The Great Sundering of Tabaa

Before war, before crowns, before even the measure of years, the world of Tabaa was whole.

The world was not ruled. It was shared.

Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin, and elder races yet unnamed walked beneath the same sky. They were bound not by law, but by balance. Magic existed, but it was restrained. Faith was present, but it did not divide. Death came gently, and the dead did not linger.

This age is remembered as The Quiet Accord.

But the world of Tabaa was never alone.

Beneath the firmament, below stone and root, there existed the Underworlds. A layered abyss of domains, each ruled by powers older than hunger and colder than reason. They did not envy life. They pressed against it, as deep water presses against a hull.

For an age uncounted, the boundary held.

Until it did not.

The Breach

No trumpet announced the catastrophe.
No god descended to warn the living.

The first sign was absence.

Rituals failed. Prayers went unanswered. Ancestor spirits, once constant and guiding, fell silent, as if something had severed the paths between the living world and the beyond. Animals fled entire regions where nothing yet appeared wrong.

Then came the Breach.

It was not a clean rupture or a single moment of destruction. It was a collapse inward, as if the foundations of the world had thinned and given way beneath their own weight. Stone split. Fire erupted. The skies darkened as the boundary between Tabaa and the Underworlds broke open in the physical world.

From the depths, the Underworlds did not linger. They poured forth.

Through the Breach came armies and evil influences alike. Legions of twisted beings marched beside formless horrors. Malignant spirits followed in their wake, clinging to the living and the dead. Echoes of long-dead tyrants clawed their way back into existence. Even thoughts born of hatred, domination, and despair learned how to walk and kill.

At the heart of the invasion stood Morgaroth, the great lord of the Underworlds.

Where he passed, the land burned. Not as wildfire, but as annihilation. Cities were reduced to ash. Forests were blackened to bone. Rivers were choked with ruin. His presence shattered ley lines and poisoned the world’s natural order, turning places of life into enduring scars.

The dead rose, not by necromancy, but because death itself had been disrupted. Souls could no longer pass cleanly beyond the world. Some returned driven by unfinished purpose. Others returned by rage. Some returned for no reason at all.

Creatures twisted, not because they were cursed, but because the laws that defined them were no longer stable. Beasts, people, and even the land itself lost their intended shape, warped by the pressure of the Underworld pressing against reality.

Evil did not spread as a single conquering tide.

It spread where the world had been broken. It lingered in burned lands, shattered battlefields, and places where Morgaroth’s shadow had fallen. From those wounds, it continues to seep.

The Ancestors’ Decision

The peoples of Tabaa fought.

They lost.

Not because they were weak, but because the enemy could not be killed. Every spirit destroyed left behind a wound. Every victory widened the Breach. The Underworlds could not be pushed back from above.

So the Ancestors made a choice no age since has dared to repeat.

They would seal the Breach from the inside.

A covenant was formed. Not between nations, but between ideals. Champions from all walks of life joined forces and bound their wills together.

They were not kings.

They are remembered simply as The Grand Ancestors.

They descended.

The Sealing

What happened in the depths is not fully known.

What is known is this.

The Breach closed.

But it did not heal.

The Ancestors did not return.

Instead, they became the seal itself.

Bound in eternal vigil, their spirits anchored the boundary between worlds, standing where the Underworld presses hardest. Their presence halted the flood, but it could not erase what had already entered.

Thus Tabaa was saved.

And thus Tabaa was forever changed.

The World After

Evil remains. Not because the seal failed, but because it was formed too late.

Spirits linger. Monsters breed true. Corruption seeps into forgotten places. The dead sometimes refuse to stay dead, not out of malice, but because the world still bears the damage of the Breach.

The Ancestors endure below, holding the line.

They do not ask for rescue.
They do not promise salvation.

They buy time.

Every generation stands because they still hold.

The Aftermath

You are not born into peace.

You are born into the aftermath.

The world survives because others chose damnation in your place. The Underworld is sealed, but it is not silent. Cracks form. Echoes rise. The legacy of the Ancestors weakens as memory fades.

Heroes are no longer chosen by prophecy.

They are required by necessity.

And should the seal ever fail,

Tabaa will not be breached again.

It will be claimed.