t the very bottom of the Underworld, Deep within the Tempest, virtually indistinguishable from it, lies the Void, the heart and soul of Oblivion.

Oblivion is the aspect of reality from which all-destructive energy stems, the place where entropy deposits the energy that it steals. As the essence and source of entropy and death, Oblivion is not so much the ultimate source of evil as it is a fundamental element of reality. Along with the other great forces of nature, Oblivion fills a necessary role in creation as the destroyer of substance. All things must come to an end: the corrupt must be cleansed and the old must give way to the new, which eventually becomes old and must give way in turn. Existence is a cycle, and Oblivion is the catabolist of that cycle. This lightless void personifies annihilation, the obliteration of every recognizable thing and every shred of identity. It has no dimension or physical existence; it is simply the final abyss of destruction, the incarnation of nothingness.

Those who place the Void at the base of the Tempest do so deliberately; entropy serves as gravity here, and Oblivion’s manifestation exerts a pull on all things in the Tempest and its isles. The Void is ultimate blackness and destruction, a yawning chasm at the center of the Labyrinth. None who have entered the Void have ever returned, though the fearful belief of some is that reincarnation waits on the other side of destruction. Unfortunately, evidence for this hypothesis is sadly lacking at the moment.

When kept in check by the forces of creation, Oblivion is an essential part of the cycle of death and rebirth. Mindless and eternal, Oblivion has always waited to swallow those souls no longer Fettered to the Skinlands but not ready for Transcendence. The Underworld, crafted as it is from the death of all things, bears the perpetual stain of Oblivion. Everything in the dead lands reflects the passing of its living counterpart. To the Restless, all but the strongest sources of life appear to be dying: flowers seem withered, paint peels on crumbling walls, and sick or corrupted mortals wear their approaching death like invisible masks. This has always been true.

These days, however, it would seem that Oblivion rages unchecked. Its pull strengthens daily as its appetite for souls increases. Its presence mars the Underworld and the Skinlands to an unprecedented degree, and its tainted touch is everywhere. The taint of death has darkened the Underworld to hues even the most ancient wraiths have never seen. In the form of Spectres it has more and more servants among the dead, and they ride more and more frequent Maelstroms to make war upon the Restless. Simply put, Oblivion is growing and no one is sure why. Most wraiths resolve to fight the encroaching corruption; too many surrender to it.

Supposedly there will come a day when Oblivion swallows everything. Quaintly known as Doomsday, this day is dreaded by all wraiths and eagerly anticipated by all Spectres. Because most ghosts died without truly having lived, the obliteration of everything left is the worst nightmare a wraith can imagine. With Doomsday comes the end, so they say, of everything, both for the living and the dead.