Ruin Plane

Before it bore the name "Ruin," this forsaken dimension was once known as Aetheria, a realm of breathtaking landscapes, floating archipelagos, and boundless opportunities. Aetheria existed in a delicate balance, its peoples thriving under the watchful guidance of four principal gods—Rhakspit, Ceryne, Jalkor, and Xaryon—each embodying aspects of creation, harmony, cycles, and knowledge. For countless generations, this divine quartet maintained equilibrium, ensuring that no force overwhelmed another.
In those early eons, the world resonated with tranquil energies. Ceryne’s harmonies wove together elemental threads, Jalkor’s cycles ensured renewal and rebirth, and Xaryon’s endless inquiry nurtured the growth of wisdom. Rhakspit, then a deity of measured control, stabilized the boundaries that kept each power in check. The people of Aetheria flourished beneath a gentle cosmic order, never suspecting the cataclysm that lay in wait.
Aetheria’s skies shimmered with floating continents, each realm boasting distinct elemental affinities. Empires and cultures rose and fell gracefully, guided by faith, reason, and cooperation. Scholars traveled freely, artisans created wonders of beauty, and the Elemental Titans worked in harmony with mortal guardians. At the heart of this woven tapestry stood the pantheon of four gods, each voice equal, each will aligned with preserving the world’s myriad possibilities.
Yet beyond the fringes of mortal comprehension lurked the Dalmasica plane, a dimension of unfathomable horrors and ancient malevolence. Knowledge of Dalmasica drifted in whispered legends: a plane that warped reality and sanity, birthing incomprehensible monstrosities. Most believed it a myth. Only Rhakspit dared to gaze into that alien darkness, convinced that true wisdom lay in understanding every hidden danger.
Rhakspit’s fateful glimpse into Dalmasica changed everything. Whatever he saw there rattled his core, inspiring a profound dread that no plea or prayer could soothe. He returned to Aetheria shaken, possessed by a singular certainty: that to defend against what lurked beyond, he must unify Aetheria under a single, unbreakable order. He was certain that the world’s cherished freedoms and delicate balances were vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited.
He began with gentle urgings, proposing tighter laws, stricter boundaries, and less tolerance for what he deemed chaos. Ceryne, Jalkor, and Xaryon counseled patience, reminding Rhakspit that Aetheria had weathered countless ages through harmonious diversity. But Rhakspit’s terror overshadowed their wisdom. He spoke of the unseen threat, the lurking abomination that would devour them all if they did not act swiftly.
Over centuries, Rhakspit’s attempts at “strengthening” Aetheria turned oppressive. He dismantled treaties that once allowed peoples to flourish, forcing kingdoms to abandon customs he deemed too divergent. His siblings resisted, urging dialogue and trust in the resilience of Aetheria’s tapestry. But Rhakspit’s fear demanded immediate change. He saw no time to waste, no room for compromise.
Empires that once coexisted peacefully found their cultures stripped of autonomy. Magical traditions were suppressed, elemental vassals harnessed with iron constraint. The proud and curious Xaryon wept as libraries burned and knowledge narrowed. Jalkor’s gentle cycles faltered as forced uniformity choked the natural rhythms of life and death. Ceryne’s harmonies soured, replaced by the grinding dissonance of Rhakspit’s ambition.
Other gods of various pantheons tried to intervene, forming alliances to preserve the old ways. Mortals resisted, staging rebellions against Rhakspit’s mandates. But he had grown powerful, fueled by the terror glimpsed in Dalmasica, embracing an ever-harsher vision of unity. The wars of unification stretched across millennia, each generation inheriting a more ravaged landscape.
Amid these upheavals stood five lesser entities destined to become the Ruin Sovereigns—Aodin, El’shi, Ode’Bale Shed, Rak’neire, and Vegga—once intermediaries of healing, courage, honorable conflict, vitality, and truth. Torn between old loyalties and fear of obliteration, they cast their lot with Rhakspit, hoping to moderate his vision from within. Instead, they too would be twisted.
Eventually, all rival pantheons fell silent, their gods vanquished or subjugated. Mortal cultures decayed into ashen echoes. Only Rhakspit’s original family remained to oppose him: his beloved Ceryne, best friend Jalkor, and cherished son Xaryon. They confronted him in the final stronghold of resistant divinity, pleading for memory’s sake. But Rhakspit, now certain he alone understood reality’s threat, would not yield.
In a final confrontation, Rhakspit slew Jalkor first, severing the cycles that maintained life’s gentle turns. Seasons lost their meaning, birth and death blurred into pointless existence. He turned next to Ceryne, who had loved him most dearly. Her cries that he recall their ancient bond went unheard as he snuffed out harmony itself. Lastly, he destroyed Xaryon, erasing curiosity and wisdom from the divine chorus.
With Ceryne, Jalkor, and Xaryon gone, no counterweight remained. Aetheria became Rhakspit’s canvas. He discarded his old name’s meaning, embracing a new title: Lord of Ruin. He would unify existence, but the unity he forged was one of absolute decay and submission. Without opposition, he twisted every atom of Aetheria, unraveling its intricate patterns and rewriting them into a single note of annihilation.
The landscape blackened. Rivers of Bile replaced shimmering streams. Forests warped into petrified husks that oozed corrosive fluids. Temples sank into endless chasms, and cities crumbled into malformed ruins. The intricate architecture of elemental energies disintegrated, replaced by a simmering miasma of corruption. Aetheria’s name grew hollow, unfit for the husk it had become.
The five who had hoped to temper Rhakspit—Aodin, El’shi, Ode’Bale Shed, Rak’neire, and Vegga—found themselves corrupted as well. Their gentle aspects inverted into monstrous parodies. Healing became torment, courage twisted into fear, honorable conflict devolved into pointless slaughter, vitality became hunger, and truth poisoned itself into lies. They were now Ruin Sovereigns, matching Rhakspit’s appetite for oblivion.
Mortals who survived fared little better. Some mutated into mindless Ruin beasts, spreading Bile and sickness. Others lost their minds entirely or fled into the few hidden pockets of relative stability. The once-proud guardians of knowledge, trade, and culture scattered like dust on the wind.
Decay seeped into every dimension of existence, binding it all to Rhakspit’s malignant will. He had wanted order, but what he forged was crushing entropy—a single, absolute law of collapse. No melodies, no cycles, no insights remained. Just the slow grind of annihilation.
Thus, Aetheria had become the Ruin plane, a domain where no hope kindled but the desperate sparks clutched by a few rebels. These hardy souls, like the Shard of Reclamation, dared to remember that once, long ago, there was light and balance. They carved fleeting sanctuaries, resisting assimilation into Ruin’s infinite appetite.
Tales spread in hushed tones of how one god’s terror at a distant horror—Dalmasica—shaped this downfall. Perhaps Rhakspit believed by crushing all variance, he could outwit that cosmic threat. Instead, he became the greatest threat himself, eroding existence into uniform corruption.
The Ruin Sovereigns enforced their master’s edict without question. Each enforced destruction in their domain, ensuring no pocket of life grew too comfortable. Their loyalty no longer hinged on friendship or understanding—just the unbreakable chain of Ruin’s will.
Over time, only the name “Ruin” remained, as even memories of “Aetheria” faded. Languages died in shrieks of madness, replaced by silence or howls of agony. The timeless serenity that once graced the skies eroded into a crimson haze that pulsed with malicious energy.
Why Rhakspit’s fear demanded such extremes is known to no one. Perhaps the Dalmasica plane had shown him a future of cosmic devourers or a truth that all worlds end. In trying to outmaneuver fate, he forced fate’s hand, reducing a realm of wonders to cinders of despair.
The Ruin plane’s essence began seeping into other dimensions, infecting them with corruption, ensuring no refuge existed. Ruin Beasts and Bile seeped through planar rifts, fracturing borders and spreading annihilation like a cosmic disease.
Every attempt at rebuilding foundered against Ruin’s absolute entropy. Nature could not regrow forests without cycles, knowledge withered without wisdom’s seed, and no alliance could stand against Ruin’s shifting landscapes and monstrous hordes.
In losing Aetheria’s gods of harmony, cycles, and wisdom, reality itself unraveled. Rhakspit’s singular dominance replaced multitudes of meaning with a single imperative: consume and unify through destruction. The Ruin plane had no place for nuance or redemption.
The final vestiges of hope cling to the faint whisper that if this plane could be made, it might be unmade. Some believe if another mind had the courage and compassion to face Dalmasica’s horror and choose differently, perhaps Ruin could be reversed. But these whispers are frail sparks in a howling darkness.
Thus the Ruin plane stands as a monument to how terror, left unchecked, corrupts greatness into atrocity. It’s a caution to those who might face unknowable horrors: that solutions born of panic can destroy all that once was cherished.
Even the Ruin Sovereigns, each wracked by their inverted purpose, serve as reminders of what was lost. Their twisted domains reflect what might have been, had Rhakspit chosen unity through understanding, not dominance.
Now, to speak of Aetheria is to tell a myth that Ruin’s storms try to silence. Yet in pockets of resistance, some still say the old gods’ names—Ceryne, Jalkor, Xaryon—in secret, hoping these echoes matter. Perhaps memory itself might provide a key to salvation.
In the end, the Ruin plane’s history stands as a tale of fear and obsession triumphing over reason and love. It began with a world of infinite potential, molded by gentle gods and thriving peoples. It ended as a warped dimension of decay, screaming silently the lesson that terror, unleashed, can reshape all creation into a single, ghastly ruin.

Geography

In the Ruin Plane, geography as understood by mortals is a cruel distortion of what once might have been recognizable landscapes. Instead of stable plains, mountains, or lush hills, the land seethes with constant flux. The ground, where solid earth should lie, is a cracked, ashen wasteland that shifts unpredictably. Jagged fissures open and close without pattern, spewing toxic fumes and exposing writhing masses of corrupted matter beneath. Rivers of corrosive bile replace any notion of fresh water. These sluggish, murky flows carve unnatural channels through decaying expanses of blackened soil, dissolving what fragile forms of life dare approach. There are no gentle lakes or rejuvenating springs; any still pools are contaminated seepages of ruinous fluids that sizzle on contact and defy attempts at purification.
No true seas or oceans border the Ruin Plane’s horizon—if a horizon can be trusted. Instead, at the edges of sight, vast chasms open into endless voids. Occasionally, a semblance of coastal formations emerge: fractured cliff lines that crumble away into bottomless gulfs of swirling miasma. Beyond these perimeters, blurred silhouettes hint at monstrous shapes, twisting and warping under crimson-skied twilight.
Visually, the "natural beauty" of the Ruin Plane is a twisted mockery of splendor. Instead of majestic mountains, towering heaps of twisted metal and stone stretch into crooked spires. Instead of a serene meadow, fields of petrified flora crouch like broken skeletons under the sickly glow of a bleeding sky. Views are warped and distorted—distances may stretch or compress, bluffs may shift into valleys overnight. Any attempts at finding stable vantage points fail as the terrain rebels against comprehension.

Ecosystem

In the Ruin Plane, the concept of a balanced ecosystem is almost laughably absent. Instead, life—if it can be called that—exists in a constant state of predation and decay. Twisted Ruin Beasts roam the terrain, their bodies mutated by corruption and adapted to thrive on toxic fumes and bile-laced rivers. They prey upon anything that moves, including each other, and their presence alone can infect and destabilize the molecular integrity of any living tissue nearby. Plants, if any linger in petrified vestiges, cannot truly be called alive; they are frozen skeletal remains that serve no productive role in cycles of growth or nourishment. In this land, organisms do not cooperate or form symbiotic relationships—survival hinges purely on resisting corruption longer than the next creature.
The physical environment itself is hostile to life. Rivers of corrosive bile dissolve organic matter, leaving behind a residue that feeds Ruin Beasts’ perverse hunger. The terrain shifts and mutates under Rhakspit’s influence, ensuring that no creature can rely on stable territory or predictable resources. Biological components interact primarily as aggressor and victim. Even scavengers, if they exist, risk being caught in the entropic shifts that turn once-available carrion into volatile sludge. Interaction here is not a gentle web of life but a merciless grindstone that chips away at any semblance of natural order.

Ecosystem Cycles

In the Ruin Plane, there are no comforting seasonal rhythms or predictable cycles to mark the passage of time. The notion of seasons, migration, or breeding periods is irrelevant under the relentless corruption. If any life attempts cyclical behavior—like seeking safer ground after a particular pattern emerges—Ruin’s landscape mocks them by warping unpredictably. The environment does not tilt towards any form of regeneration; there are no periods of rest or renewal. Instead, reality warps constantly, ensuring that creatures cannot develop stable life histories.
What passes for a “cycle” might be the intermittent surges of Bile contamination, sudden shifts in gravity or spatial distortion, or the occasional lull before the next catastrophic spasm of landscape. Creatures that persist do so by reacting instantly to changes rather than following ingrained seasonal strategies. Without stable cues, no reliable migrations occur, no hibernation patterns form, and any attempt at timed reproduction likely ends in violent futility. Survival here is minute-to-minute improvisation, not long-term adaptation.

Localized Phenomena

The Ruin Plane hosts a host of unnatural phenomena, each more disconcerting than the last. Sporadic “Bile Storms” brew without warning, where acidic droplets and corrupted vapors shower the land. These storms can peel flesh from bone, reshape stone, and leave behind slick, poisonous residues. Occasionally, entire swaths of terrain collapse into sinkholes that belch out multicolored toxic gases, warping the senses of anything nearby.
Fissures in the ground may erupt with shrieking winds of malevolent energy, distorting sounds and light, creating mirage-like visions of horrors best unseen. Strange gravitational anomalies can cause rocks—and sometimes creatures—to float aimlessly for hours before slamming down violently. The sky itself may fracture with crimson lightning that strikes with unpredictable intensity, igniting pockets of Bile into scalding infernos. None of these localized events follow a pattern or natural logic; they are chaotic manifestations of Rhakspit’s will, turning the environment itself into a weapon.

Climate

“Climate” is a generous term in the Ruin Plane. There is no stable, long-term weather pattern, nor is there a comforting average temperature or seasonal breeze. Instead, the climate is a constant, shifting miasma of oppressive heat, bitter cold, sulfuric fumes, and unstable pressures. The air can be scalding one moment and frigid the next, temperature swings often tied to unexplained bursts of energy or localized reality-warping phenomena.
Strong, toxic winds may scour the landscape without warning, carrying flakes of corrosive ash that irritate eyes and lungs. Neither humidity nor dryness can be predicted; instead, conditions mutate on a whim, each shift a new assault on the senses. To exist here is to be battered by unpredictability—scorching gales, caustic rains, and silence so profound it seems unreal—followed moments later by thunderous cacophony. The Ruin Plane’s “climate” is perpetual chaos, an unending assault that ensures comfort, predictability, and stability are relics of a world long lost.

Fauna & Flora

Within the Ruin Plane, what passes for flora is more akin to petrified remnants than living plants. Trees are charred silhouettes, their trunks hollowed and brittle, their branches twisted into claw-like shapes. Any leafy growth that attempts to persist quickly blackens under corrosive mists or mutates into fleshy, tumor-ridden bulbs that weep foul fluids. Such “plants” do not offer sustenance; instead, they pose further hazards. Some emit noxious spores that can induce delirium or weakness in any creature unlucky enough to inhale them.
The fauna is equally warped and devoid of benign interactions. Ruin Beasts roam the landscape—misshapen amalgams of once-recognizable animals, fused with corrupted flesh and twisted bone. They require no food in the conventional sense, feasting on corruption itself or the molecular breakdown of other organisms. With no true prey-predator balance, these creatures simply attack anything perceived as intruding on their domain. Scavengers, if any can be called that, risk devouring carrion so tainted it can dissolve their own bodies.
In some rare pockets, small clusters of insectoid creatures persist, adapted to the ruinous conditions. Their carapaces hardened by Bile exposure, they skitter through cracks in the warped earth. Rather than participating in a functional food chain, their existence hinges on continuous mutation—each generation more twisted than the last, each individual surviving just long enough to propagate another horror before succumbing to the environment.
Interactions between these life forms and their environment cannot be called “ecology” in the traditional sense. It is a realm of ceaseless struggle, where adaptation is immediate and often lethal. No symbiosis, no cycle of pollination or seed dispersal exists. Instead, the Ruin Plane’s creatures endure a half-existence, each encounter another grim chapter in the ongoing saga of decay and agony.

Natural Resources

In the Ruin Plane, the notion of “resources” is grotesquely inverted. There are no wholesome forests to yield timber, no fertile fields for grain, no pastures for livestock. Instead, what might pass as resources are the very substances of corruption: rivers of Bile, deposits of twisted metals, or unstable crystals humming with destructive energies. These materials defy conventional uses, often dissolving or mutating standard tools and equipment that attempt to shape them.
Veins of metal, once used to craft tools and structures in ancient Aetheria, remain embedded in churning earth, but extracting them is perilous. Miners would face not only toxic vapors and collapsing caverns but also the risk that the metal itself is “alive” with ruinous magic. Smelted improperly—if smelting is even possible—such ores could release maddening fumes or corrode into useless slag before your eyes.
Organic resources are practically nonexistent. There are no herds of sheep, no wild grains to harvest. Any attempt at cultivating something stable fails because the soil refuses to support life. The closest equivalent to a harvest would be scraping off layers of corrupted mineral buildup or siphoning small amounts of strangely luminescent sludge from hidden pockets. Even these “rewards” carry crippling risks, as exposure can taint one’s body or equipment.
Thus, what this plane “offers” is a cruel mockery of wealth. Instead of wood, one finds petrified sticks too brittle to burn. Instead of stone, unstable compounds that crumble into dust. Instead of nutritious plants, poisonous growths and toxic essences. The Ruin Plane’s natural wealth is a hoard of nightmares, valuable only to those desperate or mad enough to attempt harnessing its destructive powers.

History

Once, these lands were known as Aetheria, a realm brimming with life and possibility. Before the arrival of Ruin, it hosted thriving civilizations, each guided by gentler gods who balanced creation, knowledge, cycles, and harmony. Mortals prospered under their benevolent pantheons, cultivating arts, magic, and philosophy across floating continents and elemental frontiers.
The downfall began with a single deity, Rhakspit, whose glimpse into the Dalmasica plane ignited an all-consuming terror. Determined to unify the world against unseen horrors, he imposed crushing order. Wars followed, empires fell, and once-distinct cultures collapsed beneath his relentless push for conformity. Fellow gods who resisted—Ceryne, Jalkor, and Xaryon—were eventually slain, shattering Aetheria’s delicate equilibrium.
With their deaths, Aetheria unraveled into a realm of pure corruption. Cities sank into seas of Bile, forests calcified into charred bone-fields, and creatures mutated into Ruin Beasts. Survivors fled or perished, and the name “Aetheria” vanished from all but whispered legends. History here is not recorded but screamed into howling winds or etched into twisted metal that might melt by dusk.
Over time, the dimension itself earned the name “Ruin.” With no chroniclers, no stable archives, its history endures only in scattered memories carried by rare outsiders or hidden enclaves. The past is known less by orderly chronicles and more by haunted echoes and half-remembered myths. The Ruin Plane’s story is one of tragic transformation: a paradise disfigured into a pitiless wasteland by fear and desperation.

Tourism

True “tourism” in the Ruin Plane is almost unimaginable. No sane traveler ventures here for pleasure or curiosity. Instead, those who arrive are often desperate scholars, reckless adventurers, or agents seeking to extract a particular artifact or source of twisted power. In their minds, they come prepared, convinced they can outsmart the environment, find what they seek, and leave swiftly.
Such visitors yearn to see remnants of ancient Aetheria—lost temples, half-submerged libraries, or petrified gardens. They hope to glean insights into the world’s downfall or uncover relics left behind before Ruin took hold. Their experience is far from leisurely: they must contend with warping terrain, prowling Ruin Beasts, and maddening Bile storms.
Accommodations do not exist in any comforting sense. There are no inns, no safe taverns. Instead, visitors might shelter in temporary wards cast by their own magic, or erect makeshift camps behind unstable rock formations. Every “rest” is fraught with danger, and the notion of relaxing to enjoy a view is laughable. Survival, not comfort, dominates their itinerary.
For those few who manage to return, the “tourism” experience is one of horror and grim revelation. They return with stories that discourage any who might consider following in their footsteps. In a realm defined by decay and terror, no postcard vistas or quaint attractions await. To visit the Ruin Plane is to confront despair incarnate—an excursion that leaves even the boldest explorers scarred by memories best left unspoken.

Alternative Name(s)

The Crimson Rot

Type

Plane of Existence

Owner/Ruler

Rhakspit, the Lord of Ruin

Additional Rulers/Owners

• The Ruin Sovereigns

Ruling/Owning Rank

Supreme Entity

Owning Organization

The Cult of Ruin

Contested By

• Shard of Reclamation