The Battle of Apocalypse

After the revelation of the sacking of Tharnadia, the old historian falls silent for a short while. His eyes closed, he breathes deeply and mumbles briefly under his breath. When he reopens his eyes, a renewed look of vitality and vigor washes over his weathered face.

"I fear that the next few months were dire indeed for the surface races. The Army of Deep Night's success at Tharnadia emboldened its commanders, and they quickly pushed on to the other settlements nearby. Ugta, Kimordril, and Ashrumite were destroyed, and the citizens of these towns fled to the last bastion of hope left, Woodseer. For a few months, refugees from the other towns placed a heavy burden upon the supplies and stockpiles of the city, but even the bolstered forces at Woodseer could not stem the approaching tide. Woodseer was evacuated as the Army approached, leaving a small number of defenders as a sacrifice. In their haste to chase down the mass of life fleeing the area, the evils left Woodseer, and the surrounding jungles, mostly intact. The town would not be inhabited by sentient beings again for nearly 800 years."

"After the fall of the major cities upon the surface, the Army fractured and sent waves of raiding parties to scour the lands for survivors. For years, the remaining surface dwelling peoples of Duris hid amongst the dense forests of the continent of Evermeet, where elven magic and centaur mysticism kept the Army at bay. The standoff continued until at last the inevitable thrust for power within the Army brought about the end of the Deep Night. The infighting and factioning within the Army came to a head in the year 572, when an assassin's dagger plunged deeply into the neck of the Supreme Commander, abruptly ending his morning nap. The bloody battle that ensued in the vacuum of power would come to be known as the Battle of Apocalypse..."

At this name, the old man looks visibly shaken and pauses a moment to cough. He then lowers his voice and slowly continues.

"...It is said that the Four Riders were summoned, and left nary a soul in their wake that was not tainted by their presance. The ground was soaked with poisoned blood that coagulated and rose once more as foul blood golems. At the bidding of the Riders, the golems destroyed any living thing they came across and violated all biologic material..."

Once again the historian pauses, mustering some strength to continue his tale.

"Things were created and unleashed in those hours and days that still lurk in the shadows of the world. Things that have no name because we dare not speak of them."

With this, the man falls silent and looks off into the distance...