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At the twilight of the Age of War, the man who would one day plunge the world into ruin was born. Raxenos came into a realm soaked in blood, raised in the shadow of clashing armies and divine conflict. He matured amidst the carnage, becoming a hardened and pragmatic survivor. By the time the wars ended, Raxenos was already a middle-aged man, his entire life forged by the desperate fight to see another dawn. Peace, to such a man, was not a gift—but a risk. A lull in vigilance. And so, he turned to the pursuit of power, determined never again to be at the mercy of fate.
Unbound by morality, tradition, or divine law, Raxenos delved deeper into the arcane than any mortal before him. No sanctity was spared, no taboo left unbroken. He extended his life far beyond natural limits, becoming a wizard of terrifying potential. As the Age of Independence marched on and the presence of the gods continued to wane, Raxenos saw opportunity. The throne of the divine lay vacant. Why worship absent gods, he reasoned, when one of mortal blood could rise to claim their place?
But such ambition does not go unnoticed.
From the distant edge of the divine, Eolas, once the radiant Goddess of Knowledge, now fallen and forsaken, saw in Raxenos a tool—or perhaps a weapon. Under the guise of guidance, she whispered secrets long lost, unveiling the ruins of forbidden rites and forgotten magics. Together, they crafted a ritual of dreadful magnitude—one that would unmake the boundaries of creation and recast Raxenos in the image of a god.
When the ritual was complete, Raxenos got what he desired: power beyond comprehension. He transcended mortality and ascended to a new, godlike form.
But the cost was catastrophic.
The fragile veil separating the mortal world from the Realm of Excess was torn apart. Reality groaned under the strain, and through the breach poured forth the Abyssal Hordes—twisted reflections of mortal extremes, birthed in excess and shaped by Vice. It was only then that Eolas’s true scheme was revealed. She had never intended to share power. Her goal was to unleash the realm of Vices upon Staterum, drowning the gods’ creation in the very flaws they had once tried to suppress.
At the head of this demonic tide marched Ormos, Vice of Rage, clad in fury incarnate. His armies swept west across Siar’Morrin, burning cities and shattering all defences. The Biranian armies fought bravely, but wave after wave of abyssal invaders tested their limits in a war unlike any before. Across the seas, other Vices, such as Paysius and Voluptia, expanded unchecked into Kair’thear, sowing corruption and establishing dark dominions. Some that would last well past the Age of Darkness, into the Age of Mortals.
As the world suffered, the gods faltered.
Their strength—once bound to the reverence and vitality of the material world—withered as corruption spread. One by one, they were forced to retreat. Some vanished in sorrow. Others raged at their impotence. A few, like Riero and Clypeus, remained, holding fast to their charges even as their powers diminished. But it was a losing battle.
In 66 AoD, atop the sacred heights of Mon Olympus, the twin deities Krenos and Sthenos made their final stand against Matiodox and the abyssal legions. Though their strength was immense, they were ultimately overwhelmed, martyrs to a doomed cause. Yet their sacrifice was not in vain. Their last act of defiance bought the precious time needed for Statera to escape, abandoning the world she had shaped and retreating with the remnants of the pantheon to the higher planes. With their departure, the final divine light vanished from Staterum, and the world plunged fully into chaos and shadow.
For thirty-four more years, the Age of Darkness endured.
A time without gods. A time without hope.
Then, at the dawn of the hundredth year, something changed. The Rifts—gateways between worlds—began to collapse. In an instant, the connection between Staterum and the Realm of Excess was severed. The great Vices were dragged back to their realm, banished not by blade or spell, but by an unseen hand. Their minions remained, wreaking havoc still—but the source of their power had been undone.
The cause of the rift closures remains one of the greatest mysteries in the annals of history.
Some believe it was Statera, who faked her defeat and worked in secret to unravel Raxenos’ ritual. Some draw loose connections to Eris’ disappearance at the same time the rifts closed, as some sign of his influence. While the Elves, insist it was the eventual intervention of Gahrian and Alache that saved Staterum.