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.

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.

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.

Toyer aun Shlish was an orphan raised by the Archive of Pandemonium as a part of their public scholarship program. Being fed and raised by the Archive until fifteen, he opted to study more while working in the Archive. When he reached the age of twenty, they certified him as an apprentice wizard, working with the lore-keepers.

A few years later, when meeting with a friend, he mentioned feeling aimless and lost. The Archive required ten years of mandatory service for his education, after which they would not hire him for a year. He was completely ignorant of how the world worked, which scared him. How would he survive without the Archive behind him.

His friend suggested that he go for an expedition to travel the world. The Archive yearly sent a few scribes to collect data for recordkeeping purposes. He could insert himself as a scribe to travel and be paid for it.