of grass bends to the wind. The people continued to follow despite his insistence that they don't in case of danger. Yet they still followed him through the front door into the first layer of the city. It was eerily quiet as the shops were dead, the houses empty and no life was in sight save for some large rats. It was a haunting sight, and the people finally stopped here and let Dolorel proceed as they rested within city walls.

Through each layer there was no change, each more quiet than the next as he faded from the sounds of the followers outside. When he arrived at the castle at the center unharmed, he was concerned, yet he thought it wise to make a good first impression and remained amicable. He strolled in with a grin on his face and thanked them for their hospitality. He began to cross the circular room where each of the twelve had a seat to look down on the accused. He cheerfully piped up about everyone getting what they wanted at the end of the day. No sooner than getting to the center of the room had he realized he had made a mistake, and it was too late to fix it. He was in the middle of a teleportation spell as he was cast to a layer of the Abyss, banished from this plane.

At the same time the people who had foolishly followed him were flanked on both sides as they sat between the fifth and fourth walls of the city. They were laid to slaughter as the soldiers tore through them in one deft pass from both sides. In moments they had ended the uprising in their land and restored their own power. It was swift and unseen, and the Imperil Council continued their rule of tyranny.

As the people in the city fell in line and the land around it settled, the citizens saw a golden age. Commerce went up as people returned to their jobs at full capacity for the first time in nearly three hundred years. The people were happy to return to their lives of subjugation at this point as the will to fight had left with Dolorel.

During this time there was also a lot of magical advancement. Included among their skills became interplanar travel and they used it to send military parties out to search these planes. They stripped the land for resources and brought in an enslaved labor force to add to production. Their iron hand now reached into other neighboring worlds and threatened the lives of many more.

With Dolorel out of the way, the twelve moved their attention to the Coven of Matern. They declared them war criminals and disavowed them. They sent their army out to find them, though the Coven of Matern was largely on the neighboring world Battle-Ground by now. It still didn't help the cause, however the twelve believed they had struck a bigger blow than they truly had.

They expand their military, starting a draft and bringing in civilians onto their former private military force. The economic effort had been to equip and rearm the forces for the coming war. The forces of Gahl Hadran were brimming throughout the city as they reached critical numbers. As the military might grew and people adjusted to their new, totalitarian lives, rumors began to brew in the streets again. The word was that a massive war was brewing on the horizon, an enemy was set to invade that scared even the twelve who had put down Dolorel not too long ago. The council tried to squash these rumors as they appeared, crushing those that uttered the words or suggested it as possible. They consolidated their forces in Gahl Hadran as the city sat with bristling defenses.

The tensions rose in the city as time went on. The rumors continued to spread like wildfire, some even saying it was Dolorel coming back to save them. After he went to his meeting no one knew where he had gone and it only raised tensions more. However, the army was so impressive the people felt at ease as they went about their day, knowing they were thoroughly protected.

One day, a day not unlike any other, there was the loud sound of tearing. It sounded like a shirt being ripped apart but at a higher pitch. It was shrill and piercing and got everyone's attention in the city. As they heard the sound, they could see a rift in the sky split, a hole being torn open in their world. The sky turned a murky, mucusy green as black clouds rolled in. Lightning struck furiously as the Abyss poisoned the whole plane of Terran Sah-lie. Through the hole poured demons of all kinds set on poisoning this land with their hate and tourture. With them came a figure flying on wings of bone. His face was still young and handsome but blackened by the Abyss. He wore a cloak of shadows as his glowing red eyes peered out from the darkness of the rift. The figure resembled a humanoid, an angel of sorts, his wings a molting and bare sight, thick black ooze dripping from the blackened bones of the wings. His skin is a sickly grey, his hair long and thinning. His eyes a burning sickly green overflowing with energy.

He had been cast into the Abyss which was sure death for any normal mortal, however Dolorel was no normal human. He was powerful enough to fend off the lesser demons of the Abyss, all the while seething in rage at the twelve for their cowardice, treachery and evil ways and at himself for being naive and foolish. He used his rage as a motivator, which only opened the door for the Abyss to poison him. The more and more demons he killed, the more the anger grew and the more the poison took hold. It blackened his soul, altering his state of mind and warping his sense of reality. He was a volatile being, capable of unknowable violence and he rose to the power of the demon prince of his layer, though he was too far gone to truly assume the title.

He had amassed his armies of endless hungry, chaotic, demonic hordes and used the power he found in the Abyss to tear a rift and get back to Terran Sah-lie. His path of destruction was complete. Gahl Hadran was levelled to the dirt, including its inhabitants. His throngs of demons took every last citizen while Dolorel himself marched the steps to the castle in the center. As he walked, the walls crumbled around him. His bony wings reached out with incredible strength as he walked, carving deep grooves in his wake all along the rubble and ground. His steps were slow and precise, a calculated walk of an executioner who enjoys his work. The twelve stood no chance even in their combined might, though he did not kill them. Instead, he corrupted them after bringing the Abyss to their world, effectively joining it to his plane. Despite the poison of the Abyss it took none of his potent cunning, and he enslaved the twelve so that they could be his tortured pawns, subjects of his for all eternity to serve his every cruel intent.

In a last effort to free the people from their innocent suffering, the Coven of Matern had been leading secret evacuations out of the city and, with the Arcanum Council's help, brought many of its inhabitants to Battle-Ground before the demons took all that was left. They continued evacuations until they couldn't risk it any longer and sealed the rifts that lead to Terran Sah-lie as a means of hiding it from Dolorel, The Vengful Savior.

The world was safe for many years, however nothing escapes Dolorel’s rage, not even the world of Pan-tyrel.