Great Catastrophe

''"Where our legacy stems from is now simply ash. Either we replicate and repeat this result, or we murder this babe in its crib while it's thumb is still in its mouth." - Lukon Tzmantouros''

Background
Sprawling documentation of contradiction proves the inaccuracies, and confusion of the time. Many sought to blame the godless, some blamed their God, what was certain however is that what had come nobody had been prepared for. The center of civilization was Prolesia, the city of an Empire sprawling so far west and so far east it hadn't found any motion to cease momentum. By the end of what was simply known only as the "Golden Age", endless harmony had been felt.

While wars coated the fringes of the Empire, it was far from the lofty diadem and senate. From the parapets of the sturdy Empire of Prolesia, the world was beginning to be shaped into the image the Patriarch had prophecized. The Mad Emperor, as known to the world, was the catalyst of the permanent changing of the world.

The Legend
As the legends go a druid of the name of Callahan had been invited to the Imperial Prolesian Court after a gruesome war against the Kherjians had finally come to an end. The Mad Emperor sought himself as integral, believing his children ignorant and incapable of carrying the image of his world. Seeking a form of anullment from mortality he brought Callahan forward, whom was of Galatian ilk. The Emperor asked three questions;

"How do you know of this magic?"

"My knowledge would harm your psyche, my liege."

"Will I ascend mortality?"

"You will."

"What is the price?"

"Peace."

With the questions answered, the Mad Emperor cared little for further discussion. Impatient, wreckless, he demanded the druid to cast his spells immediately. Through the growing smog that coated the halls of Emperors long ago, the Mad Emperor began to roar and glow. Wings he grew, then he shone a great gold and suddenly. . . an explosion.

His voice could be heard from around the world, and where his voice touched, the sky above began to cry. For a single hour the whole world felt the cold needle-like rain drops coat their face. It did not stop and beasts of unknown ilk began to crawl into view from the sky, spilling across the valleys and mountains seeking violence and torment.

The Emperor, after an hour of torment fell to his knees and when his body had graced the ground, another shocking explosion. This time his vision would be pulled away, and even the druid that have casted such spells perished from such a motion. His entire civilization would come with him, to a realm foreign to him. He would be immortal but at the cost of peace. Permanent chaos erupted in the lands he once ruled, and he would be tormented by the millions of lives he had just killed.

The Great Catastrophe is one made by a man seeking immortality, and while none know if he is truly alive or not, what is certain is that the ways of old are gone.