Post by YueFei on Oct 27, 2022 18:29:24 GMT
The world is broken.
The Elarian Empire stretched the whole continent, save the southern most reaches. It united peoples and species, languages and customs, and paved the way forward for peace, justice, and unity. All of that is lost, gone with the first great pulse of the Arcanoclysm. Fertile fields are barren wastelands, beautiful forests are monstrous death traps, magic is gone, and the great mountains of the North once known for their beauty are now twisted black spires, wardens of the apocalypse. The hubris of civilization abused the gift of magic until the world could no longer withstand its influence and a Goddess was broken and with her, everything.
Gods died. People died. An empire died. The Wraith, that eternal guardian of the Apocalypse Gates, opened the door and judged the world, the gods, and everything besides. Its impossible to know now the extent of what was lost, so much has faded from memory, from scroll, from myth. The survivors rounded up every spellcaster they could find and forced them to dig their own graves by creating one last great magical effect, an impenetrable barrier, blocking them from the rest of the world. The casters, once heroes, once creators, once builders of civilization, were dubbed The Undeserving. The rest of the world slammed the door shut and walked away, leaving them to their fate in the bitter wasteland of a deep south that had once been lush jungle.
The world turned, Cycles came and went, and new orders arose from the ashes. Of these two are great powers, the mighty Xhutan Empire, comprised of the eastern lands of Old Elaria is land of beuracrats and fabled Emperors, ruled from The City of Rubies. The other is the Sirule Confederacy, taking for it the heartlands of old Elaria. Here Elector Lords rule, electing their Kings from among their peers. It was Sirule that bore the brunt of the He`Draxi invasions and it is Sirule that seeks to enslave that aggressive species which calls the Apocalypse Spires their home. A tall order, made taller by persistent rumors of the return of the great He`Draxi leader that once shook the foundations of civilization. If the Butcher of Kings has returned, the world may break again.
Smaller kingdoms and fiefdoms exist scattered across the continent. There are as ever the Serpentis Dens to worry about and the Mer threaten river trade as they long have. The oceans remain impossibly hostile, a death sentence rather than a trade route. If the ocean doesn't kill you, and you aren't too weak to survive the annual Cycle, the Murder Crows may well do you in. Or the ghosts, or any number of twisted creature or environ. Only the walls of Xhutan and Sirule hold the cruel world at bay and neither is a paradise. Sirule is ruled by its patriarchs, a land where women are among the lowest on the power structure. In Xhutan things are more equal among the genders, but the bloated government drives its oppressive heel onto the backs of the commoner, all in the name of a Dragon God Emperor no one has seen since the Arcanoclysm. The He`Draxi are not cruel, but they are the opposite of Sirule, violent and tribal, built around a matriarchy nearly as strict as their patriarchal opponents.
The World is broken. King Cairn of Sirule sits on the throne, the Dragon God Emperor is missing, magic is a curse, the Wraith watches at the Gates, and somewhere out beyond the mortal realm a broken goddess weeps, for her mortal children have abused her and she is unloved.
The Elarian Empire stretched the whole continent, save the southern most reaches. It united peoples and species, languages and customs, and paved the way forward for peace, justice, and unity. All of that is lost, gone with the first great pulse of the Arcanoclysm. Fertile fields are barren wastelands, beautiful forests are monstrous death traps, magic is gone, and the great mountains of the North once known for their beauty are now twisted black spires, wardens of the apocalypse. The hubris of civilization abused the gift of magic until the world could no longer withstand its influence and a Goddess was broken and with her, everything.
Gods died. People died. An empire died. The Wraith, that eternal guardian of the Apocalypse Gates, opened the door and judged the world, the gods, and everything besides. Its impossible to know now the extent of what was lost, so much has faded from memory, from scroll, from myth. The survivors rounded up every spellcaster they could find and forced them to dig their own graves by creating one last great magical effect, an impenetrable barrier, blocking them from the rest of the world. The casters, once heroes, once creators, once builders of civilization, were dubbed The Undeserving. The rest of the world slammed the door shut and walked away, leaving them to their fate in the bitter wasteland of a deep south that had once been lush jungle.
The world turned, Cycles came and went, and new orders arose from the ashes. Of these two are great powers, the mighty Xhutan Empire, comprised of the eastern lands of Old Elaria is land of beuracrats and fabled Emperors, ruled from The City of Rubies. The other is the Sirule Confederacy, taking for it the heartlands of old Elaria. Here Elector Lords rule, electing their Kings from among their peers. It was Sirule that bore the brunt of the He`Draxi invasions and it is Sirule that seeks to enslave that aggressive species which calls the Apocalypse Spires their home. A tall order, made taller by persistent rumors of the return of the great He`Draxi leader that once shook the foundations of civilization. If the Butcher of Kings has returned, the world may break again.
Smaller kingdoms and fiefdoms exist scattered across the continent. There are as ever the Serpentis Dens to worry about and the Mer threaten river trade as they long have. The oceans remain impossibly hostile, a death sentence rather than a trade route. If the ocean doesn't kill you, and you aren't too weak to survive the annual Cycle, the Murder Crows may well do you in. Or the ghosts, or any number of twisted creature or environ. Only the walls of Xhutan and Sirule hold the cruel world at bay and neither is a paradise. Sirule is ruled by its patriarchs, a land where women are among the lowest on the power structure. In Xhutan things are more equal among the genders, but the bloated government drives its oppressive heel onto the backs of the commoner, all in the name of a Dragon God Emperor no one has seen since the Arcanoclysm. The He`Draxi are not cruel, but they are the opposite of Sirule, violent and tribal, built around a matriarchy nearly as strict as their patriarchal opponents.
The World is broken. King Cairn of Sirule sits on the throne, the Dragon God Emperor is missing, magic is a curse, the Wraith watches at the Gates, and somewhere out beyond the mortal realm a broken goddess weeps, for her mortal children have abused her and she is unloved.