A Tale of Blood and passion

In the dawn of time, when Eldrador was young and full of mystery, the land pulsed with ancient power. Magic and nature wove together in perfect harmony, each thriving off the other in a delicate balance. Mountains stood tall, crowned with snow and flame, while vast forests teemed with life, whispering ancient secrets to the winds. Rivers flowed like veins through the earth, their waters pure and brimming with the raw essence of creation.

The three great kingdoms-Eldridians, Draconians, and Wysterians-stood at the pinnacle of this world, each an embodiment of the forces that shaped their destiny.

The Eldridians, masters of arcane magic and scholars of ancient lore, built towering cities that glittered like jewels across the land. At the heart of their civilization was the grand city of El'goroth, a place of learning and wisdom. Rising above the skyline, the Great Library stood as a testament to their thirst for knowledge. Here, the arcane script-created by the legendary sorceress Eldrid-was studied by scholars from all corners of Eldrador. Magic was their lifeblood, and they wielded it with unmatched precision. Towers of shimmering stone, bathed in the soft glow of magical light, reached for the heavens, and the streets bustled with mages, philosophers, and artisans, all working to perfect the delicate art of magic. The Council of Mages, Eldrador's most revered institution, governed the magical laws, ensuring that knowledge was passed down from generation to generation.

The Draconians, born from the very essence of dragons, were a people of fire and strength. They hailed from the Dragon's Peak Mountains, a range of towering, flame-kissed peaks that pierced the skies. At the summit of their empire stood the mighty Spire of Tharros, a structure forged from stone and fire-tempered steel that glowed with an inner heat, a beacon visible from miles away. The Draconians ruled the skies with their Dragonriders' Guild, an elite order of warriors bonded to their fearsome dragon companions. Together, dragon and rider soared through the heavens, casting shadows over the land below. Their cities were fortified strongholds, built to withstand both war and the volcanic forces that shaped their territory. In the heart of the Dragon's Peak Mountains, the Pyre of the Ancients burned eternally, a sacred site where dragons were worshipped and the old ways were honored. Tharros, the legendary Dragon King, was revered as both a ruler and a god, his descendants continuing his legacy of pyromantic power and unyielding leadership.

In the verdant Wysteria Plains, a different kind of magic held sway. The Wysterians were a people deeply attuned to the natural world, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the earth, the skies, and the seas. Their cities were living monuments to nature, seamlessly woven into the landscape. The City of Petals, where flower-shaped spires bloomed from the earth, shimmered in the sunlight, its buildings crafted from living wood and adorned with delicate blossoms. Riverhaven, another of their grand cities, floated atop the waters, its structures of water and mist constantly shifting and flowing. The Wysterians were masters of botanomancy, hydrokinesis, and geomancy, communing with the natural forces that shaped their world. Lythari, the revered Nature Queen, was said to have been born from the very heart of the earth itself, her spirit as wild and untamable as the forests she ruled. Under her guidance, the Wysterians flourished, living in harmony with nature while wielding magic as a tool to nurture and protect the land. Their druids and green mages, the guardians of nature's balance, ensured that life thrived in every corner of their realm.

For centuries, the three kingdoms lived in relative peace, each contributing to the harmonious balance of Eldrador. The Eldridians were the keepers of knowledge, the Draconians the defenders of power, and the Wysterians the nurturers of life. Though they occasionally clashed over borders or trade, these disputes were minor, overshadowed by the greater prosperity they all enjoyed. But as the ages passed, the seeds of discord began to take root. Ambition grew within the hearts of men and women who sought more than their allotted share of power. Greed festered like a wound, spreading among the ranks of mages, kings, and nobles alike. Whispers of ancient, forbidden magics began to circulate through the halls of El'goroth. Draconian warlords eyed the fertile Wysteria Plains with envy, while Wysterian druids spoke of strange imbalances in the natural world, as if the land itself sensed the coming storm.

And then, the world shattered.

The Great Sundering began as a tremor, deep in the heart of Eldrador. At first, it was barely noticeable-a faint shiver that ran through the earth, easily dismissed as a passing earthquake. But soon, the tremor grew into a roar. The skies darkened as if the sun itself had been blotted out, and the ground buckled and split. Mountains that had stood for millennia crumbled, their peaks collapsing in a cascade of rock and fire. Rivers boiled, their waters turning black with corruption. From deep within the earth, fissures opened, spewing forth dark, malevolent energies that tainted the land and the very fabric of reality. The once peaceful streams of magic that flowed through Eldrador became wild and chaotic, surging uncontrollably through the air and earth.

The Draconians, high in their mountain fortresses, were the first to feel the full force of the Sundering. Entire cities were swallowed by the earth as the mountains split apart. Dragonriders were torn from the skies, their mighty steeds consumed by flames that raged out of control. The Draconian empire, once the unchallenged ruler of the skies, crumbled into a scattering of city-states, each ruled by warlords more concerned with survival than unity. The once-mighty Spire of Tharros, symbol of their power, was reduced to a smoldering ruin.

The Wysterians, so attuned to the land, felt the world's pain as if it were their own. Their forests withered, their rivers dried up, and the delicate balance they had maintained for centuries was shattered. The City of Petals, once a vibrant paradise, was swallowed by the earth, its people scattered to the winds. The Circle of the Green, the ancient druidic order sworn to protect nature, worked tirelessly to heal the rifts, but their efforts were in vain. The damage was too great, the corruption too deep. Yet, even in the face of destruction, the Wysterians refused to give up. They spread across Eldrador, carrying with them the last remnants of their magic, hoping to restore what was lost.

The Eldridians fared no better. In their great city of El'goroth, the mages gathered in their towers, desperately trying to contain the wild magic that threatened to tear the city apart. Forbidden spells, once locked away in the deepest vaults, were unleashed in a bid to control the chaos, but their power proved too great. The arcane towers, symbols of their knowledge and mastery, crumbled under the weight of their hubris. The Great Library, repository of all their magical knowledge, was consumed by fire and darkness. The once proud Eldridian civilization, the beacon of wisdom and learning, was reduced to ashes.

In the aftermath of the Great Sundering, Eldrador was a broken land. The regions were divided, each struggling to survive in the new world that had been born from the ashes of the old. Dark forces, long kept at bay by the harmony of the kingdoms, now prowled freely across the land. Malevolent entities from other realms slipped through the rifts, bringing with them chaos and destruction. The once-united kingdoms now stood isolated, their people scattered and their lands scarred.

The legacy of the Great Sundering was one of ruin and despair, but also of resilience. The Wysterians, though weakened, adapted to their new reality, using their magic to heal the land as best they could. The Draconians, though divided, continued to harness the power of fire, their dragonriders still soaring through the skies. The Eldridians, though shattered, clung to the remnants of their knowledge, determined to rebuild their lost civilization.

But the world would never be the same. The Great Sundering had left deep scars, both physical and magical. Rifts still dotted the landscape, leaking dark energies into the world. Magic, once a reliable force, had become unpredictable, surging and waning without warning. The regions of Eldrador, once bound by ancient alliances, were now fractured, each facing an uncertain future. Yet, even in the darkness, there remained a glimmer of hope. The whispers of the ancients echoed through the land, foretelling a time when the people of Eldrador would rise once more to heal the wounds of the past.

The fate of the realm hung in the balance, waiting for the day when the children of Eldrador would make their choice: to unite and restore the harmony that had been lost, or to let the darkness consume all.

In the heart of a shattered world, where the once-mighty kingdoms of Eldrador now stood fractured and vulnerable, the Treaty of El'goroth emerged as a fragile hope. The land, still scarred from the Great Sundering, lay in ruin-a desolate expanse of crumbled mountains, twisted forests, and rivers that no longer flowed as they once had. The sky itself seemed heavy, overcast with clouds that mirrored the turmoil below. Yet amid the darkness, three leaders dared to imagine a future where peace might reign once again.

The ancient city of El'goroth, once the proud capital of the Eldridian Empire, had barely survived the Sundering. Its towering spires had crumbled, and its streets, once bustling with scholars and mages, were now eerily quiet. It was here, in the remnants of its grand hall, that the leaders of the three great kingdoms gathered, summoned by the promise of a new beginning.