War of the Mad

Kelveren Darkhold, a young charismatic man from the snow tribes of the north began to unite the various tribes with a dream of domination and subjugation of “lesser races.” Coming after a time of peace throughout Ellebore, the peoples were overrun and Kelvern’s empire was founded in the blood of his enemies. The other races and powerful arcane practitioners of Ellebore did rise up and begin to resist, but through deceit and violence Kelvern’s empire continued to expand. But it was never enough and in a mad search for power delved deep in blood magics and necromancy. Soon the empire had another purpose, a steady supply of bodies; blood and lifeforce sacrificed to the dark powers. Driven mad by the powers he had communed with nothing would be enough but for Kelvern to become a god himself and in doing so defeat death itself.
As the centers of power and civilization throughout the west fell and Kelvern’s shadow stretched long, there was still one land that stood strong. Near the southern coast stood the tower of the Artificer Mage Whyril, creator and sculpture of new life, and so the opposite of all that Kelvern was. Whyril was no war mage and yet he had an ability to surround himself with competent and diverse people, and even more surprisingly listen to them. For a time it looked as though the forces of the free would hold the line, but the tides of war swept on and Kelvern’s forces began to break through. Whyril began sending his people away.
Unsatisfied with the speed of the campaign Kelvern managed to turn one of the mercenary mages in Whyril’s own ranks. This traitorous mage was able to get close enough to poison Whyril. This was a slow and painful death, and being the kind of man Kelvern was he wanted to watch. Opening a portal into Whyril’s tower he saw the old mage slumped over a table whimpering in pain. Breaking out into peals of mad laughter at finally defeating this final foe, when Kelvern finally regained control of himself and looked again he saw that Whyril had turned and was now staring in his direction. Whyril, now managing to pull himself together one last time, looked into the eyes of his enemy and saw that there was nothing human left, only blood, madness, and pain. Without breaking eye contact he picked something up off of his desk and with a quick flick of his wrist tossed it through the portal. Giving one last sad smile Whyril said, “Pride will always be your undoing.” Glancing down at the small silver cube Kelvern looked up with words of scorn on his lips, but as he made eye contact with Whyril one final time, Whyril spoke one more word of command and the world disappeared in light and fire.
This box, and another just like it affixed to the top of Whyril’s tower, were cubes of unraveling. Once activated each box unleashed a wave that broke all magical bonds within its radius. Whyril did not count on the size of the resulting explosions, nor the way the two magical force waves would interact. Two massive craters were all that remained of the two strongholds and the land for miles and miles around was torn and warped by the aracne forces unleashed.
With their leader gone and the world gone mad, the northern barbarians soon lost interest and returned to their own lands. The magic currents of the land were disrupted and ruined, the combined energies managing to nullify arcane powers for centuries to come. Even the lands themselves were twisted and warped in unpredictable ways by the unleashed magical energies. The survivors did what they could to find new lives in the wreckage of the world. And thus was won the War of the Mad.