In the Blind Eternities, the only thing you can be sure of is that nothing is set in stone. Of course, given the impermanence of rocks in the infinite multiverse, the parable loses its gravitas, but you get the point. Across endless parallel universes, there will be infinite variations of the same thing. But eventually, perpetual chaos begets order.

Suppose you draw infinite curves on a sheet of paper. Some will overlap, and some will be parallel. And some will have such minor differences that differentiating between them would be pedantic. Now, if the paper was a space with infinite dimensions, those curves would represent different worlds and their timelines, practically but not accurately. This analogy is quite limited and does not fully represent the Blind Eternities. But it represents how different worlds can have similarities.

If you take a clumped cluster of worldlines and average them out, you get a timeline of how things go. A canonical timeline, if you will. It can also be represented as stories.

As an example of such stories, here is a brief meta-overview of one:
It begins with a species of space worms trying to survive the heat death of the universe by consuming resources. These worms consume anything and everything, including each other. A parasitic species, unable to comprehend the Blind Eternities, like a frog in a well.

But today's story is not of that. Today's story begins with a Demon Lord.

Apollo cries for vengeance
Ador feels cold, tightens his robes
Announcer is lowkey panicking
Ador looks for signs it;s a joke
Apollo swears for the abyss
Sun becomes black
Ador panics
His father tries to calm him down
Stray attack kills father
Hysterically runs away
Is hunted by a demon
Casts a spell
Flubs it so hard he sees stars
Stars grow closer
It’s an eldergod
Elder sign and side effects
Force casts a spell and kills the demon
Manages to summon devils
Bargains for sanctuary

Father smacks me on the head.

"Pay attention. It's not every day a god dies."

Who do you think we fought against? This is their end. I don't want to acknowledge them. Nevertheless, I suppress my thoughts, shut my book, and reluctantly mumble my agreement.

Obeying Father, I focus on the God. A magnificent creature, it could pass for a person if not for its demeanor. Physically, it was a peak specimen, but something about its bearing made it supernatural. It could not be mistaken for anything other than divinity. The souls of the dead sustained divinity, that was born from the faith. How the mighty fell.

An ensemble of trumpets announced the arrival of the executioner. He walked like a man carrying the weight of the world, for indeed he was. Killing a God carried grave consequences. When an Archmage slew Hades, God of the Dead and Riches, the King of the Underworld cursed them to become invisible and forgotten. Their name forever lost to all. Moreover, all gold became tarnished black, and gems lost their luster. This left a permanent stain on all the wealth extracted from the earth that lacked magical protection.

The poor executioner stepped onto the stage, likely wondering what curse he would carry.

A thin man wearing red robes walked onto the stage. He unfurled a scroll and made an announcement. "Helios, the God of the Sun, stands accused of acts of divinity, tyranny, causing droughts, desertification, multiple counts of assault, sexual assault and murder. It is possible for a god to renounce their godhood, thereby absolving themselves of the crime of having divinity. Helios will be given the opportunity to do so."

As the announcer waved his hand, the chains around Helios' head loosened.

"Pay attention. It's not every day a god dies," says Father, smacking me on the head.

What do you think we fought in the war? This is the last of them. But I don't want to give them any attention because the worst insult you can receive from anyone is to be ignored. It's the one that hurts the most. But I silence my thoughts, close my book and mumble out an agreement.

Obeying Father, I focus on the god. A magnificent creature, it could pass for a person if not for its demeanor. Physically, it was a peak specimen but something about its bearing made it supernatural. It could not be mistaken for anything other than divinity. Divinity, born from the faith, sustained by the souls of countless dead. How the mighty fell.

With the end of the age of gods, the wall of suffering fell, leaving the material plane open to Abyssaly Incursions. Feywild had merged into the main material plane and From the sea of madness you could sail to the far realms. In the easterm desert, if you had enough rations and water you could literally walk to hell. due to the weakening of boundaries, the Gates of abyss were exceptionally easy to open. And as the last god died, the Gates opened. Demons erupted from the gates, flooding the continent. Churches were corpses, killed in the sundering. Faith provided no shield. In this darkness, rose a hero.
Ador Vedel, once a wizard alcolyte, joined by his entorouge cut a bloody swath through the tide of demons, reaching the gates of abyss, sealing them shut.

In the Blind Eternities, the only thing you can be sure of is that nothing is set in stone. Of course, given the impermanence of rocks in the infinite multiverse, it loses it's gravitas, but it gets the point across. In the endless parallel universes, there will be infinite variations of the same thing. But even perpetual chaos has order. And most variants of the same world have commonalities. A canon, if you will. For example, a space whale that grants powers based on a person's trauma might visit an ordinary world with ordinary people. A completely ordinary world with no supernature. A variation of that world could begin the same way. An ordinary world, where supernatural exists only in stories. But a demon lord of extraordinary power visits this one, whose apperance heralds the coming of the supernatural. And unknowing, sets off the wings of the butterly, bringing the storm of his end.

The End of year examination is more grueling than any other exam. It tests their ability to put together clues and plan. Some years the academy collects different monsters and gives clues to students. Others all are given a theme and have to travel a maze. One time they were given clues about spells they were were to face. Always the goal is the same. Survive. The academy makes a temporar phylantry for all their students. Safekeeping of the phylanctry is their own responsibility. Thus the students make dungeons with their phylanctry in the core, resources in the room.

The supreme power of a wizard lay in their capacity to plan. Thus, the examination would focus on that topic. The problem was that I was shit at planning. And I sucked even more at sticking to one. I was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. But anyway, we drew lots the week before the exam in my class of twelve students. Each would combat a distinct creature, but the lots did not specify the beast. Instead, they contained clues. Which was good because I believed I was better at putting things together.

I received a report and started with pictures the pictures. Why? I like pictures. And the first one showed a desiccated corpse. The second picture is the same. The third also shows a dried husk. So do the fourth and fifth. Boring. I skimmed the divination results. Every single one of them perished in the same spot. Wow, like I couldn't tell that from the pictures. Blah blah blah, traces of necrotic energy. Huh. The corpse shows signs of forced life-drain. Well, that narrowed things down. And look at that, they all died at night.

I went to the library and cracked open the Undead Encyclopedia of Weak Undead. Some higher-level undead could have the same signs, but the Archivists wouldn't use them. They wanted us trained, not dead. The book had two sections discussing corporeal and incorporeal undead. No physical undead at this level would have a life-drain ability, so I skipped to the second section.

The listing was alphabetical, but that didn't matter because it only had two entries. No fucking way there were only two types of incorporeal undead at this level. I asked the librarian if any other books covered the same material.

"I'm sorry, that book only contains general typings. It says so on the disclaimer on the cover."

Sure enough, the book said it in a small font at the bottom of the cover.

Shit, how would I find a low-level undead that kills at night and has the life-drain ability?

"Why are you looking for a Specter?"

"I said that out loud. Wait, you know what it is?"

She frowned but nodded.

A wizard's greatest strength is their ability to prepare. Thus, the examination was going to cover that topic. We drew lots a day before the exam. My class has twelve students. Each of us has a different creature. That creature is what we will fight. The lots don't name the monster. Instead, they contain clues.

I received a report. I first checked the pictures. The first one shows a man stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. The surrounding is a defaced alleyway. The second one is another corpse. This one is instead a dried husk. It's in the same place, a month after the first corpse. The third is also a dried husk. Again, it's in the same place, a day after the second corpse. So is the fourth and fifth. The location is the same, differentiated by a day.

I skimmed the autopsy report. The first victim was a 25-cycle-old human male with minor magical talent. Multiple abdominal perforations, the cause of death is suicide. What the fuck? I blink my eyes and reread the sentence once more.

External examination says a sharp object caused multiple perforations in the abdominal region. The angle of the wounds suggests he stabbed himself. The toxicology reports nothing unexpected. Internal examination reports nothing. No abnormalities in any organ. Arcane residue shows an enchantment spell.

I put away my spellbook and entered the arena. The gate locks shut behind me. I locked eyes with the Specter. It dashed at me in a mad frenzy. I Warped away, ran, and pointed at it. "Magic Missile." It hits but doesn't take it down. It chases me. I run again, watching my back. It shoots at me, trying to claw at my face. It barely misses. I focus on dodging. It's claws miss again.

And then I could Warp again. I Warped away and scampered until the Specter was barely in range. I pointed again. "Magic Missile." My mana pool is empty. The darts don't finish the job. It snarls and bolts at me. I try aiming. "Ray of Frost." It was too close. I panic and miss. It tries clawing at me again. It almost hits me, but I reflexively whisper. "Shield."

I cough up some blood, the perks of forced casting. The Shield's repulsion deflects the Specter's claws. In a panic, I tried aiming again. "Ray of Frost." I fail. Frost climbs up my arm.

I see nothing but darkness. My stomach drops. It feels too much like falling, but the wind doesn't rush at me. I shiver. It's too cold. I look around. The void greets me. I try to peer past the darkness. A giant red eye greets me. I am frozen solid.

I am back in the room. I wonder why the Specter is screaming. I remember that Specters are incapable of producing any sound. Then the truth hit me. The shock of my mind expanding to protect itself from Eldritch Truths. I shiver.

I clenched my fist. I ignored my quivering palms and the cold sweat on my back. I take a deep breath. "Fuck it". I focus on the Specter. "Magic Missile." It disappears into smoke. I exhaled, unaware I was holding my breath. The exhale shifts into coughs. I lay down on the floor, coughing up a lung.

I hear the click of heels walking towards me. The scent of crushed rose petals tickles my nose. I hear a whisper, and everything fades to black.

Archive of Pandemonium,
Campaign 1, Episode 1

When Sariel Erenaeth, the owner of Flowing Amber, was hiring a bartender, Thordin Stoutale proudly claimed that he could determine the type of drunk someone was when they walked into a bar. And if a drunk broke anything, the boss could deduct the cost from his paycheck. Finding an excuse to cut wages, she hired him on the spot.

Thordin had been a bartender at the Flowing Amber for about half a century. Throughout his career, he had interacted with a wide variety of individuals who enjoyed a few too many drinks, coming from all walks of life. As a result, he honed the particular skill that he boasted about. It was probably because of that one instance when he had to hand over money to his boss instead.

The Flowing Amber had two other bartenders and was open all day, so Thordin only had an eight-hour shift each day. The schedules were less of a rule and more of a guideline, but this week, he argued to have the day shifts. Few people came in during the day. People who wanted to drown themself in alcohol had tales to tell. Those started in the morning, even more so. So when the doorbells jingled, it was a surprise but not an unwelcome one.

This wanna-be drunk was a human male wearing an untucked and creased white shirt with faded black jeans. He walked with a slouch, his head angled towards the floor, making his face hard to see. His black hair was shiny with grease. He was perfect.

The human sat on a cheap backless stool in front of the bar. He put his elbows on the table and paused for a moment. Raising his right arm straight above the table, he folded the sleeve and did the same for the left arm. Only then did he put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. And Thordin knew his time had come.

Thordin walked steadily toward the human, ensuring his footsteps were discernible yet not boisterous. When he reached the human, he posed with a rug in one hand and a mug in another and, in a subdued manner that he would deny practicing, inquired, "May I inquire about your preferred beverage, my friend?"

Without missing a beat, the human answers in a soft monotone, "Mead. Capsicumel, if you have it."

Thordin raises an eyebrow but pours a mug anyway.

"You know, when a man enters a bar in the day, they mostly either ask for beer or rum," says Thordin as he puts the mug in front of the stranger.

The human scoffs and grabs the mug.

-Sundering of Gods
-Abyssal Incursion
-Ador Vedel destroys the Gates of Hell
-Silvia Nightroot declare Castrum to be the headquarters of Archive of Pandemonium
-Ador Vedel is crowned Wizard King
-Wizard-King Ador hires and deputizes devils as law enforcements and demon hunters, united as Tyrant Justicar
-Organizes Necromancers and Druids into the Order of Black Harvest, who conquer agriculture
-To organize proper logistics, the Blood Bank is absorbed as the royal finance management
-Then is nationalized, but manages to retain internal policies.
-Due to rapidly changing policies, the Nobility unite and lead a rebellion.
-Wizard-King Ador slaughters them all but leaves the children and innocent alive
-Tries dealing with the Power Vaccume
-The children grow up spoiled and hedonistic. Organize into House of Scarlet
-Literally dies of frustration, declares the independence of all City-states passing master control of fast travel into a city back into their hands
-"I have given you the tools you asked for. Fail or succecced by your own merit"

The MC is a student of magic at the local Archive of Pandemonium. He is sick of staying in the same place for so long that it seems like the same events keep happening. But every time he manages to gather the courage to leave, his lover manages to convince him to stay. His lover is the local teacher turned girlfriend that wants to pamper him. She wants him to stay home for the rest of his life. During a conversation he mentions feeling bored of learning all those damage dealing spells but not really using them for anything. She tells him she will do something about it. She then buys constructs and makes a dungeon full of constructs.

Archive of Pandemonium,
Campaign 1, Episode 1

When the Rulgaer Gravelbrew, the owner of Flowing Amber, was hiring a bartender, Gurth Orebeard proudly claimed that he could determine the type of drunk someone was when they walked into a bar. And if a drunk broke anything, the boss could deduct the cost from his paycheck. Finding an excuse to cut wages, the boss hired him on the spot.

Gurth had been a bartender at the Flowing Amber for about half a century. Throughout his career, he had interacted with a wide variety of individuals who enjoyed a few too many drinks, coming from all walks of life. As a result, he honed the particular skill that he boasted about. It was probably because of that one instance when he had to hand over money to his boss instead.

The new customer piqued his interest. People who wanted to drown themself in alcohol had tales to tell. Those started in the morning, even more so. This wanna-be drunk was a human male wearing an untucked and creased white shirt with faded black jeans. He walked with a slouch, his head angled towards the floor, making his face hard to see. His black hair was shiny with grease. He was perfect.

The human sat on a cheap backless stool in front of the bar. He put his elbows on the table and paused for a moment. Raising his right arm straight above the table, he folded the sleeve and did the same for the left arm. Only then did he put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. And Gurth knew his time had come.

Gurth walked steadily toward the human, ensuring his footsteps were discernible yet not boisterous. When he reached the human, he posed with a rug in one hand and a mug in another and, in a subdued manner that he would deny practicing, inquired, "May I inquire about your preferred beverage, my friend?"

When the Rulgaer Gravelbrew, the owner of Flowing Amber, was hiring a bartender, Dutmomli Orebeard proudly claimed that he could determine the type of drunk someone when they walked into a bar. And if a drunk broke anything, the boss could deduct the cost from his paycheck. Finding an excuse to cut wages, the boss hired him on the spot.

Dutmomli had been a bartender at the Flowing Amber for about half a century. Throughout his career, he had interacted with a wide variety of individuals who enjoyed a few too many drinks, coming from all walks of life. As a result, he honed the particular skill that he boasted about. It was probably because of that one instance when he had to hand over money to his boss instead.

The new customer piqued his interest. People who wanted to drown themself in alcohol had tales to tell. Those started in the morning, more so.