In then the year, 1034 of the second age of this world, there did breaketh across the realm a war, great and terrible. And this war was so great that it shook the planes, and so terrible that it did rock the Prime Material to its very core. A war, terrible and great, that did pit man against man, god against god, and lo! Even the children wept in their mother’s wombs. The forever shunned Demons from the black of the Abyss did spew forth, mingled with the strongest of evils in this world, and did set their armies upon the prime material, rending asunder the uneasy peace that had reigned since this world was newly made. Tanshol Berman, a prominent disciple of Boccob, recounts the histories:
She Who Was Forgotten
“As she stood radiant in her divine glory, tending unto the gardens of Celestia, the goddess Yondalla did find herself interrupted and taken aback with a most horrible rumor. For lo! A messenger had only then arrived, sent to her in haste from one of her most precious devotees, Hyrand. That mortal was gifted in her eye, and favored in her heart, though often he didst worry her with his studies of, and obsession with, the lower planes and their denizens. The truest meaning of the rather cryptic message he didst drawn forth from this latest summoning still eluded him, and yet had struck shocking fear deep within the spirit of the goddess, for while she didst not understand its fullest intent, she knew what it did foretell in woe. She had no thought for what the demon may have meant by ‘Ortimus’, but she knew in her nightmares the name Lachesta, and she knew what a mortal hearing that name likely implied. The demon god was restless, and perhaps had already wormed his way into the world…
Thus was she, the goddess, compelled to give investigation to her fears, and thusly to seek out the truth of the matter. For, if Lachesta, Blackest of Heart, had indeed found some way out of his Abyssal prison, then this ‘Ortimus’ was the key to finding him. And so did she reach out her mind to the Infinite, and so did she find what she sought; an echo of the words of power, that did radiate strong arcane magics, and did wander aimlessly through the breadth of the Planes. And, as she grasped this word with her divine will, and as she focused on its creation, indeed even as she focused on the magical incantation that had created it, she cried aloud in agony and much woe. And the words of power poured forth from her lips unbidden, ‘And so I name thee, Ortimus, child of Ortis, child of my heart.’
The goddess then wept aloud, and cried out to the Planes, “Alas! That arrogant fool! All becomes clear in this dark hour!” And lo! The goddess Yondalla, divine and radiant, did bring her will to bear and chart her course on this matter; she would go to Ortimus and confront Lachesta. And she trusted to a secret hope that he, Lachesta, Blackest of Heart, had not yet accumulated his power, or his armies, and, if instead he had done so, then she wouldst return to Celestia to give warning to all others. He wouldst not be given leave to bring ruination upon the world.
So, Lachesta did sit upon his throne, and around the table did sit the beginning of the darkest of gatherings; Erythnul, The Many, and Gruumsh, One-Eye. Hextor, Champion of Evil, had called this meeting, but none of the three wicked gods giving attendance knew what it was the multi-armed wanted. The vibrant shimmering of the Pattern that is Reality spoke to all of the oncoming of Hextor before he even arrived.
‘So then, what will of thine did cause this gathering, Lachesta? I shalt not come heedlessly to thy every beckon call,’ the Herald of Hell rumbled as he sat down in a throne of obsidian that appeared for him, from nothing.
‘Mine own beckon call? T’was thyself that called this meeting! What didst thou wish of us?’ Lachesta fumed.
And behold! With suddenness, the shimmer of Reality did tell of the arrival of another. Whomever had summoned them all forth was preparing to reveal themselves at last. ‘Whomever it is, they had best have a dire reason for this,’ rasped Lachesta.
Reality shifted, and there, standing before them all, was Yondalla, halfling goddess. How could she know? Was it chance, fate, some grave misfortune? Her startled expression was a fine match for the four already in attendance, which quickly turned to anger and rage.
‘You DARE intrude upon this private communion!?’ Lachesta hissed. ‘That is a mistake we cannot permit to go unpunished!’
And Yondalla, the goddess, did feel her face twisting in fear as she turned to flee from the dark gods, but alas! The others there had as much control over reality as she, each individually, and together overpowered her with ease, refusing to allow her egress. She was given to panic, the goddess, for she was no warrior, yet she faced three of the most violent of the evil gods, and Lachesta, the most war-like of them all. And frantically, Yondalla did search everywhere for some escape, some hole in the Pattern they had missed to allow her to slip away. It came to naught; the four had cemented Reality far stronger than she alone could mold it. Desperately, she tried to simply run, but found herself staring out of a crystal, cradled in the black hand of Lachesta.
And the Four then focused their malicious wills upon the crystal, and it vanished. They had sealed Yondalla to her doom, and thus the War had begun.”
*It is worthy of note that the apparent destruction of Yondalla had egregious effects on the world as a whole. Her children, the halflings, were driven absolutely mad upon the death of their patron and creator, and began to feast upon the flesh of other thinking creatures. As it is written by the ancient scholars, before the War, halflings were no more than minor tricksters, largely tolerant and appreciated by all creatures of the Light. As impossible as it may be to believe, halflings have not always been the horror of children’s tales, hunting weary travelers alone on the road. They were once no more harmful than elves or humans…