Descent of Madness
The first detailed history of Peranorn, compiled by religious and secular scholars alike.
“Even angels fall. Before he was ”/campaign/divergent-tapestries/wikis/Exodamus/new" class=“create-wiki-page-link”>Exodamus, he was Exohaide. First made of all Patrons, yet filled with a seed of madness and decay. Though he looked longer in the prophecy than all save one, he never saw his descent.
No one knows exactly how or why, but the Patron, forbidden direct intervention on Peranorn, violated the laws of heaven. His church at first rejoiced— here was a Patron in the flesh! Certain it was a time for celebration, word quickly spread to the corners of the known world. But death rode with Exohaide, and as the sunset upon his celebration, a terrible keening sound burst from the temple, followed by screams and a sudden sea of flesh.
From the temple strode Exohaide, but his very skin was melting from his bones, consuming all around him, dissolving bones and meat into an indistinguishable pool of horror. Stags horns sprouted from his head, and his skull- now exposed-stretched and changed into some unknown beast. Not all were slain; many fled from the horror before them. The lucky fled to the east, and the north, and the west. The condemned fled south, forerunners to tragedy. At first, the refugees were scoffed at— Exohaide was the head of all Patrons; he was loved by all. But there was something new in the eyes of those who fled, the beginnings of a taint that none had known before. As ever more fled before the storm of the angel, it became clear that the survivors had not survived entirely.
Then came the madness. Fathers would rise from a table, and in the midst of laughter slay their wives. Mothers cheerfully sliced meat from their still screaming children. Friends would burn the crops of their neighbor, and with the madness spread a fear that Peranorn had never known.
As one, those not yet lost rose their voice, begging Averien and Kitanthar for intervention. But even the Patrons were afraid, for Exohaide was the strongest among them, and the most any would do was tend their own race. As Kitanthar sought to save the Dwarves through protection, Averien empowered her Elves to fight. She gave them secret knowledge of the angels, and gathered the oceans of magic to their home.
The war was massive, and one-sided. The Elves marched, in violation of their treaty with the dragons. With his children behind him, Exohaide met the armies of the Elves with cackling laughter. For month upon month, the same battle waged, the Elves ever pushed closer to the sea, until in the end, even Coren Delor fell. It is said that then the skies opened, and Averien wept blood from the sky, and where her tears fell, the earth boiled. Turning her head away from the defeat of her people, she ceased her watch of Peranorn, unable to bear the annihilation of her people’s army. She should have watched longer…
Unchallenged, Exohaide strove across the sea to the Elves home, and laid waste to all who remained— every half-elf, quarter-elf… anyone with so much as a drop of elf blood in their veins, he slew. He chased, without remorse, every heir of Averien’s children, and for a hundred years, their blood called to the unwatching heavens. Then came the second madness.
The Patron who embodied justice, integrity, the law, and compassion broke. The laws of heaven that she had not enforced, she broke. In her pure form, she descended upon Peranorn, bringing slaughter of all people with her until she found her brother. There are no witnesses to the battle that ensued; the continent of the Elves was laid to waste— no fungus, no lichen has grown there since. For more than a decade, though, those at the southern tips of Andril could see columns of ash and soot rising into the air, and the clap of thunder never dulled nor slowed, until one night every man, woman, and child on Andril was awakened by a long, heart-broken moan of pure anguish. The next day, there was no more thunder. The soot and ash did not fill the southern sky, and the eyes of those still in the madness calmed.
Again, Exohaide strode across Peranorn, and Averien followed, a smoldering rage in her eyes. Behind them came a beast, smelling of rot and decay, a susurus of blasphemies flowing about it as an almost tangible force.
Youhaide, they called the beast, for it was death, not of body but of mind and soul. It is the consuming rage,