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- The First Daemons
- Before the coming of mortal life,
- there were no daemons. Even when
- the first generations of mortals began to
- die and make their way to Pharasma’s Court
- for judgment, from there sent on to the various
- planes of Outer Sphere to become new entities, the
- wasteland of Abaddon lay fallow, an unnecessary
- and forgotten upthrust of stability within the
- chaos of the Maelstrom. It wasn’t until the first
- horrible cataclysms on the Material Plane created
- an unprecedented torrent of spiritual petitioners
- that the River of Souls overflowed its banks, and
- souls bound for Pharasma’s realm washed up on
- any number of shores.
- Some of those came to rest in Abaddon, and
- it was here that reality itself—tortured by
- the sudden shock of rage and despair caused
- by the first mass deaths on the Material
- Plane—allowed the twisted birth of something
- new. A singular soul, one filled with more
- loathing than all the others combined,
- gestated in its own rage until it erupted
- into an altogether unique entity: the first daemon. Surrounded by a sea of likewise hateful
- souls, the daemon gorged himself on his brethren
- and grew in power. In the depths of Abaddon’s
- wastelands he flexed his might, beginning to
- reform his surroundings into something as
- corrupted and twisted by hatred as the daemon
- himself. The daemon saw it was to his liking,
- and so he called out to those other souls damned
- and forsaken—those evildoers driven not by
- ordered ambition or chaotic frenz y, but by the
- impartial taint of purest evil and nihilism—
- and like a tidal pull and clarion call, they
- followed the daemon’s beckoning, incapable of
- imagining the doom that awaited them.
- Most of these lost souls found only oblivion
- at the hands of the daemon and his horrific
- domain, but others survived and likewise
- experienced that same transcendence into
- daemonic forms, becoming the first generation
- of their kind. As each soul arrived on
- Abaddon’s rocky, blasted shores like mewling,
- wretched flotsam, the daemons feasted upon
- their rotting souls, savoring each one with
- terrible glee. It was at this time that one of the daemons—the original, the First—whispered out to the cosmos,
- mocking it, taunting the gods with the knowledge that each soul that came to Abaddon was forever
- snuffed out, each light extinguished. Among all the gods, only one, the death goddess Pharasma,
- listened to the voice, as the other deities squabbled in their own wars and conflicts, and remained
- ignorant of its whispered mockery. Before long, the low growl of something else replaced it—the cries of
- thousands of souls, being devoured by the daemons of Abaddon.
- The cries went on for eons as Abaddon grew, its realms divided up between the greatest of
- daemonkind. There was no longer just the First—indeed, daemons of all makes and sizes now
- inhabited the horrid lands, preying upon the River of Souls that led deceased mortals to Pharasma’s
- Spire. The Styx channeled in evil souls from other planes as well, and the daemons welcomed the
- castaways with open arms and jaws. Finally, Pharasma looked down from her throne and realized that
- she could no longer ignore the voices that whispered at her—four voices where once there had been only
- one, all wet with unrestrained hunger.
- “Give us what is ours,” whispered Pestilence.
- “Or we shall take them, even more than we do now,” threatened War.
- “We must be fed,” demanded Famine.
- Last to speak was Death, who chuckled softly. “You have seen the Beginning and the End,” the
- Boatman noted. “You know what must be.”
- And it was true. With a nod, the Lady of Graves acquiesced, forming the Devouring Court and its
- gate to Abaddon within the Boneyard. Through it, she began to send those damned souls destined for
- the new realm of oblivion and unending hunger, delivering them to the Horsemen’s eager embraces.
- And with each soul consumed in that darkened place, each spark stamped out, the daemons further
- their goal, and the End draws a little closer.
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