Shattered Realm

Jays

Olives and Fear
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
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  1. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Male


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Aeon. Beautiful, lush, radiant Aeon. If paradise could have a name, if utopia could have a face.

My beautiful Aeon.

No more.


The world is broken. Corrupted, defiled, enslaved. Magic itself drains life out of reality like a parasite sucking blood. Desecration stretches from the horizon to the end of the world, civilization lost under sand and dust. The land is cruel and hopeless, unforgiving deserts under unforgiving sun.

Sorcerer-Kings reside over their metropolis of slaves and rubble, slumbering darknesses devouring the very light that nurtures hope, masters of ruination itself. Humanity is dead, kindness butchered. There is not enough of Man left to despair.

The world is dying. My world is dying.
I beg you, save it. In the name of all that is good and kind, save it.


You are hope incarnate.



Art credits: Shahab Alizadeh
JJCanvas
Concept inspired/derived from Dark Sun
 
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"Curiosity is like a torch in the forest, illuminating yet perilous, for a single misstep would burn it all down to ash."

- Faeru Proverb




  • The Song of the Dawn
    Tue Frlen Aeo Dem, it was called, the song of Dawn in the ancient tongue of the Faeru. The voice that shattered the void, the lullaby that shaped the sky, the melody of earth and trees. Creation.

    The ruins of Faeru told the story of Otem and Otir, the Sun and Moon, the brother and sister formed from the first two notes of the crescendo out of the nothingness that came before. Equally made, beings of blinding radiance that chased away the last shadow remnants of the void lingering in the sky.

    But upon their descend into the swirling haven of reality created by the Song, Otir clumsily brushed her side against a tendril of the void, and it tore a wound in her new flesh, bleeding creation. Still newly born and inexperienced, Otir could not contain the Song's light flowing out of herself. Sensing his sister's distress, Otem absorbed Otir's escaping song into his own until her Light dimmed and she could control what was left.

    But it was too much for even Otem to fully contain.

    When the Notes were quiet, he would stand guard over his new duty, illuminating the world, showing its creatures the way and coaxing gentle plants to rise and grow. But once per cycle of the realm, the Notes would become uneasy and restless, and Otem would fall into a slumber to focus his mind within and suppress them, pulling the veil of Night over himself so the children below would not be blinded by the raging Song.

    Otir roamed the sky freely, dancing amongst the star, swimming along the rivers of clouds. But she was ashamed and hid from her brother, only coming out when he had fallen into his struggle to watch over his body and lit the world in his place as best she could.

    The ruins of Faeru told another tale still, one of Aeon itself, the earth and sky and air inhabited a single mind, a kind, loving world full of wonders and happiness.

    If paradise could have a name, if utopia could have a face.

    Beautiful, vibrant, loving Aeon. Its stories begins.


    The Forgotten Age
    Nothing was recorded of the time before Man came to Aeon but pieces of stories and a single line in Chronicler Mardr's preface written during the Age of War. It is said that the world itself had a voice, once, that it spoke to its children directly as a benevolent father, comforted them, cared for them, a present entity, a living Fate that guided the world towards peace and ascendance.

    But when the first Angmir ship touched the shore of the continent, all they found was a land of lush wonder and exotic hidden peril, populated by small nomadic Fae tribes without a recorded history.


    The Age of Rebirth
    None knew where the people of Angmir originated. Some said from across the Ocean, some said from the depth of it. Some said from another world.

    The predecessor of Man reached Aeon on boats as large as islands, and as sturdy as the mountain sides. Still, when their search encountered the continent, much of their people were lost to the harsh unforgiving waves. Aeon was their promised land, the paradise on the other side of the storm.

    The first Angmirs never passed their stories on , their only legacies the skills to hunt, farm and survive. Whatever violent past had driven an entire people from their home was carried to the grave.


    The Angmirs who came from the sea were peculiar in appearance, alien creatures with 3 elbows arms, enlarged skulls with keratin plates under the skin and bulky claw-liked feet.

    But soon Aeon changed them, molded them in its vision and Man emerged, hunters and gatherers, users of tools, cultivating intellect alongside food for millennia of peaceful hardship and struggle to conquer the land. And what a worthy land it was, an exotic never ending world of forests with trees as tall as ten thousand men whose branches stretched as far as entire seas, and fields as wide and vast as the ocean.

    The birth of the first Druids ushered Man into a new Age.


    The Age of Harmony
    Within centuries Man's civilization advanced to a height that otherwise would have taken millennia. Druids, men and women born with the gift to bridge the gap between Man and nature and thus embodied Man's mastery over the land, became Tribe leaders, spiritual guides, protectors and engineers. They sang their song of praise and raised great cities amongst the branches of the biggest Sky-trees in the world, atop snowy peaks overlooking vast mountain ranges, and on the endless sweeping lowland fields. They scoured every corner of Aeon, learning, discovering, encountering all manners of realms and beasts and wonders until Man was truly the ruler of all that was.

    The Druidic kingdoms of Man and the Northern tribes of Fae lived harmoniously alongside each others, discourse was rare and war unthinkable. The land was plentiful and provided for all, and the greed of the few could not rise against the unified all-powerful tide.

    This is the Age that birthed Uman the Great Architect - the Druid who crafted cities out of mountain sides, Cer the Wave Enchanter - the Fae King who conquered the perilous Inner Sea, and Mardr the Chronicler of Yru.

    Alas, the birth of the legendary historian and the very circumstances that made him so also marked the end of the last era of peace and tranquility in Aeon.

    War beckoned.

    The Age of War
    Where could a civilization go after mastering the world itself? Retracing the footsteps of Man's ancestors at the beginning of time, ruins and remnants were unearthed, forgotten legacies best left undisturbed. Still, Man's curiosity was not sated or appeased until they had trampled through every Angmir bone, and uncovered the seed of Desecration.

    Magic, the cursed gift that siphoned and devoured life instead of nurturing it. The Bane of Worlds.

    It spread like a pestilence, the power of Kings in the hands of weak men, its fuel the very root of Man's civilization. All knew, of course, knew the price of the cursed Runes. All knew, yet none cared. The green seemed infinite, nature unlimited, the pool undepletable. What did it matter if they drain it with their existence seemingly so inconsequential compared to the entire world? So what if they claimed their rightful share of Aeon's gift that once was exclusive to the few?

    The unbreakable bastion of Man's empire crumbled from within, fracturing like glass. The Council of Monarchs and the Orders of Druids managed to suppress the rising wave of chaos for a decade, but the seed had been planted, and mortal men's greed was as vast as Aeon itself.

    Magic was the bane of Druidism, the parasite born to consume nature. How could the Orders prevail against an enemy ten times their number that had neither restraint and nor regard for human lives?

    War raged across all of Aeons, Druids and Defilers clashing in catastrophic battles that ravaged the once beautiful kingdoms, reducing cities to rubble and lives to tragedies. Even the Realm of Fae was not spared as the unfiltered greed of Mages quickly overwhelmed their outer defences and drove the entire population into a decades-long siege. Despite the practice of Magic spreading like wild fire amongst evil men, the Orders of Druids were old and disciplined, trained since birth for the very circumstance transpiring. Mages underestimated still the strange alluring power of the Fae who quickly recovered and repelled the lawless hoard of wolves at the door.

    The Age of War concluded in the Battle of Lirkn, where Seera, the High Queen of Ika and her 5 Generals sacrificed themselves to bring down the self-proclaimed Mage King Gorn along with his army of five thousand Mages, and destroy the very artefacts that had unleashed the cursed Runes upon the world.

    Out of the 17 kingdoms of Man only 7 remained. The legendary city of Marn built atop the biggest Sky-tree at the centre of the world lay in ruin, its people broken, its streets desecrated. The Fae retreated into seclusion in their hidden valleys between the mountains.

    Magic was outlawed, the punishment torturous death. But the damage had already been done.


    The Age of Lies
    Man was the sole master of Aeon once more, at least what was left of it. The Fae had disappeared almost completely, their existence slowly fading from memories into whispers, then legends and myths.

    All knew the danger of Magic, and all feared it as much as they despised it. Mages were hunted like dogs, tortured and brutally butchered. Magic itself became tales people used to scare children, twisted and exaggerated until little semblance of the truth remained.

    The Orders of Druids had been nearly decimated during the War, their ranks greatly diminished and the Council of Monarchs quickly crumbled without the support of its Orders. The kingdoms' damaged governing structures managed to stay in power for nearly a decade, until the rise of Enchanters.

    Some said they were the land's weapon against the pestilence of Magic. Some believed they were merely another manifestation of Magic itself.

    Enchanters, men and women with the subtle, nearly indiscernible ability to impose their will upon others, to manipulate objects and people as easily as fingers on their hands. But most significant of all, their talent, unlike the unpredictability of Druidism, could be passed down through their bloodline .

    And so a new era died for another to rise in its place. The Enchanters' coming to power was subtle, unforeseeable. Against a dying monarchy their triumph was ensured. Slowly, inexorably, Kings and Queens found themselves isolated, surrounded by hungry wolves. The wounded preys fell easily.

    A century was all it took to transform the very foundation of civilization. Puppet monarchs sat on the throne, controlled by Families of Enchanters from the shadow, playing their deadly games of power and intrigue with the lives of millions as spare coins. Corruption and crime ran unchecked while Nobles exploited the people to fuel their lavish existences and inhumanly terrible hobbies. The Orders of Druids were broken, Druidism outlawed, young Druids captured as soon as they were discovered to be molded into weapons or pets for the High Houses.

    Some Enchanters at the peek of their power, and in the pit of their boredom, started experimenting with Magic.

    The Pestilence had been forgotten for centuries, its peril buried by time and the veil of myth, but so too were many Runes lost in the tide of history. And in truth, how much destruction could a broken curse do compared to the rule of cruel monsters?

    But just as the sand of time fell, so too did history repeat itself and a man of great intelligence and wisdom once again killed an era, branding the Rune of Life into his Enchanter bloodline and became the first Sorcerer.


    The Age of Desecration
    Fenrir the Great Defiler had 7 children who inherited his Sorcery. His power greatly enhanced by the foul Rune devouring the life force of everything around him to fuel his abilities, Fenrir finally had the strength to unleash his ambition.

    With overwhelming force and his children by his side, the Defiler easily destroyed the Families of Nobles grown fat and weak by centuries of decadence. With unmatched power, he scoured the 7 kingdoms of any and all who would oppose him, bringing Man's civilization to its knees. He seeked out the hidden Fae stronghold and annihilate their entire population in a day.

    His children, cruel and heartless as they were, were horrified still. The Rune of Life was far more sinister and cunning than any of them could comprehend, for on its own without other Runes to fuel, it was a bottomless void that could not be sated or filled. Fenrir, victim of his own hubris as much as the Pestilence, devoured all life without relent, without care. Lush forests crumbled to ash, rivers dried to scorched rocks, green fields dissolving like dew drops under hot sun. And the power twisted the bearer, corrupted him, and drove him mad while morphing him into a creature so foul and terrible mere words could not describe. There was none who could stand against the thing he was.

    None except for his children. Seeing what their father had become, the 7 Sorcerers had no choice but to try and end his unstoppable rampage. With Fenrir's mind completely taken over by madness, his children were able to set a trap that combined all their power in an ambush. Their battle desecrated the world, shattered the sky, scoured the earth of all life. Still they could not kill him, so vast and apocalyptic the creature was. So they sealed their father away, locked him in a cage that could not be opened.

    But what was left of Aeon? What was left to break?

    The world was butchered. It's screaming its dying breaths.

    What was left to save?


    The Final Hour
    Apocalypse stood where paradise used to.

    7 children of Fenrir gathered the remnant of the dying realm around themselves, undisputed Gods of ruination, Sorcerer-Kings of Aeon. Having felt the terrible strength of the thing their father had become, they wanted it, craved it like a Dune Nomad craved water. So they forged the remain of civilization into a machine, their own purifier that robbed what little there was left of the world and fed the power to them slowly while they slumbered away the end of all things. Perhaps if they have time to digest and adapt to the dark void, they could conquer their father's madness as they did Mankind, and rise above this realm while it crumbles.

    Aeon is dying. In truth, it is already dead. But as long as hope survived Evil could not win. Aeon itself would gladly sacrifice all it had to save hope.

    Hope. Hope. The End of Days is here. Our Hope is here. All is not lost.

    The torch still burns in the dark forest.

  • "The King smiled, and with a wave of his hand the dying field blossomed like the Northern Sky in Winter Solstice."
    - Mardr of Yru, Memory of the World, Epigraph 4

    Druid
    Kelr Idem Aeo - Aeon's First Borns
    Those with the gift to know the earth and sky, to commune with them as if they were Man, to sing and persuade the world to move and change as they wish.


    Druids are chosen (often without apparent sign or warning) by the land at birth, marked by the symbol of life, sometimes called The Mark of Kings, upon their forehead. Young Druids often begin to show their gift by the age of 3 to 4, most commonly through brief and instinctive Songs, or an over-familiarity with nature.

    Despite being an inherent birthright, Druidism must also be practiced as a lifelong discipline as to enhance and grow one's bond, skill and sense of responsibility.

    If a Druid is discovered, they and their family are taken to a Temple and trained under the guidance of an Elder (at least one must be present in each Temple). Once the young Druid reaches fourteen years of age, they can choose an Order to follow.

    The Orders of Druids:
    - The Order of Life: Dedicated to nurturing and caring for the land, the Druids of Life are farmers, caretakers, architects, men and women vibrant and lively like the fields they praise. Their Song coaxes the plants to grow taller and stronger than they could be and shapes them to Man's design. The legendary city of Marn grew out of their alluring melody.

    - The Order of Mountains: Weavers of rocks and soil, the Druids of Mountains are like the stone they work, hardworking, resilient, patient. They feed the fields with rich soils, build sturdy roads through the wilderness, open the ground to explore its secrets. Their resonating rhythm built the greatest Kingdoms Aeon had ever known.

    - The Order of Clouds: Carefree, aloof, and ever curious, the Druids of Clouds dance amongst the brilliant stars and ride the infinite sky. They bathe the land with much needed rain, temper the storm and send the breeze to chase the summer heat away. Their haunting notes guided the ships that conquered the sea.
  • "Everything she touched, each blade of grass, each trunk, each leaf crumbled in her hand like unshed tears burned to dust."
    - Mardr of Yru, Memory of the World, Epigraph 7

    Magic
    Ugr Scir - The Bane
    The practice of unnatural corrupting manipulation of the world through ancient outworld Runes.


    Magic was first practiced at the end of the Age of Harmony, and its very discovery plunged Aeon into the Age of War. To work Magic, one requires a complex system of supporting and interlocking Runes, and a Construct Imorim.

    A Construct Imorim - Yru for curriculum - is the foundation Rune required for utilizing Magic. By visualizing the Imorim in their mind for extended periods of time, an individual can slowly build and expand a mental manifestation (often a room, wall or scroll) inside their head where they can brand magical Runes. A practitioner who forms enough space to etch their first Rune is called a Mage.

    - The First Rune is the Rune of Life. Activating it drains the life force of living things surrounding the Mage and store it within the manifestation for a limited period of time. Every Mage's Life Rune is the same, and most Mages only have a singular First Rune.
    - The Second Runes are purifying Runes, changing the absorbed power into another form which possesses the characteristics of an element. Although there had never been a categorization of Magic, it is popularly agreed that each unique Second Rune represents a "School of Magic", loosely defined. Most Mages have 2 Second Runes, a Primary and a Secondary.
    - The Third Runes shape the transformed power into Workings. The majority of discovered Third Runes are of destructive capabilities. Manipulation Third Runes are extremely rare. Mages' true representation of power comes from the network of main and supporting Third Runes which together create the complexity, variety and unpredictability of Magic.

    Appendix 1: There is no healing Rune. The healing capability is achieved through a complex interlocking series of Second and Third Runes to channel raw absorbed life forces into the user's body, the processes of which are exceedingly difficult and inefficient with most of the channelled power wasted.

    Appendix 2: Runes can be branded onto a Mage's physical body with varied result. Third Runes function nearly seemlessly except for a slight time delay, magnified for Runes within in a network. Physical Second Runes are very ineffective with a significant portion of power lost during channel. Branding a First Rune onto one's body causes instant explosive death which also completely drains the life force of living things within a certain radius depending on said Mage's strength.

  • "Behold, Masters of rats! Owners of the brokens! Monarchs of the mindless."

    - Amiria Lindm, The Folly of Fools, Act 2, Scene 27

    Enchanter
    [no Faeru translation]
    Individuals with the ability to manipulate the world with their mind.



    The first recorded Enchanter was a child named Aman. He was burned alive by his parents who thought his ability was Magic. The same circumstance occurred across the 7 kingdoms of Aeon until many learned to hide their gift. A century after the phenomenon's first appearance, only 34 families of Enchanter remained, the rest eliminated by surviving families who viewed their own kind as a threat.

    Enchanters are born with their ability, almost certainly into a Noble family. Any offspring of an Enchanter is guaranteed to inherit their gifted bloodline, and as such the High Houses punish bastardism harshly.

    An Enchanter's power is of the mind, manifesting as an invisible force (often visualized in the form of tendrils or hands) that's capable of interacting with real objects, and invade another's mind. An Enchanter's strength can be enhanced through rigorous mental exercises and practice.

    Enchantments drain an Enchanter's Reserve. A portion of the Reserve must be placed within the mind of the Enchanted individual to extend an Enchantment, which expires the moment the stored energy is depleted.

  • "As radiant as Otem, as elusive as Otir, as beautiful as the Fae, she captured my heart and hid it away."
    - Dandalon's Mistake, line 14


    The Fae is a peaceful and intelligent race. Ruins and remnants of a civilization of Fae, called Faeru can be found across Aeon, but the Fae themselves have no history.

    Alluring, graceful and nearly alien beings, they often limit contact with Man and are content to stay within their secluded home.

    Almost none of their social structure, culture or tradition are recorded in history.


Art Credit: Yuji Himukai
 
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Desecration reigns, the one true God.

An infinite desert stretches as far as the eye could see with a vast foul ocean to the west, the sight of Man is scarce but for white crumbling bones borne atop undercurrents of the sand, or the ruins and millennia-old half-devoured foundations of an once flourished civilization.

Brutality is branded into the veins of the land, extremities into its blood. Toxic rain falls rarely, only to boil midair into drifting clouds of poisonous moisture by day, or frozen into storms of deadly icicles by night.



  • The raging forge blazes, but the Blacksmith was absent.

    The world is ugly, sterile, horrible. But for all the cruelty and alien evil of the Defilers, the real enemy of life is the dying land.

    Scorching dunes, hopelessly vast sear to ash the flesh of men who traverse them, laying traps of bottomless pits masked as unmoving sand in an ocean of seemingly indiscernible near timeless unchangeability. The desert is temperamental, unpredictable, her favour impossible to obtain. All-consuming dust storms swept across the world without a sign, cleansing all lives in their paths. Toxic rains wept often, mourning children long devoured by the sand and wind. The foul black inner seas boil and rage, waging their restless unending war against the uncaring wasteland above. The day's sky burns blue, blazingly clear, charring hope itself to cinder.

    Night's touch was gentler, like the slash of a blade in the dark, claiming souls with frigid indifference and swift unknowabliity. The heaven would come out to weep, a silent wailing that cracks stone and freezes hearts with its piercing, starless intensity. The moon is an eternal accusation, damning and distant, the cold gaze of justice relishing a monster's suffering.

    This is what is left of our Mother, our Earth, the loving world that birthed the sky and star. This is her carcass, for we have killed everything that she was.

    This is our Sin, and our punishment coming due.

  • 7 sprawling metropolis lies atop the bones of the once greatest cities in the world, their very presence tainting the memory of the land like foul scavengers perching atop their prize of rotting carcasses.

    They do not have names, these monuments of inhumanity and cruelty. Names imply differentiation, independence, liberation. They are merely the possession of their masters the Sovereigns of Ruination, extensions of their will, their dominance. Their greed and hunger.

    Once, the Sorcerer-Kings were the lesser evil. Now they are incarnations of the same unholy machine, magnified sevenfold.

    The Masters: Sorcerer-Kings slumber away the end of the world in their palaces towering above the City States, periodically devouring the essence of the struggling, blood-soaked seed of nature around the city, slowly transforming into something utterly alien, so horrible mere words cannot contain their abstraction.
    The Mindless Cogs: Discovered Druids are captured at a young age, their mind seared away leaving only enough to be molded into tools of flesh and power, conduits to transmute the countless human sacrifices into pure life forces to feed the vegetation that otherwise could not survive the lifeless desert. Feeding the Kings' sustenance.
    The Obedient Dogs: They too have no name, the brainwashed children, the Kings' Guards. Most calls them Bloodhounds. Enchanters raised from an early age to be absolutely loyal to the monster they serve, the Hounds enact their masters' will even when there is none, maintaining the machine that feeds the Beasts and disregarding most anything else. They are the breath of the sleeping dragon, its oppressing aura, the permeating dread that gnaws away the prey's will and strength.

    The Rats: Parasites living off the scraps and leavings of the giant, they are slavers, abusers, rogue Enchanters, and any of those with enough strength and cunning to not be made slaves.
    The Pitifuls: Slaves make up nine out of ten of the population within the Sorcerer-Kings' metropolises. There are those who are born into bondage, those who were weak enough to be chained, and those who were strong enough to be broken.


    And so the machine whines and rumbles, crushing humanity into corpses. Flesh slaves, born, taken or captured surviving nomads are either playthings or workers on Lok farms, beasts who retrieve sustenance from a special mineral mined out of the sand, the only source of food to feed the hungry, half-mad remnants of Man. Periodically sacrifices are chosen to have their lives siphoned and transmuted through Runic machines and mindless Druids into pure life force fed to the Kings' Garden. And each moon on the last day of prayer, the Sorcerer-Kings consume the Garden into themselves to fuel the fire of transformation toward something that would shatter the sky.

    The vultures learn to break the carcass' bones to get at the last marrow.

  • Created from the ambition of a madman, forged by the amber flame of greed and molded by the despair of the Desecration, they are truly the embodiment of Apocalypse.

    7 Socerer-Kings for 7 kingdoms of Man. Once they were the lesser evil. They devoured that too, the very concept of lesser, and spit out a twisted distortion of it.

    Udu the Corruptor, first born.
    Opia the Faceless, first daughter.
    Kel the Cruel.
    Paer the Subjugator.
    Imir the Eyeless.
    Enu the Tormentor, second daughter.
    Aman the Weak.

    The only Sorcerers to ever lived, offsprings of Fenrir the Great Defiler, rulers of remnants of Man. Their Enchanting had grown unimaginably in the centuries after the Desecration, their mastery of mind infinite, their capability oceans of unknowable power through further dwelling into Runic magic. Their presence alone suppresses even the conception of opposition. Their dread poisons each living soul born unto their kingdoms, mental seeds that breed obedience and fear.

    They are the monster we created, the peak of Man's reign upon the land. Our greatest sin, our greatest triumph. Our end.

  • "The greatest sorrow of all is a child's betrayal against unconditional love, for only then will he realize what he had cast away."
    Loeir of Marn, The Virtue of Hindsight, page 127
    Druids are the most valuable of slaves, the rarest, most hunted merchandise. The land is depleted, sucked dry, yet like an instinctive habit, or a last struggle, Druids still appeared, even scarce and few as they were. Slavers had observed, however, that Druidism has more chance of appearing within secluded populations of dune nomads than the City States, and so the practice of shadowing nomad tribes and grooming them for a chance of Druidic slaves were popularized.

    A slaver capturing young Druids could turn them to the Hounds for a handsome reward. The Druid is then lobotomized through branded physical Runes, leaving only enough cognitive functions to be conditioned into flesh processors compatible to be connected to Runic structures for the sole purpose of converting human sacrifices into pure life force for the Gardens. Once Branded, Druids are permanently damaged, and the use of their natural gift in such a way drains their own flesh durability, putting usability between two to three decades.

    Old, unusable Druids are put through a process called Transmuting and compressed into a seed of pure power, which once planted spawn a Life Tree, a plant capable of surviving even in the harsh environment of the desert without a need for Druidic feeding, and can survive through several cycles of Devouring before becoming depleted.


    As such, Druids are a resource of utmost value, highly sought after and hunted.
  • During the destruction of Fenrir during the Desecration, many Enchanter families were annihilated, but many more still bowed before the Mad Sorcerer, groveling before his power like rats. Those families were the foundation of the Sorcerer-Kings' Guards, or as most fearfully whispered their title, Bloodhounds.

    The Kings divided the remaining houses amongst themselves like spare coins. Each generation, a family is required to produce at least 2 offsprings, the first born recruited to be an Inquisitor, the second and any following to be Hunters. Inquisitors prowl the streets and tunnels of the City States in groups of 3, keeping order, oiling the machine's cogs and snuffing out opposition like stepping on cockroaches. Hunters roam the desert in packs searching for nomads and pockets of stray humans to drag back to the Cities to be slaves.

    The ranks of the Bloodhounds are simple yet effective:

    - Lord Inquisitor: A single powerful Enchanter commanding the entire Inquisitor force.
    - Master Inquisitors: command up to 10 teams of Inquisitor each.
    - Steel Inquisitor: command up to 5 teams of Inquisitor.

    - First Hound: commands the entire Hunter force.
    - Second Hounds: command up to 10 packs of Hunter each.
    - Third Hounds: command up to 5 packs of Hunters.

    There are rumours of secret sects of Inquisitor magically enhanced by magical Runes and Runic contraptions specializing in hunting down their own kind, or powerful nomad tribes.

  • "One can gauge the danger of a true monster not by the bones of its preys, but by the number of parasites living off its leavings."
    Firem Malfus, Philosophy of the Oppressor, page 742

    Even at the end of the world where few things of value remain, greed still flourishes like a deadly flower grown in blood.

    Slavers are the self-proclaimed Nobility of the wasteland, trading in the most valuable good around. They often have their own band of hunters roaming the desert, fighting for scraps from amongst the Hounds' teeth.

    Rune knowledge is forbidden, those suspected of Magic hunted and flayed, but just as there are demands, there would be those who provide it regardless of risk. Secret societies of Mages experiment with whatever pieces of incomplete Runes they could find leaked from the Libraries of the Kings, playing with forces they cannot comprehend.

    Runes as well as outlawed items such as old artefacts from the world before, stolen seeds from the Kings' Gardens or even Enchanter slaves are sold in hidden underground markets ran by shadow forces that somehow always managed to stay one step ahead of Bloodhounds raids. Rumours say there had once been an auction for a slave Druid. already processed to be one's personal Transmuter.

    There are those who flourish, and of course those who barely manage to stay alive, struggling for each meal yet strong enough to not be made slaves. They are so very rare, and some say, incredulously, that perhaps sparks of kindness may yet live somewhere deep within some's hearts.

  • "Father once said, we have corrupted the meaning of fear, for the uttering of the word instead of the safeguarding animal instinct of Man conjures the sense of the overwhelming, debilitating horror that reduces one's mind to dust. And I said to him, what other kind of fear is there?"
    Oria of Marn, The Introspection of Dreams, page 142

    Slaves are the foundation of the Sorcerer-Kings' City States, the driving force behind the machine, its fuel, its grinding cogs.

    Mindless slaves are an everyday commodity, regularly obtained and traded. The two main sources of slaves are captured nomads and desertmen, or breeder camps slaves, both of which has their own prize and benefits.

    Desertmen are physically stronger than anything a camp could produce and so are more suitable to hard and punishing works. However, their savagery and disobedient tendencies are often more of a nuisance than benefit and require investment of time and resources to break.

    Slaves from breeder camps are weaker, more prone to early death by infected bloodline and incest-caused diseases. But by the same circumstances they are much cheaper, easier to obtain, more varying in differentiated choices and one could buy them young for simpler training and more loyal possessions.

    The most notable slave activities include:
    - Lokgem mines: The mines which produce the mineral to feed Lok beasts are recorded as the activity with the highest turnover of slaves monthly. The work is grueling with minimal food, slaves are expected to mine gems until the end of a very short life.
    - Lok farms: tending to the only source of food for the entire City States is however not much easier than mine works. The beasts are temperamental and wild, killing slaves regularly each day. Farm owners of course find it cheaper to buy new slaves than building safety guards. More than that, many believed the more a Lok beast kills the better its meat tastes.
    - Hard labour: ranging from construction to pulling carts, to house serving, slaves are used for nearly all of the manual labour in building and maintaining the Cities.
    - The Colosseum: Often where most captured desertmen ended up, it is one of the only entertainment in any City for the rich and powerful. Fighters are promised freedom after a hundred victory in duels to the death with increasing challenges. In all the centuries of its existence, only one fighter, a Dune Nomad warrior had achieved this feat, or so the warrior slaves whispered amongst themselves in hope-filled hushed murmurs.

  • 1. Society is divided simply into predators and preys. Those with the power to enslave others thrive, while those without are broken.

    2. There is no State-sanctioned currency system. The unit of trade most often used are slaves and Lokgem, as well as the exchange of valuable items. Rare metal and gold while still costly do not hold nearly the same value as they had in the world long past.


    3. Only Enchanter families have last name. Most citizens have only a first name, often one to two syllables. Rich individuals who consider themselves high enough above in the food chain would often claim a last name for themselves, a symbolic action meant to proclaim their influence.

    Slaves have no name. They are seen as a faceless mass with little to no distinction between each. Special, expensive slaves are given differentiating designation in term of physical qualities, such as Scar, Pig, Whore, Shield, Cook. Favourite slaves are sometimes granted affectionate one-syllable names like Syl or Pus, a favour seen as a symbol of status amongst other slaves.

    Colosseum fighters are given distinctive regular names to differentiate and incorporated into gambling systems.

    4. The calendar is one of the few things standardized between all City States.
    -Every 364 days is called a Cycle. The first Cycle is marked by the imprisonment of Fenrir, called 1st Cycle Post-Apocalypse, or 1st Cycle P.A.
    -There are 7 moons in a Cycle, marked by the phenomenon in which the ever-present moon disappears for a single hour. There are 52 days in a moon. Each moon is named after a Sorcerer-King, respectively in order: Udu, Opia, Kel, Paer, Imir, Enu and Aman.
    -There is no special day in a Cycle.
  • ZOIo6Xp.jpg


    Dune Nomads, they are called. Desertmen, children of the sand, walkers of ruins. Outside of the Sorcerer-Kings' grasp, yet freedom was a foreign concept still, to them, tortured and tormented by the land, hunted by the Defilers' dogs, living in pain and hunger and fear. Yes, they are bound by more than chains. At least the mindless slaves did not retain enough of themselves to despair.

    Rumours say somewhere out there in the desert, a remnant of the Order of Druid still lived, men and women driven mad by the screaming of the dying land, vengeful, twisted ugly people so unpredictable as to be a danger to rival the Kings themselves.


Art Credit: Daniel Magyar
 
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SHATTERED REALM
The Final Hour

Desecration reigns, the one true God

An infinite desert stretches as far as the eye could see with a vast foul ocean to the west, the sight of Man is scarce but for white crumbling bones borne atop undercurrents of the sand, or the ruins and millennia-old half-devoured foundations of an once flourished civilization.

Brutality is branded into the veins of the land, extremities into its blood. Toxic rain falls rarely, only to boil midair into drifting clouds of poisonous moisture by day, or frozen into storms of deadly icicles by night.

1. The Dying World
"The raging forge blazes, but the Blacksmith was absent."

The world is ugly, sterile, horrible. But for all the cruelty and alien evil of the Defilers, the real enemy of life is the dying land.

Scorching dunes, hopelessly vast sear to ash the flesh of men who traverse them, laying traps of bottomless pits masked as unmoving sand in an ocean of seemingly indiscernible near timeless unchangeability. The desert is temperamental, unpredictable, her favour impossible to obtain. All-consuming dust storms swept across the world without a sign, cleansing all lives in their paths. Toxic rains wept often, mourning children long devoured by the sand and wind. The foul black inner seas boil and rage, waging their restless unending war against the uncaring wasteland above. The day's sky burns blue, blazingly clear, charring hope itself to cinder.

Night's touch was gentler, like the slash of a blade in the dark, claiming souls with frigid indifference and swift unknowabliity. The heaven would come out to weep, a silent wailing that cracks stone and freezes hearts with its piercing, starless intensity. The moon is an eternal accusation, damning and distant, the cold gaze of justice relishing a monster's suffering.

This is what is left of our Mother, our Earth, the loving world that birthed the sky and star. This is her carcass, for we have killed everything that she was.

This is our Sin, and our punishment coming due.

2. The Devourment Machine
7 sprawling metropolis lies atop the bones of the once greatest cities in the world, their very presence tainting the memory of the land like foul scavengers perching atop their prize of rotting carcasses.

They do not have names, these monuments of inhumanity and cruelty. Names imply differentiation, independence, liberation. They are merely the possession of their masters the Sovereigns of Ruination, extensions of their will, their dominance. Their greed and hunger.

Once, the Sorcerer-Kings were the lesser evil. Now they are incarnations of the same unholy machine, magnified sevenfold.

- The Masters: Sorcerer-Kings slumber away the end of the world in their palaces towering above the City States, periodically devouring the essence of the struggling, blood-soaked seed of nature around the city, slowly transforming into something utterly alien, so horrible mere words cannot contain their abstraction.
- The Mindless Cogs: Discovered Druids are captured at a young age, their mind seared away leaving only enough to be molded into tools of flesh and power, conduits to transmute the countless human sacrifices into pure life forces to feed the vegetation that otherwise could not survive the lifeless desert. Feeding the Kings' sustenance.
- The Obedient Dogs: They too have no name, the brainwashed children, the Kings' Guards. Most calls them Bloodhounds. Enchanters raised from an early age to be absolutely loyal to the monster they serve, the Hounds enact their masters' will even when there is none, maintaining the machine that feeds the Beasts and disregarding most anything else. They are the breath of the sleeping dragon, its oppressing aura, the permeating dread that gnaws away the prey's will and strength.

- The Rats: Parasites living off the scraps and leavings of the giant, they are slavers, abusers, rogue Enchanters, and any of those with enough strength and cunning to not be made slaves.
- The Pitifuls: Slaves make up nine out of ten of the population within the Sorcerer-Kings' metropolises. There are those who are born into bondage, those who were weak enough to be chained, and those who were strong enough to be broken.


And so the machine whines and rumbles, crushing humanity into corpses. Flesh slaves, born, taken or captured surviving nomads are either playthings or workers on Lok farms, beasts who retrieve sustenance from a special mineral mined out of the sand, the only source of food to feed the hungry, half-mad remnants of Man. Periodically sacrifices are chosen to have their lives siphoned and transmuted through Runic machines and mindless Druids into pure life force fed to the Kings' Garden. And each moon on the last day of prayer, the Sorcerer-Kings consume the Garden into themselves to fuel the fire of transformation toward something that would shatter the sky.

The vultures learn to break the carcass' bones to get at the last marrow.

3. Masters of Ruination
Created from the ambition of a madman, forged by the amber flame of greed and molded by the despair of the Desecration, they are truly the embodiment of Apocalypse.

7 Socerer-Kings for 7 kingdoms of Man. Once they were the lesser evil. They devoured that too, the very concept of lesser, and spit out a twisted distortion of it.

Udu the Corruptor, first born.
Opia the Faceless, first daughter.
Kel the Cruel.
Paer the Subjugator.
Imir the Eyeless.
Enu the Tormentor, second daughter.
Aman the Weak.

The only Sorcerers to ever lived, offsprings of Fenrir the Great Defiler, rulers of remnants of Man. Their Enchanting had grown unimaginably in the centuries after the Desecration, their mastery of mind infinite, their capability oceans of unknowable power through further dwelling into Runic magic. Their presence alone suppresses even the conception of opposition. Their dread poisons each living soul born unto their kingdoms, mental seeds that breed obedience and fear.

They are the monster we created, the peak of Man's reign upon the land. Our greatest sin, our greatest triumph. Our end.

4. The Abandoned Children
"The greatest sorrow of all is a child's betrayal against unconditional love, for only then will he realize what he had cast away."
Loeir of Marn, The Virtue of Hindsight, page 127
Druids are the most valuable of slaves, the rarest, most hunted merchandise. The land is depleted, sucked dry, yet like an instinctive habit, or a last struggle, Druids still appeared, even scarce and few as they were. Slavers had observed, however, that Druidism has more chance of appearing within secluded populations of dune nomads than the City States, and so the practice of shadowing nomad tribes and grooming them for a chance of Druidic slaves were popularized.

A slaver capturing young Druids could turn them to the Hounds for a handsome reward. The Druid is then lobotomized through branded physical Runes, leaving only enough cognitive functions to be conditioned into flesh processors compatible to be connected to Runic structures for the sole purpose of converting human sacrifices into pure life force for the Gardens. Once Branded, Druids are permanently damaged, and the use of their natural gift in such a way drains their own flesh durability, putting usability between two to three decades.

Old, unusable Druids are put through a process called Transmuting and compressed into a seed of pure power, which once planted spawn a Life Tree, a plant capable of surviving even in the harsh environment of the desert without a need for Druidic feeding, and can survive through several cycles of Devouring before becoming depleted.

As such, Druids are a resource of utmost value, highly sought after and hunted.

5. Bloodhounds
During the destruction of Fenrir during the Desecration, many Enchanter families were annihilated, but many more still bowed before the Mad Sorcerer, groveling before his power like rats. Those families were the foundation of the Sorcerer-Kings' Guards, or as most fearfully whispered their title, Bloodhounds.

The Kings divided the remaining houses amongst themselves like spare coins. Each generation, a family is required to produce at least 2 offsprings, the first born recruited to be an Inquisitor, the second and any following to be Hunters. Inquisitors prowl the streets and tunnels of the City States in groups of 3, keeping order, oiling the machine's cogs and snuffing out opposition like stepping on cockroaches. Hunters roam the desert in packs searching for nomads and pockets of stray humans to drag back to the Cities to be slaves.

The ranks of the Bloodhounds are simple yet effective:

- Lord Inquisitor: A single powerful Enchanter commanding the entire Inquisitor force.
- Master Inquisitors: command up to 10 teams of Inquisitor each.
- Steel Inquisitor: command up to 5 teams of Inquisitor.

- First Hound: commands the entire Hunter force.
- Second Hounds: command up to 10 packs of Hunter each.
- Third Hounds: command up to 5 packs of Hunters.

There are rumours of secret sects of Inquisitor magically enhanced by magical Runes and Runic contraptions specializing in hunting down their own kind, or powerful nomad tribes.

6. The Scavengers
"One can gauge the danger of a true monster not by the bones of its preys, but by the number of parasites living off its leavings."
Firem Malfus, Philosophy of the Oppressor, page 742

Even at the end of the world where few things of value remain, greed still flourishes like a deadly flower grown in blood.

Slavers are the self-proclaimed Nobility of the wasteland, trading in the most valuable good around. They often have their own band of hunters roaming the desert, fighting for scraps from amongst the Hounds' teeth.

Rune knowledge is forbidden, those suspected of Magic hunted and flayed, but just as there are demands, there would be those who provide it regardless of risk. Secret societies of Mages experiment with whatever pieces of incomplete Runes they could find leaked from the Libraries of the Kings, playing with forces they cannot comprehend.

Runes as well as outlawed items such as old artefacts from the world before, stolen seeds from the Kings' Gardens or even Enchanter slaves are sold in hidden underground markets ran by shadow forces that somehow always managed to stay one step ahead of Bloodhounds raids. Rumours say there had once been an auction for a slave Druid. already processed to be one's personal Transmuter.

There are those who flourish, and of course those who barely manage to stay alive, struggling for each meal yet strong enough to not be made slaves. They are so very rare, and some say, incredulously, that perhaps sparks of kindness may yet live somewhere deep within some's hearts.

7. The Brokens
"Father once said, we have corrupted the meaning of fear, for the uttering of the word instead of the safeguarding animal instinct of Man conjures the sense of the overwhelming, debilitating horror that reduces one's mind to dust. And I said to him, what other kind of fear is there?"
Oria of Marn, The Introspection of Dreams, page 142

Slaves are the foundation of the Sorcerer-Kings' City States, the driving force behind the machine, its fuel, its grinding cogs.

Mindless slaves are an everyday commodity, regularly obtained and traded. The two main sources of slaves are captured nomads and desertmen, or breeder camps slaves, both of which has their own prize and benefits.

Desertmen are physically stronger than anything a camp could produce and so are more suitable to hard and punishing works. However, their savagery and disobedient tendencies are often more of a nuisance than benefit and require investment of time and resources to break.

Slaves from breeder camps are weaker, more prone to early death by infected bloodline and incest-caused diseases. But by the same circumstances they are much cheaper, easier to obtain, more varying in differentiated choices and one could buy them young for simpler training and more loyal possessions.

The most notable slave activities include:
- Lokgem mines: The mines which produce the mineral to feed Lok beasts are recorded as the activity with the highest turnover of slaves monthly. The work is grueling with minimal food, slaves are expected to mine gems until the end of a very short life.
- Lok farms: tending to the only source of food for the entire City States is however not much easier than mine works. The beasts are temperamental and wild, killing slaves regularly each day. Farm owners of course find it cheaper to buy new slaves than building safety guards. More than that, many believed the more a Lok beast kills the better its meat tastes.
- Hard labour: ranging from construction to pulling carts, to house serving, slaves are used for nearly all of the manual labour in building and maintaining the Cities.
- The Colosseum: Often where most captured desertmen ended up, it is one of the only entertainment in any City for the rich and powerful. Fighters are promised freedom after a hundred victory in duels to the death with increasing challenges. In all the centuries of its existence, only one fighter, a Dune Nomad warrior had achieved this feat, or so the warrior slaves whispered amongst themselves in hope-filled hushed murmurs.

8. Society and Commerce
1. Society is divided simply into predators and preys. Those with the power to enslave others thrive, while those without are broken.

2. There is no State-sanctioned currency system. The unit of trade most often used are slaves and Lokgem, as well as the exchange of valuable items. Rare metal and gold while still costly do not hold nearly the same value as they had in the world long past.

3. Only Enchanter families have last name. Most citizens have only a first name, often one to two syllables. Rich individuals who consider themselves high enough above in the food chain would often claim a last name for themselves, a symbolic action meant to proclaim their influence.

Slaves have no name. They are seen as a faceless mass with little to no distinction between each. Special, expensive slaves are given differentiating designation in term of physical qualities, such as Scar, Pig, Whore, Shield, Cook. Favourite slaves are sometimes granted affectionate one-syllable names like Syl or Pus, a favour seen as a symbol of status amongst other slaves.

Colosseum fighters are given distinctive regular names to differentiate and incorporated into gambling systems.

9. The Preyed
Dune Nomads, they are called. Desertmen, children of the sand, walkers of ruins. Outside of the Sorcerer-Kings' grasp, yet freedom was a foreign concept still, to them, tortured and tormented by the land, hunted by the Defilers' dogs, living in pain and hunger and fear. Yes, they are bound by more than chains. At least the mindless slaves did not retain enough of themselves to despair.
 
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