In Earth’s early 12th century BC, the Bronze Age Collapse swept the Mediterranean. Cities burned, trade routes died, the art of the written word itself was forgotten in places, and no one alive today knows exactly why. This piece of history has always haunted our imagination: sometimes the world simply breaks, and the people who come after are left to make sense of the pieces.
Our world broke too. Today we want to introduce you to the defining apocalyptic event of our world.
THE DOOM!
The Great Doom takes place 50 years before the starting events of the game, but the level of devastating destruction caused by the Doom cannot be overstated: mountains erupting with catastrophic force, great cities destroyed in lava and ash, coastlines collapsing into the sea, and magical storms that swept the islands bringing chaotic devastation in their wake. Even in the modern era those storms can stir again. Across every culture, landscape, and historical timeline, the wounds remain fresh for many, and half a century later, the scars are still forming.
What was lost is not gone, though it must be rebuilt, and that work awaits your hand. However, to fix the impact of this defining event, you must know the stories of those who experienced it themselves.
For that, we turn you to our intrepid journeymaster and lauded Bookbeard, Findall Lorekeeper!
SCARS FROM THE DOOM
It is a fine evening within the realm; a calm breeze from the whistling canyons of the Broken Mountains is whispering through the room as I write these words. Those Broken Mountains, still shaking with tremors from the cataclysmic event we all experienced in subtly different ways. As a chronicler of history, within these pages I hold the accounts of scars from the Doom. As High Chronicler of Stormhall it is my duty and honor to release them to the public for the first time as a collected work of the past decade’s journey. They are as dear to me as my lost children, and they are often as terrifying as they are beautiful.
There is the terror of the unknown ripping apart the veil of reality that we all took for granted. Many of the elders within the deep halls would say that what happened beyond Stormhall was none of our business. There were those who felt the Broken Mountains were the only recording necessary of the turbulent times that the Doom brought forth.
Wisely, the Ring of Erudition had commissioned me to collect the testimonies of other people who had withstood the Doom. In the aftermath of almost half a century, I found the hope that our world can rebuild and find one another once more. It is truly in these moments of chronicling history that I understand my purpose. To make certain that we all understand, no matter what may come, that we can find a path to beauty and excitement once more. Herein lies the untold truths, as they knew them, from those who lived in the shadow of what we now call, the Doom.
-High Chronicler Findall Lorekeeper of the Antiquity Union
THE DAMNABLE GATES
A story told by Elias Horthon, Farmer of the Lands of Baron Altrabo of Anterose
You must understand that the gates are a symbol of the Solaris Faith. It is not in our nature to turn refugees away. In fact, it is within the Six Tenets of Solaris (the fifth to be precise) that we must embrace the weak and offer them thy bread. So it was that the gates remained open to those escaping the very thing that had struck terror into the heart of Anterose itself. I am but a farmer, no stranger to harsh winters that stretch the edges of every edible thing to its thinnest shallowest paste. Yet even I have had my doubts on the fifth Tenet these days.
The gates remain open, the city is stretched thinner of its resources by those poor refugees, weakening the entire city. But if we close the gates, we abandon the Tenets of Solaris and our souls must starve. There is no answer forthcoming from the High Priestess. How could the Doom have been allowed to happen in the first place, under her watch? It makes no sense to me…
I am ashamed to admit my doubts, but you seem an honest dwarf so you deserve an honest answer. In secret, when the rumors of an orcish incursion caused them to close the city gates, I felt a bit of relief. For at least a little while the flow of refugees stopped, and they were forced to seek their own shelter in the world. I know it goes against my faith, but I can feel the pressures of that particular duty in everyone around me too. Now, I am no doomsayer, demanding the heads of the refugees within the city walls like some of those radicals out in the town square, but I am not immune to the feelings that drive them. Solaris may judge us all for this one day, but I have not yet cast my faith aside like some of the others.
THE BEST LAID PLANS
A story told by High Astromant Phaedra, City Counsellor of Elandor
Each elven life lost in the Doom was hundreds or thousands of years of recent history, gone. Surely a learned scholar such as yourself knows the devastation that can bring to the hearts and minds of a people. Though one elven life could fill a Bookbeard’s library, since you’ve shown such interest, I will gladly help you fill yours.
There has been no time to assess the whys and whats of how the Doom came about. The nature of this emergency weighs heavy upon the Iretheian Elves like no other. No elven child born since has carried the birthmark of our constellations. Truly, to be abandoned by the stars themselves is a portent many believe would indicate we are doomed as well.
A few minor cities have been re-established, even while the ashes still stir about the Island of Iretheia and occasionally, with strong coastal winds, blot out the sky mid-day. Supply lines, search parties, temporary camps, refugee relocation packages; it is a monument to elven ingenuity that I am still sane amongst the constant flurry of requests and divergences from our grand designs. Yet if I do not keep our people moving forward towards a brighter future, there surely will be no dawn.
Thousands of years of careful city planning were destroyed overnight, it is no wonder some think us forsaken by our own Gods. Yet we must move forward with new orders. Every elven life depends upon the decisions we make now for the millennia to come. Questions of faith, investigations into the occurrence itself, those must come later. Right now the long-term survival of our people is at stake.
We have made concessions in these dark and bitter times. We live among those we had long been isolated from. To them we are likely already blending into society, yet to us they are fresh faces we have little experience with. Their lives but a fraction of ours, we have already seen the first of those who welcomed us with open arms, curdle and pass away like unattended milk. It is a harrowing thing to live amongst such death, and in large part reminds our people of why we chose to be alone for so long. Yet, our survival demands we live amongst these constant reminders of mortality, and so we must.
THE GEARS MUST TURN
A story told by Garon Copperpiston, Steamfactory Engineer: 1st Class, Clan Moortear
I don’t even know why you care what I think, Findall. This is nonsense to me. I have engines to build and limbs to refine today. But if you must know what I think about all that Doom nonsense. It happened and now we have to move on.
Talking about the Doom won’t keep the steam pushing through, the radios live and rife with chatter about the future. We locked the gates of Stormhall and let whatever fungal fop happen out there. In here it’s the future, Findall! That’s what matters, and here you are with your face and pen buried in a book again. You could be crafting a doll for your daughter right now… Fine, fine, yes, I do have some thoughts about the Doom.
You ask me, it was some damned magic nonsense. Probably all you Bookbeards yapping together in the Cofaidh Hall accidentally conjured up a monster that took a bite out of the world. If you’d have been doing something productive: mining, engineering, hell I’d settle for blueprints from you lot, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. You’ll never achieve greatness writing these words down, Findall. High scholar might be a fine achievement for you Bookbeards, but what can ya point to that’s actually helping, eh?
Look about me shop here, I got new pipes for the orphanage that had its water lines quaked apart. There, that engine is going into a new steamboat that will take people and ore from the mining vein straight to the smelter. Though that reminds me I need to put a warning sign not to stand on top of the ore since it releases directly into the smelter pipe when it locks to the dock. Would not want to end up in there!
Now get out of here Findall, I’m busy!
OF DOOM AND FRIENDSHIP
A story told by Hiekah Mahyar of the Debir Tribe
You ask deep questions, Findall. They hurt my heart to think about. All that pain and suffering through every Kingdom. Ah, but if you believe the chronicling of these terrible times can aid future generations, I will do my best. Here in Mastaron we only knew the after effects, but they were felt deeply. Caravans of friendships that never returned. Trade with the people beyond the dunes disappeared for quite some time. We sent inquiries by messenger, most returned with horrifying tales of death and destruction. We felt their pain, and provided what little we could from our nomadic desert lives.
The Doom to us is a universal truth. Only in the darkest hour can we know, truly, what we are made of. Those who have survived have proven themselves in their courage to go on. That is more than enough to unite a tribe like mine. Bound together in an understanding that the world is finite. Thus it is said, your brothers and sisters are all around you, if you only ask for help.
That is what we know now that our world has survived such an event. I consult with the stars on the topic each night to know where we must go next. To find new friends and allies, to help those who have fallen, and to unite those that remain against whatever dangers await in the long forward. Thus when it comes to the Doom, we have a saying.
If you know the world might end, you were surrounded by friends from the very beginning.
LIKE PRECIOUS GEMS
Though these are but a few voices from my collection, I believe they each give a critical fragment of the mindset of those who were afflicted by the Doom. The experience of the farmer is just as important to understand as that of the Hiekah or the Counsellor, and the way an elf experiences such things can be brutally different from that of a human. Within another 50 years, most of humanity will only know the event from these annals of history. While the elves may still be mourning the loss of loved ones they’d known for a thousand years as if it happened yesterday.
These are the reasons I must continue these chronicles, and I hope to continue these journeys around the world until my final days. Nothing would make me happier than that…
High Chronicler Findall Lorekeeper of the Antiquity Union
UNTIL THE NEXT JOURNEY
Findall’s pages hold only four voices from the Great Doom: the humans of Anterose, the elves of Iretheia, the dwarves of Stormhall, and the Mastaari. Each tells a different story, and many more are still waiting to be heard.
Which voice stayed with you? What stories would you like to hear next? Join us on Discord and tell us what you’d like to explore.