Perisian Empire
The Empire of Perisia was the dominate force on Potestatem for over 1300 years.
Zeniths knowledge of magic was distributed over the planet. Several key spells forged the second era's beginning. The rise of the wizard, and partially the artificer, led to a massive increase in resources everywhere. Now, some scholars will toute the rise of counterspell allowing wizards to fight liches and other powerful casters. Some may say The spellbook itself allowed knowledge to be passed down slowly from master to apprentice. Almost all state that the simple fact that more people had access to magic through simple hard working brains brought the common creature up by its bootstraps. I say nay! Spells that take even a year to learn will never grace the humble farmer who must spend all day every day surviving. The cantrip, the easiest spell, is the best. It is used the most often, it is the easiest to learn, and never, ever, runs out. Four of these cantrips come to my mind. Light, guidance, mending, and *shape water*. With the most imporant at the end.
Now for the actual story part of our tale
While these small spells allowed the common creature more time, most people don't use spare time to create empires. What it does do, is give many magnitutdes more chances for it to happen. The first person to take this chance was the Fabricator.
A semi complex spell fabrication, only learned by those nearing the level of an arch-mage. No arch mages are recorded in the first era, so anyone who could reach the level of using this spell may have been one in the second era. And the person who created the spell most definitely was. A saying will frame this achievement well. *Do you know why there are so few swordmasters? Anyone can get good at swinging a sword, better even than anyone in their city, or country. Very, very few can do it, and overcome ten average fools who just picked up the blade.* The creator of the spell I imagine knew this. So instead of making themself into a whirlwind of elemental destruction like most adventuring mages, they stayed home and figured out how to make chores easier. Now this isn't founded but I imagine it was a woman. Very few men when presented with creating a world changing spell would have focused on something like fabrication as opposed too a larger explosion. So the world over can thank the washwoman, the stablemaid, the cook, and the seamstress. For one of them created the modern world. I will explain the spell as I am sure very few are familiar with it. It allows the caster to take ten minutes to convert ANY raw material into ANY thing they themself could craft and that isn't made up of too many small parts. For example a bridge from a grove of tree's, a bunker from a boulder, or a well from the ground itself. Imagine, in ten minutes a river can be crossed by a crawling baby, a house that could withstand a quake or blizzard, or water right outside your door. You know how much I love water retrieval times. Scholars like myself imagine the beginning of Persia went something like this.
A rather intelligent work woman, perhaps with access to a library, friendly wizard, or a cunning one, learned magic. To indulge myself lets say they use to spend every day fetching water. Four hours to the river, four hours back. That water would give everyone in their home enough to drink for the day. Perhaps her situation was so unfortunate she had to do this everyday with no help. All alone. Then a mage passes through, or Zenith themself wisks a scrawled not in front of her while she massages calloused sore feet. She swipes it away on instinct. On her walk to the river the next day she reads it. It's complete nonsense but seems to have some have that hard to learn writing called numbers and so on on it. She uses something, perhaps a skill if she's luckily, something more valuable if not, to get someone to teach her to do math. That with some good old elbow grease allows her to decipher the nost describers hand positions, timings, tonal shifts, and words to say. I like to imagine her rather average rather than a genius, to make myself feel better about my state of affairs, and so a few frustrating months go by. The note gets left for busy week, a frozen winter, or hot summer hidden in her bedroll. A full year may go by before when she mimics the scrawled notes steps a bit of water near her moves. Then in a few tumbling days she has a cube of water she could swim in floating in front of her. Then she can freeze it, shape it, and move it. Suddenly like many people the world over, she can move more water than ever without straining a muscle in her body. While the walk still takes a while, her hands are free, and she feels like she has energy to spare when she gets home. ? Now her path diverges from the rest. Most would come home hyper, with enough water for the week. Then they would be given more work. That would be that. This woman figured what would happen. So she brought the water back, but before she came into sight, she stored it somewhere. Then she brought in her usual amount. The next day she walks out to her storage and studies the note. Surely, she could make more magic. She spends her usual eight hours of walking reading between the lines. She invents other spells, begins to spend some of her time skulking about and stealing other books, talking to people she shouldn't talk to, and making friends with scholars who talk her ear off. All day in and day out she does this, and then comes home with her usual amount of water. Like the water, she doesn't show what she has learned. I'm sure some common spells came into her repitoire like magic missle, mage armor, fireball, and locate object. She his her abilities. Stayed the humble water fetcher. Then she created her magnum opus. Fabricate. Here I say this is when she would leave. Suddenly the water stops coming home. If she was rather nice, or had a close friend, perhaps she taught them shape water as well and told them that was all she knew, so someone else could save everyone time. Plant a seed like Zenith. Then she went out and once a day she would bring together her most powerful spell to create rather than destroy. While other wizards blew open city gates, flew to fight in the belt, or advise rich royals and laze about, she started a city. On the first day a house would spring up. On the second a well. Then more houses, wells, walls. Then as people came to the new city over the years, likely as she reached her latest age, she did the final puzzle piece that put her apart from the average mage. She armed the people. A mold is a object one can pour liquid metal into to create something in a specific shape. Sword, shield, hammer or wagon spoke. With a mold all you need to know is how to heat up metal, and pour it. With a mold, you can arm a hundred people in a week with the finest tools known to man. With some applied knowledge and helpful friends, you can make armor, machines of war, and massive structures that tower over your neighbors. All held together by the finest equipment that took little expertise and little time
Now as she hadn't reached the age or know how in time to make herself immortal like one or two mages of our time had, she passed on this knowledge. Like her molds, probably to as many people as possible now. If she had lived in our time I'm sure she would have been a god in the temple by thirty. Once the fabricate spell was unleashed on her people, probably a dozen apprentices, They continued her work. Over the course of the next hundred years these dozen followers created another dozen cities, and then they told their dozen apprentices and so on. The Persian empire was born and magic continued to evolve and grow. Dragons were overwhelmed by a thousand crossbows, ten thousand swords, and a million daggers. Tyrants fell all across the world to the common mans new well forged pointy stick. The masses won. But quietly in a dark corner of the now continent spanning empire a new kind of cunning mage again prepared to change the world, the forbidden school of magic, grafting. With the schools creation the world would burn, and the school with it. Bringing a close to the second era and bringing forth the shortest most death ripe era, the third. The final era before the modern fourth.
Ascended Thirteen generations it took to take the world. By the third generation magic expanded beyond the need for tools, and again evolved. Most notably it was during this time Korvas challenged Zenith and created the vortex we know today. It's examples like that which show the empires hubris, to even challenge the gods. At the same time, it was near the time Zenith too, saw their mistakes. After the three centuries had passed a mysterious figure came forward in the ruined lands of Alan. There the black greatwyrm Alan lay forever spewing forth purified necrotic energies. Sneaking amid the liches, death knights, death tyrants, vampire royalty, and ocean of undead they made it to the vaults. There they took from Alan a piece of their exposed heart, the black beating thing that it was. Alan had cheated death, more so than the liches ever could. They had not only removed their soul from their body and stored it elsewhere, but had also taken in another soul. A foul mimicry of what Zenith had done to ascend. Instead of combining to make another, Alan dominated, shredded and infused this other soul into their own. Whatever poor spirit it was that was forever bound to the dragon of death still lives in torment beyond even Zeniths will. Or perhaps, Zenith feared Alan. This mage took the piece of the heart and founded a new school of magic that again foully mimicked something more elegant. Grafting. The ability to mold flesh like clay. Ancient beings the world over were harvested, slain, imprisoned, and enslaved to the mage. Their parts duplicated, ripped out, and fused into one being. While Alan's reign of terror had left a vast section of the continent forever cursed, this being was far worse. Zenith took notice. For the first time in history an avatar of Zenith was sent down to hunt the mage. Years of preperation shrounded their location and hid their minions from Zeniths sight. The avatar recruited adventurers, dragons, and celestials to hunt the Grafter. The grafters desires were far too great. Unlike the founder of Persia they overstepped. A trail of agitated enemies, revenge seeking minions, and missing pieces all came back to haunt the Grafters present. And the hunters were divine. The battle was short lived. When the avatar was notified of the Grafters location it made short work of the geography around them. The land molded and liquified. Boiled and rotted. Then glowed and vaporized. Nothing was left. No smoke, no crater, a clean slate where before had been horrors. The world never knew of this event until the fourth era. Zeniths cleansing was so pure in nature that all of their helpers couldn't fathom the work had been done. But no sign of the Grafter could be found, so they split apart. To take a step back to before this pure death we zoom to an advneturing party. They had located the grafters most prominent dungeon. It was hidden deep underground, nearing the point of crossing from the material plane into the Abyss. There the grafter unleashed their beast which the party clashed with. It was a horrid twisted version of a hydra. Each head that it had was a different beast entirely. When chopped off two new beasts sprouted from it. All unrecognizable and from the dark and twisted imagination of the grafter horrid genius. A deep purple smoke filled the chamber and the grafter fled through its thick opaque mass. The adventerers attempted to follow but found their attempts, magic or otherwise, blocked by the smoke and the beast itself. The smoke clinged to their skin, drained down their lungs, and writhed into their veins. The beast was finally obliterated with a mix of radiant fire and acid slowing its regeneration. Fearing the smoke, the adventurers torched the corpse of the beast and fled. As soon as they finished their wizard contacted Zenith and informed them of the situation. As the adventrers fled, Zenith cleaned the valley behind them. The grafter was never seen again, likely turned to something less than ash.
Destroyers Breath The adventurers slept out in the wilds after the fight. They celebrated their victory. A cleric blessed their party and removed any potential curses from their arcane selves. The wizard detected no magic upon them. Then they slept. Each one felt sick, but dared not say it to the others. They didn't dream that night. A sorcerer was first to go. In their bedroll they groaned and rolled over, vomiting out a purple ichor filled with chunks of blood and viscera. They gazed about wildly and found their visions blurred. Their stomach groaned with aching pressure. They screamed and the others didn't wake. Nothing else is known of what occurred their. Only that after that moment the wizard suddenly found themself falling from a massive jar coated in slimy liquid. A clone. They had died. Their backup spell had activated. Confusion wracked the wizards mind. How had they died. Why had the wizard heard the sorcerer scream? No curse, no fould magic was upon them? Their protections against attack were impenetrable. The hawk eyed ranger had been on watch even. They clambered up to their feet naked and shivering. The jar had been prepared with a backup body just before the track to the grafters dungeon. It was only a days walk from where they had camped. A few basic supplies await the wizard. They slid on a robe and grabbed their copied spellbook. Shaking hands thumbed to the third page. They contacted Zenith. What is it "I died. The others were wrought by some advanced curse we didn't detect." The wizard explained. They sunk into cool logic trying to dismiss their friends death as ressurectable as always. Where Zeniths voice crushed out the wizards other thoughts. They showed the image of their camp. A flash of light boomed from a slighted window from the tower the Wizard had been reborn into. There is nothing there anymore, rest. I will take care of this. Zeniths presence left the wizards mind. The wizard shook. Their friends corpses likely vaporized by whatever swift and sure solution Zenith had just dispensed on their camp. The wizard could not sleep. They went to the roof and looked to the stars. Above them the belt floated by in familiar rocky shaped, the stars glinting behind the floating rocks. A glass asteroid moved over the moon Cramen. It was a black glass asteroid. Cramens pure wite light reflecting Lutae's own was pitched to a viscous dark magic. The land darkened and the wizard felt a shiver run deep into their spine. Black asteroid light never felt cold or dark. It simply felt scary. Looking out onto the horizon the Wizard saw the smoke of Zeniths attack. Something sure, this time. Fires had started in the forest from it. The wizard flicked a hand and murmured a command word. A broom flicked in front of their already moving feet as they stepped on and began to sail towards the smoke. The cylinder crater was deep and made of glass. The beam of star light had turned all things to the reflective clear material. There is nothing here. Zeniths voice echoed in the Wizards mind. That is a theory, they thought. My divination is omnipresent. I don't theorize. The wizard grunted. Sure that Zenith had broken a few truths as well when they had figured out ascension. The wizard took in a potion and gazed about, the land brightening with life light. All things that lived, no matter how feint glowed to them now. It was an instinctual choice to quaff that particular potion. Perhaps it had been hope to see a friend, yet again avoiding death by some twist of fate. The land was a pleasant green except a fast moving section. It wasn't an emptiness. It was a patch of life light being pulled together and stitched into mimicry of the area around it. If the wizard hadn't been semi divine they wouldn't have seen it. Life light was their speciality after all. The wizard murmured a few spells as they began to cruise towards the blur. What do you see? Zenith wasn't afraid to ask questions. The wizard was pretty sure they had no ego of any kind. "A chameleon in the life light. It has not color of it's own. It isn't anti magic or undead either. It has coated itself in something else." The wizard thought back. Tell me it's location. I will destroy it. The wizard began to relay their image of the location.As they did the blurred image split apart and then faded completely. The wizard came to a stop and hesitated. Where is it. Zenith repeated, "It is gone from my sight." It knows you are there. Leave now. Zenith ordered quickly. The wizard thought three things simultainously as three things happened. Zenith only spoke faster when time was of the essence. Their hands danced to cast dimension door, then they hesitated and started to cast the much more powerful teleport. Lastly they instinctively prepared the spell shield. As they thought these things a massive spear erupted from the tree canopy from just ahead of the wizard, it was aimed directly at the wizards mouth. A blinding flash of light beamed down from the skies and struck the tree's where they spear had come from. Lastly a voice echoed from the forest. "Anna my love." The sorcerer said from below. The wizard stopped casting teleport. The spear shattered against the shield around the wizard. And a second erupted from nearby. The wizard snapped their head to the size and saw a massive multiheaded lizard moving blindingly fast. The teleport finished and the wizard appear on the other side of the world, deep in the lead vaults of the dwarves. No magic could reach them there. They wouldn't be let out for several days before the dwarves came. The dwarves would check the inside before opening the door. If the wizard was infested by whatever had taken their last body, and their allys, it would be contained in here. Even Zenith couldn't speak to them here. Two days later they emerged fine and hungry for something besides summon water and bread. The dwarves were buffudled but excepted a few high level spell casting in return for the secretive use of their most secret teleportation circles rune sequence they had been sure no one but the Dawn Claw head artificer knew. Zeniths voice came. The beast lived. I cannot see it. It has destoryed the great forest of the giants. Go to Eriar now. -End of retrieved manuscripts-
Little else is known of the start of the Destroyers rampage. Many facts can be inferred. The Destroyer was able to coat its location from Zenith. Within two days of having been unleashed on the adventuring party it demolished the most physically powerful nation on Potestatem. You may be familiar with the region as the desert of Giants. From there the destroyer walked Potestatem and spewed foul grafting destroyers breath. Not a curse, but a simple biological mutater. Whatever that means, we don't know. The grafters notes were destroyed by Zenith who now either doesn't know, or withholds the information forever from mortals to prevent something worse. Luckily for us, The Sentinels stepped in some decades later and destroyed Thanatos. That unholy abomination finally was contained. The method still unknown. The still living members of the Sentinels keep it a secret, likely sworn to Zenith themself under pain of oblivion. Destroyers breath still lurks across Potestatem. The mosnters it mutates, making new horrors each day, spewing forth from the ruins of Persian cities. The bunkers people made to hide from the polluted surface now acting as dungeons filled with the monstrosited the breath captured and wrecked. Over a thousand years of civilization were annhiliated by that beast and it's offspring. Many monstorous races breed and spred still to this day nine hundred years later. The Sigh of the Hazfen Desert, the rocket root tree's of eat Foisham, the entire Sea of Poison Fire's unholy waters fouled by an endless tide of aquatic atrocities. Start of Fourth Era, The Era of Rediscovery
Pre History
Zeniths knowledge of magic was distributed over the planet. Several key spells forged the second era's beginning. The rise of the wizard, and partially the artificer, led to a massive increase in resources everywhere. Now, some scholars will toute the rise of counterspell allowing wizards to fight liches and other powerful casters. Some may say The spellbook itself allowed knowledge to be passed down slowly from master to apprentice. Almost all state that the simple fact that more people had access to magic through simple hard working brains brought the common creature up by its bootstraps. I say nay! Spells that take even a year to learn will never grace the humble farmer who must spend all day every day surviving. The cantrip, the easiest spell, is the best. It is used the most often, it is the easiest to learn, and never, ever, runs out. Four of these cantrips come to my mind. Light, guidance, mending, and *shape water*. With the most imporant at the end.
Light
A simple spell. With it a farmer, craftsmen, or guard can now see in the dark. For some this means a few more hours of work getting done. Others, crime can be spotted easily. This world wide help increased saftey from hidden hunters, and increased productivity world wide. Like infered earlier, it would only take a few months, if not weeks, to learn as well! Even while busy.Guidance
That spark of genius some have and some do not suddenly seems oh so unimportant in the face of accessible skill on demand. Like light, this spell allowed the entire planet to simply **do better, at will.** Many don't apply this spell to the little moments, but it works in all situations ever.Mending
All things last longer if upkept. While the average blacksmith or craftmen might be angry their tools are being bought less, they too now create less tools themselves and can focus on other things. A pair of boots not wearing away at a persons feet can mean a large difference. If all our tools could be repaired so easily all the time, everyone is safer, works better, and has more time.Shape Water.
Water is the second most needed resource on Potestatem. Those of you who live in the city may be a little annoyed as to the short walk to the well to drink, or to a tavern to quench thirst. The farmer, nomad, and traveler knows that every day you spend most of your time storing, looking for, and intaking water. The average person can carry enough water on themselves for only a day or two before it becomes too heavy to carry other things, or will wear them down and injur them over time. Shape water allows a single brand new mage to carry enough water for ten people, for ten days. While slow to move the water, it moves so much it matters not. One person can be sent to the far river, the well, or the lake, and come back with more water. The amount of time this saves for everyone who has ever breathed is insurmountably absurd. I will spare you the second half of this ramble but that is just the tip of the iceberg with this spell. Freezing water into foot storage shapes, saving the drowning, and so much more is added into this spell. In this scholars humble opinion, these four spells tumbled the little details together to form the most powerful empire ever known.Now for the actual story part of our tale
The Fabricator
While these small spells allowed the common creature more time, most people don't use spare time to create empires. What it does do, is give many magnitutdes more chances for it to happen. The first person to take this chance was the Fabricator.
A semi complex spell fabrication, only learned by those nearing the level of an arch-mage. No arch mages are recorded in the first era, so anyone who could reach the level of using this spell may have been one in the second era. And the person who created the spell most definitely was. A saying will frame this achievement well. *Do you know why there are so few swordmasters? Anyone can get good at swinging a sword, better even than anyone in their city, or country. Very, very few can do it, and overcome ten average fools who just picked up the blade.* The creator of the spell I imagine knew this. So instead of making themself into a whirlwind of elemental destruction like most adventuring mages, they stayed home and figured out how to make chores easier. Now this isn't founded but I imagine it was a woman. Very few men when presented with creating a world changing spell would have focused on something like fabrication as opposed too a larger explosion. So the world over can thank the washwoman, the stablemaid, the cook, and the seamstress. For one of them created the modern world. I will explain the spell as I am sure very few are familiar with it. It allows the caster to take ten minutes to convert ANY raw material into ANY thing they themself could craft and that isn't made up of too many small parts. For example a bridge from a grove of tree's, a bunker from a boulder, or a well from the ground itself. Imagine, in ten minutes a river can be crossed by a crawling baby, a house that could withstand a quake or blizzard, or water right outside your door. You know how much I love water retrieval times. Scholars like myself imagine the beginning of Persia went something like this.
A Capital in a Month
A rather intelligent work woman, perhaps with access to a library, friendly wizard, or a cunning one, learned magic. To indulge myself lets say they use to spend every day fetching water. Four hours to the river, four hours back. That water would give everyone in their home enough to drink for the day. Perhaps her situation was so unfortunate she had to do this everyday with no help. All alone. Then a mage passes through, or Zenith themself wisks a scrawled not in front of her while she massages calloused sore feet. She swipes it away on instinct. On her walk to the river the next day she reads it. It's complete nonsense but seems to have some have that hard to learn writing called numbers and so on on it. She uses something, perhaps a skill if she's luckily, something more valuable if not, to get someone to teach her to do math. That with some good old elbow grease allows her to decipher the nost describers hand positions, timings, tonal shifts, and words to say. I like to imagine her rather average rather than a genius, to make myself feel better about my state of affairs, and so a few frustrating months go by. The note gets left for busy week, a frozen winter, or hot summer hidden in her bedroll. A full year may go by before when she mimics the scrawled notes steps a bit of water near her moves. Then in a few tumbling days she has a cube of water she could swim in floating in front of her. Then she can freeze it, shape it, and move it. Suddenly like many people the world over, she can move more water than ever without straining a muscle in her body. While the walk still takes a while, her hands are free, and she feels like she has energy to spare when she gets home. ? Now her path diverges from the rest. Most would come home hyper, with enough water for the week. Then they would be given more work. That would be that. This woman figured what would happen. So she brought the water back, but before she came into sight, she stored it somewhere. Then she brought in her usual amount. The next day she walks out to her storage and studies the note. Surely, she could make more magic. She spends her usual eight hours of walking reading between the lines. She invents other spells, begins to spend some of her time skulking about and stealing other books, talking to people she shouldn't talk to, and making friends with scholars who talk her ear off. All day in and day out she does this, and then comes home with her usual amount of water. Like the water, she doesn't show what she has learned. I'm sure some common spells came into her repitoire like magic missle, mage armor, fireball, and locate object. She his her abilities. Stayed the humble water fetcher. Then she created her magnum opus. Fabricate. Here I say this is when she would leave. Suddenly the water stops coming home. If she was rather nice, or had a close friend, perhaps she taught them shape water as well and told them that was all she knew, so someone else could save everyone time. Plant a seed like Zenith. Then she went out and once a day she would bring together her most powerful spell to create rather than destroy. While other wizards blew open city gates, flew to fight in the belt, or advise rich royals and laze about, she started a city. On the first day a house would spring up. On the second a well. Then more houses, wells, walls. Then as people came to the new city over the years, likely as she reached her latest age, she did the final puzzle piece that put her apart from the average mage. She armed the people. A mold is a object one can pour liquid metal into to create something in a specific shape. Sword, shield, hammer or wagon spoke. With a mold all you need to know is how to heat up metal, and pour it. With a mold, you can arm a hundred people in a week with the finest tools known to man. With some applied knowledge and helpful friends, you can make armor, machines of war, and massive structures that tower over your neighbors. All held together by the finest equipment that took little expertise and little time
Pass On
Now as she hadn't reached the age or know how in time to make herself immortal like one or two mages of our time had, she passed on this knowledge. Like her molds, probably to as many people as possible now. If she had lived in our time I'm sure she would have been a god in the temple by thirty. Once the fabricate spell was unleashed on her people, probably a dozen apprentices, They continued her work. Over the course of the next hundred years these dozen followers created another dozen cities, and then they told their dozen apprentices and so on. The Persian empire was born and magic continued to evolve and grow. Dragons were overwhelmed by a thousand crossbows, ten thousand swords, and a million daggers. Tyrants fell all across the world to the common mans new well forged pointy stick. The masses won. But quietly in a dark corner of the now continent spanning empire a new kind of cunning mage again prepared to change the world, the forbidden school of magic, grafting. With the schools creation the world would burn, and the school with it. Bringing a close to the second era and bringing forth the shortest most death ripe era, the third. The final era before the modern fourth.
The Grafter
Ascended Thirteen generations it took to take the world. By the third generation magic expanded beyond the need for tools, and again evolved. Most notably it was during this time Korvas challenged Zenith and created the vortex we know today. It's examples like that which show the empires hubris, to even challenge the gods. At the same time, it was near the time Zenith too, saw their mistakes. After the three centuries had passed a mysterious figure came forward in the ruined lands of Alan. There the black greatwyrm Alan lay forever spewing forth purified necrotic energies. Sneaking amid the liches, death knights, death tyrants, vampire royalty, and ocean of undead they made it to the vaults. There they took from Alan a piece of their exposed heart, the black beating thing that it was. Alan had cheated death, more so than the liches ever could. They had not only removed their soul from their body and stored it elsewhere, but had also taken in another soul. A foul mimicry of what Zenith had done to ascend. Instead of combining to make another, Alan dominated, shredded and infused this other soul into their own. Whatever poor spirit it was that was forever bound to the dragon of death still lives in torment beyond even Zeniths will. Or perhaps, Zenith feared Alan. This mage took the piece of the heart and founded a new school of magic that again foully mimicked something more elegant. Grafting. The ability to mold flesh like clay. Ancient beings the world over were harvested, slain, imprisoned, and enslaved to the mage. Their parts duplicated, ripped out, and fused into one being. While Alan's reign of terror had left a vast section of the continent forever cursed, this being was far worse. Zenith took notice. For the first time in history an avatar of Zenith was sent down to hunt the mage. Years of preperation shrounded their location and hid their minions from Zeniths sight. The avatar recruited adventurers, dragons, and celestials to hunt the Grafter. The grafters desires were far too great. Unlike the founder of Persia they overstepped. A trail of agitated enemies, revenge seeking minions, and missing pieces all came back to haunt the Grafters present. And the hunters were divine. The battle was short lived. When the avatar was notified of the Grafters location it made short work of the geography around them. The land molded and liquified. Boiled and rotted. Then glowed and vaporized. Nothing was left. No smoke, no crater, a clean slate where before had been horrors. The world never knew of this event until the fourth era. Zeniths cleansing was so pure in nature that all of their helpers couldn't fathom the work had been done. But no sign of the Grafter could be found, so they split apart. To take a step back to before this pure death we zoom to an advneturing party. They had located the grafters most prominent dungeon. It was hidden deep underground, nearing the point of crossing from the material plane into the Abyss. There the grafter unleashed their beast which the party clashed with. It was a horrid twisted version of a hydra. Each head that it had was a different beast entirely. When chopped off two new beasts sprouted from it. All unrecognizable and from the dark and twisted imagination of the grafter horrid genius. A deep purple smoke filled the chamber and the grafter fled through its thick opaque mass. The adventerers attempted to follow but found their attempts, magic or otherwise, blocked by the smoke and the beast itself. The smoke clinged to their skin, drained down their lungs, and writhed into their veins. The beast was finally obliterated with a mix of radiant fire and acid slowing its regeneration. Fearing the smoke, the adventurers torched the corpse of the beast and fled. As soon as they finished their wizard contacted Zenith and informed them of the situation. As the adventrers fled, Zenith cleaned the valley behind them. The grafter was never seen again, likely turned to something less than ash.
Destroyers Breath The adventurers slept out in the wilds after the fight. They celebrated their victory. A cleric blessed their party and removed any potential curses from their arcane selves. The wizard detected no magic upon them. Then they slept. Each one felt sick, but dared not say it to the others. They didn't dream that night. A sorcerer was first to go. In their bedroll they groaned and rolled over, vomiting out a purple ichor filled with chunks of blood and viscera. They gazed about wildly and found their visions blurred. Their stomach groaned with aching pressure. They screamed and the others didn't wake. Nothing else is known of what occurred their. Only that after that moment the wizard suddenly found themself falling from a massive jar coated in slimy liquid. A clone. They had died. Their backup spell had activated. Confusion wracked the wizards mind. How had they died. Why had the wizard heard the sorcerer scream? No curse, no fould magic was upon them? Their protections against attack were impenetrable. The hawk eyed ranger had been on watch even. They clambered up to their feet naked and shivering. The jar had been prepared with a backup body just before the track to the grafters dungeon. It was only a days walk from where they had camped. A few basic supplies await the wizard. They slid on a robe and grabbed their copied spellbook. Shaking hands thumbed to the third page. They contacted Zenith. What is it "I died. The others were wrought by some advanced curse we didn't detect." The wizard explained. They sunk into cool logic trying to dismiss their friends death as ressurectable as always. Where Zeniths voice crushed out the wizards other thoughts. They showed the image of their camp. A flash of light boomed from a slighted window from the tower the Wizard had been reborn into. There is nothing there anymore, rest. I will take care of this. Zeniths presence left the wizards mind. The wizard shook. Their friends corpses likely vaporized by whatever swift and sure solution Zenith had just dispensed on their camp. The wizard could not sleep. They went to the roof and looked to the stars. Above them the belt floated by in familiar rocky shaped, the stars glinting behind the floating rocks. A glass asteroid moved over the moon Cramen. It was a black glass asteroid. Cramens pure wite light reflecting Lutae's own was pitched to a viscous dark magic. The land darkened and the wizard felt a shiver run deep into their spine. Black asteroid light never felt cold or dark. It simply felt scary. Looking out onto the horizon the Wizard saw the smoke of Zeniths attack. Something sure, this time. Fires had started in the forest from it. The wizard flicked a hand and murmured a command word. A broom flicked in front of their already moving feet as they stepped on and began to sail towards the smoke. The cylinder crater was deep and made of glass. The beam of star light had turned all things to the reflective clear material. There is nothing here. Zeniths voice echoed in the Wizards mind. That is a theory, they thought. My divination is omnipresent. I don't theorize. The wizard grunted. Sure that Zenith had broken a few truths as well when they had figured out ascension. The wizard took in a potion and gazed about, the land brightening with life light. All things that lived, no matter how feint glowed to them now. It was an instinctual choice to quaff that particular potion. Perhaps it had been hope to see a friend, yet again avoiding death by some twist of fate. The land was a pleasant green except a fast moving section. It wasn't an emptiness. It was a patch of life light being pulled together and stitched into mimicry of the area around it. If the wizard hadn't been semi divine they wouldn't have seen it. Life light was their speciality after all. The wizard murmured a few spells as they began to cruise towards the blur. What do you see? Zenith wasn't afraid to ask questions. The wizard was pretty sure they had no ego of any kind. "A chameleon in the life light. It has not color of it's own. It isn't anti magic or undead either. It has coated itself in something else." The wizard thought back. Tell me it's location. I will destroy it. The wizard began to relay their image of the location.As they did the blurred image split apart and then faded completely. The wizard came to a stop and hesitated. Where is it. Zenith repeated, "It is gone from my sight." It knows you are there. Leave now. Zenith ordered quickly. The wizard thought three things simultainously as three things happened. Zenith only spoke faster when time was of the essence. Their hands danced to cast dimension door, then they hesitated and started to cast the much more powerful teleport. Lastly they instinctively prepared the spell shield. As they thought these things a massive spear erupted from the tree canopy from just ahead of the wizard, it was aimed directly at the wizards mouth. A blinding flash of light beamed down from the skies and struck the tree's where they spear had come from. Lastly a voice echoed from the forest. "Anna my love." The sorcerer said from below. The wizard stopped casting teleport. The spear shattered against the shield around the wizard. And a second erupted from nearby. The wizard snapped their head to the size and saw a massive multiheaded lizard moving blindingly fast. The teleport finished and the wizard appear on the other side of the world, deep in the lead vaults of the dwarves. No magic could reach them there. They wouldn't be let out for several days before the dwarves came. The dwarves would check the inside before opening the door. If the wizard was infested by whatever had taken their last body, and their allys, it would be contained in here. Even Zenith couldn't speak to them here. Two days later they emerged fine and hungry for something besides summon water and bread. The dwarves were buffudled but excepted a few high level spell casting in return for the secretive use of their most secret teleportation circles rune sequence they had been sure no one but the Dawn Claw head artificer knew. Zeniths voice came. The beast lived. I cannot see it. It has destoryed the great forest of the giants. Go to Eriar now. -End of retrieved manuscripts-
Little else is known of the start of the Destroyers rampage. Many facts can be inferred. The Destroyer was able to coat its location from Zenith. Within two days of having been unleashed on the adventuring party it demolished the most physically powerful nation on Potestatem. You may be familiar with the region as the desert of Giants. From there the destroyer walked Potestatem and spewed foul grafting destroyers breath. Not a curse, but a simple biological mutater. Whatever that means, we don't know. The grafters notes were destroyed by Zenith who now either doesn't know, or withholds the information forever from mortals to prevent something worse. Luckily for us, The Sentinels stepped in some decades later and destroyed Thanatos. That unholy abomination finally was contained. The method still unknown. The still living members of the Sentinels keep it a secret, likely sworn to Zenith themself under pain of oblivion. Destroyers breath still lurks across Potestatem. The mosnters it mutates, making new horrors each day, spewing forth from the ruins of Persian cities. The bunkers people made to hide from the polluted surface now acting as dungeons filled with the monstrosited the breath captured and wrecked. Over a thousand years of civilization were annhiliated by that beast and it's offspring. Many monstorous races breed and spred still to this day nine hundred years later. The Sigh of the Hazfen Desert, the rocket root tree's of eat Foisham, the entire Sea of Poison Fire's unholy waters fouled by an endless tide of aquatic atrocities. Start of Fourth Era, The Era of Rediscovery
1444 BC - 144 BC
Type
Geopolitical, Empire
Alternative Names
The Empire, Perisia
Demonym
Perisian
Leader Title
Related Ranks & Titles
Related Ethnicities
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