An ordinary land filled with ordinary people living ordinary lives across its wide expanses. A world untouched by hatred in which people spend peaceful existences in their days. Magic, formerly in abundance, has all but left the world and lies a dormant force, though this was not always the case.
In times only spoken of in legends and tall tales, magic was everywhere. It coursed through the earth as if it were the blood of the world, flowing through all living beings freely. Houses cleaned themselves, dishes washed themselves, axes split logs with no one to swing them, and life was easy. Children threw orbs of Mana back and forth to each other like toys instead of balls of leather. Magic was synonymous with life, until They arrived.
It is believed Their existence was born of the world’s complacency, from men thinking they were the prime beings because of their limitless potential to use magic, never once thinking there was anything to stand in their way. Nameless beings, wraiths, ghosts, spirits, demons, indescribable horrors feasting on magick and the souls of those touched by it sprang forth from the night and Their hunger knew no bounds. Men, women, children, beasts, none were safe from their devouring madness. The largest and most powerful of them grew to power beyond imagination and developed a name based out of fear: Infernus. The death of the sun, his legions sought out all traces of magic seeking to grow ever stronger from its consumption. For months, the world was ravaged by Them. They could be fought, but whenever magic was used, it only brought more and the battle was always lost, until The Eldest, the men most wise of all the world’s leaders, devised a plan to hide magic from the world, and starve the creatures back into the dark recesses of memory.
The Eldest gathered at the center of the world, bringing with them the will of all men: to rid the world of the hungering evil. Using their own bodies like magnets for the world’s magic, they willed that all the world’s magic be contained within themselves. Waves of arcane power washed over the world, rushing inward from the edges. As it grew more and more condensed, gathering around the bodies of The Eldest, magic began to take a physical form in a manner never before seen by men. Miasma. A liquid of iridescent sky blue, it began to coat their figures, swirling around them not unlike the eye of a hurricane. Corrosive in nature, it began to eat away at the bodies of The Eldest, slowly burning and scarring their skin, but their resolve did not falter. The mythic storm grew ever larger and more powerful, condensing all of the world’s magic into the area around them, before a blinding flash burst forth from where The Eldest stood, and a colossal globe of Miasma appeared hundreds of stories tall, engulfing them and the surrounding area. It was at that moment that time outside the bubble of Miasma came grinding to a halt, the world around them frozen as if it were only a memory. Inside the globe, The Eldest left the physical plane, becoming one with the very fiber of all existence. They began to weep heavy tears of blue for the folly of mankind and their blindness to the limits of mortals and their power. Trapped in this extradimension of their own creation, their bodies slowly dissolving into the Miasma, they willed that magic and all memory of it be hidden from the world, and that no man would ever again know the suffering of Infernus and his legions. In their last moments, the ball of Miasma bubbled furiously and fell inward to its core, the mass condensing upon itself until it no longer existed in the mortal plane of being, save for a single drop of Miasma. The tiny blue drop fell to the ground and disappeared with a soft hiss, and the world came back to life.
Dependent upon magic for sight and protections from the light of the sun, the demons were suddenly blinded and began to boil under the star’s furious stare. Watching his army disintegrate, Infernus cursed The Eldest for their deeds and roared loudly into the sky calling a retreat to the shadows, but his command fell on deaf ears. Frenzied by the agony of the sunlight without any protection, the demons responded only with screams of terror and pain, before they turned to ash and blew away with the wind, no traces left to inspire memory. They had been defeated. Before his fate fell to the same, Infernus summoned the last of his will from the Fiendish Plane, Il’Noct, and opened a portal to his home dimension, never again to return. Though it had cost them their lives, and all the magic in the world, The Eldest had saved Deisfal from the demonic terror.
But all things mythic were not lost…
There was a small string that connected the newly created Plane of Magic, Arcana, to the mortal world. Where the last drop of Miasma fell in the open field where The Eldest had stood, several weeks after their sacrifice, a sapling began to sprout, maturing rapidly and growing to be massive in size in only a few days. Once the boughs at its top had reached the low hanging clouds, the curious tree ceased its growth and stood sentinel over Deisfal, the last being touched by magic in all the world. At the tree’s core, a pathway to Arcana lay dormant, connecting it to all the world’s magic, yet acting as a guardian, holding back the power from flowing into the world again and calling back Infernus with his demonic legion to once again feast of the souls touched by magic. For centuries, the world lived again in peace, though the citizens of the land began to work hard to maintain their peace, not taking it for granted due to the convenience provided from magic. In time, people forgot about the demons and the strange appearance of the giant tree, around which grew a forest of unparallelled beauty. The land settled comfortably into its new age of calm, and all was well with the world again…