I WILL NEVER PAY TAXES AS LONG AS I LIVE

THIS ENTIRE POST IS INSPIRED BY THE FACT THAT I THINK FFIV'S ULTIMA WEAPON IS REALLY FUCKING COOL AND WANTED AN EXCUSE TO USE ITS IMAGE AND IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT I WILL PUT A BEAR IN YOUR HOUSE

Also for a world that's supposed to have some focus on fallen civilizations and struggles of the past there's a shockingly low number of ancient superweapons scattered around and I need to add more

Long before the present day, there existed a civilization in and around the area known today as the Deadlands. This post isn't about them, because they're an important part of the campaign I am currently running and I know that my players are probably this blog's most consistent readers. For this article, all you need to know is that their civilization was attacked by the Dust-Eater, an incredibly powerful abomination of unknown origin. The ensuing conflict more or less wiped (Let's rip off archeologists and name it after where it was based) the Deadlands Civilization off the face of the planet. The consequences of this event are very much still echoing through history, but again, I can't talk about them right now.

The Deadlands Civilization was not the only one to exist at the time. Our particular story will focus on the Empire of Angróvan. Angróvan, like most of the world, responded to this incident with absolute panic. No one knew exactly what had happened, but one moment there was a thriving (if rather isolationist) culture, and the next moment there wasn't. Everyone had reasonably assumed that they didn't have to worry about anything dropping out of the sky and destroying an entire people in less than a month, but that didn't stop it from happening. How do you prepare for something like that? Did it happen instantly, or where there warning signs that no one knew how to look for? Could it happen again?  Could it happen to us? 
Suddenly, providing contingency plan for giant monster attack was an essential function of government.

Most nations responded by searching the ruins for anything that might have warned of the attack, developing evacuation plans for populated areas, and at most planning efforts to slow the creature down. Alliances formed over mutual promises of refuge in case of a disaster, international organizations plotted ways to fight back - I suppose it would have been a bit like the Cold War, but if nuclear weapons were actually aliens. The point is, people responded.

While the rest of the world signed treaties, held studies, and made sure they had access to emergency transport, the rulers of Angróvan took a different approach. In order to fight a unknown and incredibly powerful being, they chose to build an incredibly powerful being. 

There was an understanding from the start that this thing was going to cause collateral damage. They weren't building a conventional weapon, they were building something that would be capable of stopping something conventional tactics wouldn't have a chance in hell to stop. No matter how many civilian casualties there are, it would be better than losing their entire civilization. Nothing was off-limits. No plans would be shot down over questions of morality. If this thing was ever used, the only piece of the equation left would be survival.

Time passed. Kingdoms rose and fell. People who hadn't even been born had time to grow old and die. No new monsters dropped out of the sky, though widespread panic had been the end of more than one nation. Gradually, people stopped worrying about another catastrophe. People who hadn't been alive to see the incident chocked it up to a miscommunication or exaggeration of some sort. The world stopped caring about the Dust-Eater.
But Angróvan never forgot. It continued, reduced to a shadow of its former self thanks to the sheer cost of the weapons project. But the weapon still wasn't finished, and so work continued.

Eventually, all that was left of the great Angróvanian Empire was the city from which it first emerged, and yet production still continued. Foreign policy stopped mattering, merchants gave up on coming to a city that didn't want to buy or sell anything of significance, and the outside world forgot that Angróvan even existed. 

The Weapon, however, was finished. No one was really sure why they had created it. Any project council had long since been replaced with a local religion. The Weapon became a center of worship and veneration, but no one ever dared to try and activate it.

Outside the city, the world kept turning. Eventually, surveyors arrived and discovered what looked like, to them, an ancient city of cultists dedicated to the worship of a massive idol. There was an invasion, and the few remaining citizenry of Angróvan were killed to a man.

"What the fuck is that", said the conquering empire. "Why were people worshipping it? Why can't we figure out how to damage it? Where the fuck does it come from?"
A small team was formed to study the thing, though it was all kept as secret as possible. No one knew what this thing might be able to do, but you don't play around with mysterious idols from ancient cities. That would be stupid.

Eventually someone managed to turn it on, of course. The activation lasted a few minutes at most, but there wasn't much city left by the end of it.

In what has been called "The only good choice they ever made", the conquering government decided that this thing was some kind of horrible eldritch demon-god. They couldn't destroy it, so they did the next best thing, and locked it away. At first it was placed in joint storage with other magical items, but everyone knew it wasn't a permanent solution. Amidst the ruins of Angróvan, a vault was constructed, and the Weapon was sealed inside. The existence of this vault became a closely guarded secret, but the kings of the nation quickly decided that it was their holy duty to seal away the horrible eldritch demon-god so that it might never again see the light of day. Every king dug further down into the earth, improved defenses, and made damn sure that the guardians and defenses of that site would last long after their line had ended. Many chose to be buried down there, and at least one turned himself into a lich and lay down for a thousand-year nap. 

Memory faded with time, as it is prone to do, and the nation of conquerors-turned-guardians forgot its ancient traditions. The royal line was ended, and the existence of the vault was eventually forgotten.

But the Vault still stands strong, and the ageless guardians within are still bound to their duty. And at the center of it all, the Ultima Weapon still stands.