The Empire That Fell Twice
By Lady Venessa Quinn, Scholar of Antiquities, Former Explorer of Salaige

Few empires can claim to have ruled an entire continent, fewer still can claim to have done so through sheer force of will, and only one can claim to have been struck down by the heavens themselves. The Empire of Ito, in its arrogance, achieved all three.

Founded in 3496 BI in the steppes of Northern Uris, the empire began as little more than a convenient misunderstanding. The moon elves of Ito—haughty, reclusive, and imbued with an unsettlingly potent form of magic—descended upon the region and were swiftly mistaken for gods by the local tribes. One might assume that the moon elves corrected this misapprehension. They did not. Instead, they leaned into it with remarkable enthusiasm, organising their newfound worshippers into a disciplined military force and setting about the business of conquest.

What followed was a campaign of brutal efficiency, as the empire expanded beyond the steppes, consuming the disparate peoples of Salaige until, at last, it stood as the sole sovereign power of the continent. At its heart was the great city of Alarithien, a marvel of silver spires and arcane grandeur that embodied the empire’s singular vision: the unchallenged dominion of the moon elves over all lesser beings. The rest of Salaige, as one might imagine, did not take kindly to this arrangement, but organised resistance proved futile against an empire that wielded not only superior arms but magic drawn from a celestial body itself.

For over 3,000 years, the empire endured, primarily because it could not conceive of a world without itself. However, the cosmos had other ideas.

Ito, the moon from which the elves derived their power and their name, met an untimely and catastrophic end. As it passed over Northern Uris, something—whether fate, entropy, or a particularly irritated deity—caused it to break apart. The majority of the celestial body plunged into the ocean, creating waves that reshaped coastlines and drowned entire cities. A sizable fragment, however, struck the northern steppes, reducing the birthplace of the empire to a cratered wasteland.

The effects of this event were not limited to geography. The magic of Ito, once a source of stability and strength for the empire, became wild and unpredictable. Infrastructure collapsed, armies were scattered, and untold millions perished—elven and otherwise—before anyone could even begin to comprehend what had happened. Those few moon elves who survived found themselves stripped of both their power and their dominion. Without their celestial advantage, they were no longer lords of great power—only refugees, reviled by those they had once ruled.

Today, the lands that birthed the empire are known as The Itoan Disarray, a scarred and cursed region where nothing thrives as it once did. The shattered remains of Ito linger as an accursed island chain, its twisted magic still warping the land and those who dare to tread upon it. For historians and explorers alike, it serves as a cautionary tale: no empire, no matter how mighty, is beyond the reach of destruction. Some fall by rebellion, others by slow decay. The Empire of Ito, however, had the rare distinction of being smote from the sky.

One might even call that poetic justice.