Aldoreth is a spiritually tormented world. It does not suffer the uncertainty of quiet gods, deities whom hide behind the scenes never making their presence known to their creations. In Aldoreth, there is no doubt that the gods are alive.

Alive, but not well. Shortly after the creation of the world the gods disappeared, though their work remained. The halls of the afterlife still existed, as did the angelic servants of the gods, but the masters were gone without a trace.

This time known as “The Quiet” was a spiritually terrifying era for the sapient races, as their prayers went unanswered and their religions without support. The stewards of the gods did their best to maintain peace but inevitably religious wars bubbled to the surface.

In the midst of the final war, the War of Whispers, the gods suddenly returned to their halls. But they were changed beings. Ravenous and mad the gods descended on their faithful subjects and occupants of their afterlife and consumed them. No reason could stay their hand, and within weeks the entirety of the afterlife was destroyed.

And in their insanity the gods came to Aldoreth, the mistake that ultimately saw their end. While in their astral realms the gods were immortal and perfect, but in the mortal lands they carried no such gift. The peoples of Aldoreth, prepared for the invasion by the few who could travel between the planes, were united in the face of their gods.

The battle was quick and terrible. The Quiet had forced the peoples of Aldoreth to adapt, to wage war without the help of their gods, and they used these powers against them now. Millions died in the few days that the gods were loosed on the world, but in the end they were defeated, they were destroyed by their very children.

Only eight deities survived through the conflict, and each are chained and enslaved by the ones they used to call followers. Their powers were siphoned and they became living fonts to themselves. Their bodies served as vast reserves of divine power, but their minds never mended.

Aldoreth began the long, loathsome recuperation from the God’s Betrayal and tried as best they could to reason with this new world. The philosophers mused what could drive the gods to such madness while the magi cautiously probed the gods with their magics. The clerics pleaded with their stricken deities to speak, to offer advice or warning, but no answers ever came forth.

All but one, Bahamut, chained to his great stone dais whispered once in his draconic tongue one word. “Ie’ndra.”

After The Quiet