Memoirs of Count Grammont
A snippet from the life of the Count, who lived in the city of Ravenshire during the Rend. One of the only remaining survivors nearest to The Great Battle, his record was transcribed from Elvish into the Common tongue after his pilgrimage to the Haven of Dolor.
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The great cataclysm came, like lightning. Fast, furious, and deadly. Earthquakes shattered the mountains and uprooted the trees. Ash and fire rained down from the sky. The shrieks and wails of thousands, nay, tens of thousands, even tens of millions, reverberated through the air as all civilization crumbled. It was a tangible, physical manifestation of all horror, monstrosity, terror and utter loss.
A shadow descended, ripping apart the seams of Heaven. His name was unknown except in the very reaches of the Planes; unknown to Terra until that day. He was ever after known as The Eldest, The Darkness, Gideon the World Razer. Everything that touched him ceased to exist, not only in death but in presence. Great swaths of land and hill and dale were carved clear of their foundations, scooped away but never found. Entire towns, cities, populations disappeared in an instant. They were of no consequence to him, merely obliterated in his unquenchable hunger.
At that moment, a great shift in the crust of Terra--a great visceral death throw of the world—snuffed out millions more. Tsunamis a thousand miles high swept the lands, touching every point with salty spray. Slithering coils could be seen by every soul still living, erupting from the sea and molten crust. It was as if their appearance was timed to the arrival of The Eldest, as if his presence woke even the deepest secrets of the planet. They spanned to the clouds, and as far as the horizon stretched. Like something out of ancient folklore, it was as if the whole of the world was merely an ethereal eggshell for a celestial serpent. As soon as it awoke, it died, its muscular form sinking back into the rent crust.
Then from the torrential seas leapt mighty heroes, as if freshly materialized from the Realms of Gods. As all the weave desires balance, great evil will inevitably clash with great good. They attacked, mercilessly, upon The Darkness. His path of destruction seemed merely slowed, as he swatted them away like pests. Stronger and stronger they pushed back, calling upon all the elements, magics, and atunement with Terra that could be mustered. Her body was now, alas, broken, and the weave had been destabilized. What additional draw was placed on it unraveled it faster and faster, unbeknownst to the great heroes.
After many hours of battle, Gideon’s power began to wane. He sought to restore his power, and to leech the energy from the battered core, but one of the heroes, Saar the Mighty, The Whirlwind, The Swordmaster, blessed with the gifts of the Gods, followed after. His fellow commanders poured out their power unto him, and the two, light and dark, good and evil, smote upon each other with such ferocity as to tremble all of Terra. Not like the great quaking of the Leviathan, but a rumbling such as like unto a shield being beaten upon with a hammer.
Their powers were equally matched. But after a long and grueling battle, Saar triumphed over the beastly Gideon, stabbing him deep through the heart, and breaking The Darkness asunder. The obliteration of the Eldest came at a price; the World Razer was cultivated of void, and as it ripped apart, it smote upon Saar the Mighty; his sacrifice saved Terra from a more ultimate, utter destruction among the cosmos. The others came to his aid, but alas, it was too late. As he faded from this world, his swords of legend lost to time, only our memories remained.
I saw much, but also learned much, as the heroes retired from their long battle. My home of Ravenshire had been destroyed, and I only but survived by a great miracle. They came through with heavy hearts and sorrow for their friend, and for the death and destruction that abounded in every corner of Terra. They heard my cries for help, and pulled me from the rubble of my conservatory, healing me of grievous wounds. All my relations, all my neighbors, were lost. They let me travel with them for a time, in hopes of finding another city that had survived. During that time I heard many a tale, many wonders and terrors they spoke of. When at last we reached the City of Dolor, I made a new home and set to writing.
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