A vast blanket of clouds greets you as you finally leave the void behind... and upon entering the atmosphere, the Artifact begins to tumble through the air, glyphs flaring up across its surface as it activates, and flecks wear off of the edges-- not even it can fully withstand the immense forces at play as it carves a furrow through the sky. Within minutes, you plunge into the sea of white...
Then, in a blinding moment of reality-bending might, the Arrival is upon you. Mortal words cannot quite describe the sounds and sensations that batter you in that moment as barriers are broken, gods are struck down, power rushes into you, and, in ways subtle and , you begin to Change.
To mortal observers, it is something akin to an explosion in the night-- the blue light drifting behind the clouds dims slightly, then flares brilliantly as the clouds are expelled from around it, the great fireball only seeming to gain speed as it approaches impact. With each unfortunate celestial being that finds itself in its path, the flaming aura surges in strength.
The howling of the wind and rushing of the flames, and even that intense feeling of raw energy flowing through you as the Anima of the slain Divines meld with your own... somehow, it all seems distantly familiar. Memories flood through you, carried along by the surge of celestial might, and though they’re too fragmented and ephemeral to provide a true glimpse into the minds and histories of the dead deities you will soon replace, you are filled to the brim not only with their godly power, but with all the skill you need to use it, and all the knowledge you need to understand the realm you’re about to fall into.
Though the roaring tides of power surge through you, you may flinch, but you never falter. When your senses clear and the harsh impacts run their course, all you can feel is the twin sensation of the familiar blazing heat of the meteor around you and the foreign current of energy sparking through you. You open your eyes, such as they may be, to look down upon the rapidly approaching landscape, and you allow yourself some time to adjust to the Change.
You will land soon, and you know that by then you must be ready.
Local Races:There exist three races of humans, created from three divine artifacts in the earliest days of the world, during the formation of the Celestial Wheel, when the gods still squabbled amongst themselves for power and glory; they were entrusted with those same artifacts to aid them in defending themselves and building their civilization, and would become populous enough that they became the template off of which most other races were built, either through the whims of powerful magicians or direct divine intervention.
The Lorians, men of the Sword, used its power to carve out their place in the western reaches of the world, and it is in their general territory you have fallen. Fair of skin, light of hair, and bright of eye, they embody Machina: Ambitious, organized, and militant, they beat back the wildernesses of the land to construct huge kingdoms and sprawling cities, and were both the Demon King’s main opposition and one of his most common soldiers.
Half-rat and half-monkey in appearance, the six-limbed Hachir are a clever race with natural talent at various forms of magic. Though they once were cast aside as dreg and drek by the gods that created them and left to toil as the slaves of their Hrakchiri cousins, today, centuries after the fall of the Hrakchiri empire, the Hachir thrive, roving the skies in magically-restored ancient airships and serving those who dwell on the earth below as entertainers and spells-for-hire.
Taller, more barbaric cousins to the Hachir, the Hrakchir earned their derisive nickname of “hobgoblins” (to the Hachir’s “goblins”) through their brutish, warlike nature. Once the favored soldiers of the so-called Demon King, they were driven out to the harshest reaches of land since his downfall in the last Great War, where they lead rugged, nomadic lives of herding, hunting, and raiding nearby settlements. Though once they controlled much of the known world under the Demon King’s banner, today, the Hrakchir have very little land of their own, and many Hrakchir tribes have long forgotten their ancestral allegiance to the Demon King.
Squat, rather animalistic creatures covered in thick, keratinous scales, the Pangolls are distinctly adapted for the underground life. They live on and just beneath the surface of the Palantine Peninsula, in semi-permanent settlements, living peaceful lives as beekeepers and stonecrafters. Though their long, flexible tongues suitable for their insectivorous diet prevent Pangolls from easily speaking the languages of other races, they do their best to keep lines of communication open with their more nimble neighbors, as they prize luxury goods that they, with their large, clawed hands, are not dexterous enough to craft.
A half-human, half-bird, and all-female species who live virtually anywhere with places high enough to build their aeries, harpies are considered a widespread nuisance. Though they normally sustain themselves by hunting, fishing, and abducting hapless travellers with their hypnotically beautiful voices, if they happen to find themselves low on supplies, they descend upon those who have the misfortune of living nearby in screeching swarms, stealing all the food, men, and shiny objects they can carry. They’ve made enemies of most races in this manner-- particularly the generally-affable Hachir and Pangolls, as harpies not only look upon them as food (rather than potential mates), but are also one of the few races that can pose an active threat to them.
Most reptilian races regard the Siwa as a subrace of humanity, which is a reasonable conclusion based off appearance alone. However, though mostly human in bodily and facial structure, with the same fleshy skin, tailless spine, and flattened face, the Siwas’ narrow, elongated pupils, broad, slitted nostrils, and callused, partially keratinous ‘scales’ along certain key areas of the body render them distinctly reptilian, and more distinctly alien, in the eyes of humans. This is not the reason why neither of their closest relatives are particularly eager to claim the Siwa as one of their number; their near-pariah status is instead due to the role they played in the assassination of several of the most beloved military leaders in recorded history. Now feared and detested as a treacherous race full of spies and assassins, regardless of their actual affiliation, those Siwa who chose not to follow the Demon King to their doom struggle to establish diplomatic relations with their neighbors-- ironically, their repeated failures have led them to resort to espionage simply to keep themselves out of multi-front wars they couldn’t possibly win.
Local Civilizations:
Once a wealthy and powerful kingdom stretching across the length and breadth of the peninsula that came to bear its name, the Kingdom of Horsemen has come into hard times of late. Although it was never actually conquered, it never fully recovered from the devastation that was wrought on its lands during the Great War, with the formation of the Dramir Aether Wastes and the rise of the Siav Steppe Hrakchir tribes. Since then, a series of overindulgent and overambitious kings brought it to the losing side of a three-front war; the devastating famine that swept across its southern provinces less than a decade later was the last straw, causing the entire region to erupt in riots and, eventually, civil war. The rebels won, leading to the establishment of the Kingdom of Lymaela and leaving Palantine beaten, humiliated, and without its agricultural center. Still embroiled in political and economic strife, it has fallen far from the glorious era whence it was called “Land of Paladins.”
Named after a maiden who gathered up a band of malcontent peasants and turned them to banditry, attacking Palantinate tax collectors during the famines in an attempt to help feed her people, and whom started the bloody revolution that followed when they were unwisely martyred by public execution, Lymaela, unlike its mother nation, has managed to stabilize itself surprisingly quickly considering the circumstances of its birth.
Sitting on fertile, rolling hills and verdant forests, enjoying trade with the Pangolls, Hachir, and the odd Harpy nest, but employing loosely-organized companies of irregular archers and spearmen, the fledgling Kingdom is quite strong economically, if weak militarily; it is a combination of favorable terrain and exceptionally high morale, not training or experience, that has allowed their militias to defeat border skirmishes from the north and west with reasonable consistency.
The Hrakchir that occupy the western reaches of the Palantine peninsula are the descendants of an invasion force set on sacking the Kingdom of Palantine to claim their wealth and position of tactical advantage in the name of the Demon King. However, despite their ferocity and superior numbers, they met defeat after humiliating defeat at the hands of the various orders of the Knights Palantine, then and to some extent now the finest cavalry force in the world.
Short of time and already experiencing the beginning of massive losses on other fronts, the Demon King lost his patience, throwing a gigantic lance of Aether from on high and obliterating the hills where his army and theirs stood mid-battle. Nearly the entire Palantine army was destroyed, as was half the Demon King’s own forces, and both were forced to flee the region.
Not long after the destruction of the hills of Dramir, the Demon King was slain, and his armies sent into disarray. Petty in-fighting and the remnants of the Palantinate military saw their numbers further decimated and driven southward, near and eventually into the steppes of Cape Siav, though they were never fully wiped out. Instead, the stronger factions amongst the Hrakchir staged hit-and-run campaigns against the pursuing army and nearby villages, replacing their mounts with those of the superior Palantinate breed and eventually growing into the conglomerate of nomadic herdsmen and predatory raiders they are today.
A local Hachiri airship that just happened to be floating relatively near the area you’re about to land in, the curious members of the Tallfang clan will soon be heading your way to investigate the strange object that fell from the heavens.
While some Hachiri clans try to blend in with their oft-four-limbed, tailless patrons, the Tallfangs prefer to flaunt their alien bodies-- dyeing their fur in intricate, swirling patterns rather than wear clothing, decorating the tufts of hair on their heads and face with intricate braids and tiny beads of colored glass, and stringing specially-made rings and colorful feathers on their tails. Their flight patterns usually keep them circling the Palantine Peninsula, the region south of them, and west towards the Twin Tombs. Currently numbering almost four hundred, near the maximum that their ancient airship home can support, they will soon need to splinter into multiple groups with more sustainable numbers.
Partially due to their near-savage ferocity and partially due to their control of the undesirable (and rumored-to-be-haunted) Partharati Swamplands, the Santhi Republic has relatively good, if tense, relations with its non-Siwa neighbors, considering their racial history. Unlike most Siwa, the Santhi have a strong tradition of near-nudity and body alteration such as piercings, tattoos, scarification, and more, which enhances their reputation of savagery amongst outsiders-- which suits them just fine.
However, the Santhi Republic actually has a rich artistic culture patronized by native merchantmen made wealthy through partnerships with foreign traders seeking access to the ancient bridges across the Dramir Sea, as well as an advanced understanding of scientific, mathematical, and magical concepts throughout the general population, something that eludes even the most erudite of scholars in some other kingdoms.
Though their presence in the Palantine Peninsula is all but nonexistent, the Herali people still bear some mentioning due to their strong diplomatic ties to the new kingdom of Lymaela and location near the Bay of Herali. Despite this, they are a relatively insular society, secretive and slow to trust others, and thus little is known about them outside of their own borders.
Historically confined to the areas north of the Sho’nen mountain range and west of the Herali River, though they originated in the forested river valley more to the southeast, the Herali are both a race and a civilization of long-lived reptilian people, infamous for their flesh and plant magic, especially their practice of ananti, or of grafting various plants to their scales. This, aside from their brilliant, jewel-like hides and feathered heads, gives them a distinctly alien appearance.
They are composed of three distinct castes, each of which have different positions and roles in society, and every individual Hera will belong to each caste at various stages of their lives. Mirroring these three castes are the three gods and goddesses they venerate, each a different aspect of a single Divine-- typically the Muse of Earth, though there are some sects who worship other Aspects of Earth instead. Aside from these deities, the Herali also practice tree worship,and as such regard tree nymphs and their groves as sacred.
Miscellaneous Information:
While the worship of the Celestial Wheel could easily be called the “one true faith”, the mortal races of the world have a variety of different systems of belief: Some worship all of the Hundred Divines, a select set of them, or only one or two- usually the creator of the race or civilization. Others might worship entities only imitating true divinity, extraordinarily powerful mortals (as god-kings), or even entirely fictitious entities-- though in each of these cases, one or more of the Divines is usually quick to subvert it for their own gain.
These dangerous areas spring up where the fabric of reality is warped by massive amounts of magical energy, to the point where a tear opens, and raw Aether begins to leak into the world.
While not usually actually barren, Aether wastes are hazardous to virtually all forms of life, and the Aetherwind that blows across them not only twists and mutates everything it touches, but allows the afflicted area to spread over time, unless somehow kept in check.
There is a silver lining, however- if one can shelter themselves against the magical radiation in these areas, works of an arcane or divine nature are significantly easier- if significantly riskier and more unpredictable- and Wastes provide a wide array of components for a magician’s rituals and experimentation.
As the Celestial Wheel always seeks to balance itself, none of the Divines ever truly die- instead, if a mortal or other semi-mortal being were to find themselves slaying one, they would assume his role-- which, albeit by proxy, is how the Arrival has granted you your newfound divine power-- and when Divines defeat one another during god wars, the victor absorbs the essence of the loser, taking over his powers and responsibilities... and when such a gestalt of two or more Celestials is inevitably broken up, the constituent entities are released to reincarnate back into the wheel, usually with distinctly different names and demeanors.
The leading antagonist behind the last Great War, the Demon King, as he came to be known, was originally the then-Void of Anima; by the height of that war, he had become the largest gestalt of Divines ever known. Fortunately, the influence of their spirits on his mind twisted his intentions from utter destruction of the world to mere domination, and (most of) the other Celestials and their servants banded together to defeat him, smashing his armies and channeling their wills into a brave young hero who would finally slay (and thereby succeed) him.
Even though over two hundred years have passed since the Great War, many of the Demon King’s servants remain scattered in the world, and one of the many prophecies surrounding the Arrival hails it as a sign of his return.
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