Tamir

I have nothing interesting I can think of to say, and today I've decided not to say it.

The three gods of Tamir have been, since before the world is made, locked in an unending cold war. Each god hates the others, but no god dares move against any of the others, for fear of the damage that would be done to all of reality.
This, in itself, is not anything particularly unusual. It is in the nature of beings such as gods that any conflict which cannot be resolved almost instantly in a display of incomprehensible might, is probably impossible to resolve directly at all. There are a thousand worlds where the relations between deities are governed by a complex system of rules and treaties each enforced by the threat of mutually assured destruction. What makes the gods of Tamir unique is what they decided to do about it.
The three of them agreed amongst themselves to make a world. Each would invest in that world all but a fraction of their power. And, over time, that power would grow, and it would change, until on the final day, the three would reclaim their power from the world, and see who it had come to belong to.
The first, mighty Primus fashioned th entire physical world in a single instant. He made everything, from the mountains and the seas, down to the smallest pebble. And too, he made all living things - which are, after all, also physical. All things, he thought, which walked upon the world must be molded by the form that he had given it, and so all things would ultimately come to be his.
Then the second, wise Dhaila looked at this world which Primus had made, and picked out humans, and gave to them minds, and the power of reason, by which they might turn Primus’ world to their own ends. All things, she thought, however mighty they might seem, would come to be shaped by human minds. And so, the world would come to be hers.
But the third, Regal, tricked his siblings. For he had been to create culture for the humans, the social context in which they would swim. And he had agreed with the others to pour his power into the world.
And he did both those things - he created for himself a mortal body, and walked the world as a living god. He taught the humans writing, and metalcraft, and all the other tools of civilization. But too, he made himself their king, ruling over them, commanding them, making all things his not by the indirect means the other two had used, but by force of arms.
Now, in many ways, Regal does not resemble what one might expect of a living god. It was not given to him to create the physical world, and so, he is barred from interfering with it directly. He cannot smite his enemies, nor reshape the world to his will. Nor was it given to him to create the minds of humanity, and so he cannot interfere in these things, either. He cannot control someone against their will, or force them to obey. Nor, indeed, is he permitted to kill.
But he has been the ruler of all of humanity since the beginning of time, and few rulers indeed can do any of those things. His enemies are defeated not by any show of godly force, but by those who serve him. The law is his to write and rewrite as he chooses. Armies march at his command, and to most of humanity, he is simply the rightful king - for that is what he taught them.
Still, Primus and Dhaila were not fools. Primus’s world is unkind to empires - it shifts and changes as though it were alive, shaking and splitting, making travel impossible, and leaving parts of humanity cut off from Regal for years or decades at a time.
And Dhaila did not make human minds to be humble and obedient, to simply bow to the whim of those above them. She made them to be independent, and willful, to rebel against any thing which might seek to constrain them. From birth, every human belongs to Regal, to shape as he sees fit. But he finds them a particularly stubborn material to work with, unwilling to bend as he would wish, struggling against him at every step. Although Regal has retained his position, barely a year goes by in which there is not some kind of rebellion against his rule. And the tighter he grips his subjects, the more they struggle against him. Though worship of Regal is the only official religion, both Primus and Dhaila are worshiped in many places, particularly further from the capital. And towards the outskirts of the empire, in places which have been cut off from direct contact, it often seems that Regal’s control is entirely nominal.

The Market of Mals-Sviim

I'm pretty sure most of my posts are apologising for being bad at routines.
To be fair, I am incredibly bad at routines.
At some point, it can probably be taken as read.

Anyway, yes, the word count is intentional. So there.

At the market of Mals-Sviim, anything can be bought and sold. There are mundane goods, gold and jewels and valuables of every kind, from the gross to the exquisite. There are wonders, things seen nowhere else in the world - one might find a butterfly, that moves and breathes and lives in every way like a living insect, save only that it is made entirely of some unbreakable metal. Or a quill which, upon command, will write a story never before told, and yet true in every detail. And then, there are things which one should not be able to buy or sell at all. Memories. Faces. Strength, and cunning… Anything that any person has ever wished to possess can be found in the market.
That’s not hyperbole, either, it is a literal description. Noone is entirely sure how it works, but whenever someone wishes for a thing - however briefly - it will appear in some form in the market. Even the truly impossible can be found there, although it is never bought.
It’s too expensive, you see. Everything in the market has a price, and that price is never an easy one. In exchange for riches, a sculptor might be asked to give up his hands, or an orator his voice. In exchange for the answer to her question, a scholar might be compelled to answer honestly every question she will ever be asked, or might have to give up half the years she would have lived. The price is tailored to the individual, it is always high, and the more exotic the item, the higher that price is. Although only things which are entirely impossible are ever impossible to pay for.
Noone is sure who runs the market, any more than they know how it works. It’s not that the owners are never seen - far from it, they are everywhere, always pushing you to buy this ware or that, jostling and arguing with each other. Unfortunately, no two people ever seem to see the same owners. To one person, they might be tall, figures crafted of gleaming metal, who speak in slow, flat tones. To another, they are hunched figures entirely concealed in robes, whose voices are like the buzzing of flies. And to a third, they are people no more than two feet high, with skin every colour of the rainbow, as long as all those colours are assumed to be sickly and vaguely unpleasant.
Given the prices the market exacts for its services, one would have to be insane to visit it. Given that visiting the market is illegal in every country in the world, one would probably have to be stupid too. There is simply no good reason to go there, and everyone knows this.
Unfortunately, everyone is also very quick to forget it. The market, one must remember, sells everything. It is human nature to want things, and almost everyone has something for which they would be willing to pay any price (and several more things for which they believe that they would be willing to pay any price, until they see what the market is actually charging them - at which point, Mals-Sviim usually already has its hooks in them). And so, it is bustling at all hours of the day with people who really ought to know better - with the desperate, and the selfless, and the overwhelmingly ambitious. With everyone from wannabe kings in search of a kingdom, to parents who want to buy their children a better life.
Despite the draconian penalties for its use (for there has never been a government in history that does not wish to restrict the buying and selling of something, even if that thing is, in fact, the country itself), keeping people out of Mals-Sviim has always been a losing proposition. When someone is truly desperate for it, they will be given passage there. It’s the only thing the market ever gives away for free. And so, business continues to boom.

Xilmir

For the record, the principle I’m referring to here is a specific (and simplified because this is fiction, not a textbook) case of Noether’s first theorem, which is probably my favorite mathematical theorem. This is important because it means that I am the kind of person who has a favourite mathematical theorem.
Not only that, I’m the kind of person who had to consider for a moment whether or not I actually preferred the Folk theorem.
This is another world I may come back to. One post seems kind of inadequate for a setting the whole point of which is that it is far too large, and too diverse, to meaningfully describe.
For the record, it is significantly bigger than our observable universe. An empire controlling ten or twenty galaxies would be an insignificant portion of our universe, but it would at least be large enough to measure as a portion. It would show up on your calculator screen. This is a world in which an empire spanning ten or twenty thousand ‘galaxies’ is still small enough to be almost entirely obscure.
Yes, I am aware how large even a single galaxy is. When I say things about 'not knowing what you'll find', I bloody well mean it.

It is a fundamental mathematical principle that in any world with unchanging physical laws, energy will be conserved over time. And, for the most part, it is. But in many worlds, there is an exception - magic. Indeed, in many worlds, magic is magic because it breaks this fundamental principle - there not only does not, but can not exist any constant set of physical laws to describe the behavior of an isolated system in which magic is happening, because the energy of such a system is not constant.
This, as has been noted, is true on many worlds. But in few places is it more intimately weaved into society than on Xilmir. Because on Xilmir, wizards pay their taxes in lightning.
Every source of energy, save magic, requires the exhaustion of some resource or other. Thermodynamics is a harsh mistress - however efficiently a machine may be powered, some of the energy used to keep it going will end up as waste, impossible to recycle. And so, little by little, every mundane resource has been used up. The planets have been mined dry, and the stars have burned out - indeed, in recent years, many of the stars have been mined out. And yet, the world of Xilmar is thriving with life. It is a place where nations can span not only across planets, but across entire galaxies. Because magic does not care about the conservation of energy, and spits in the face of the ‘heat death of the universe’.
Almost every one of the myriad people of Xilmar know some magic - if for no better reason than that in a world where technology is almost universally powered by magic, it is often more convenient than finding somewhere to plug something in.
But there are ordinary citizens, and then there are wizards, capable of calling forth vast energies with no more effort than it might take most people to snap their fingers. And wizards are woven into every aspect of life on Xilmir, because they have to be - it is they who are the difference between civilization, and the end of everything. It is them upon whom many of Xilmar’s technological marvels rely, it is they who allow ships to fly at superluminal speeds, they who are able to rewrite the very nature of reality when it is convenient. And it is for this reason that wizards, regardless of what other differences might exist between civilizations, tend to be held in very high regard. In many places, indeed, they are the rulers.
Xilmar should, by all rights, be a rather boring world. The entire universe is explored. There are no horizons left. Science has advanced beyond what other worlds could dream of, technological progress has slowed to almost a complete halt simply because there is so little left that has not been tried, and even magic is about as advanced as it is ever going to be. There is even a near-complete lack of war, because there is so little to fight over. There are no natural resources left, what empires need, they can simply make. Ultimately, war is simply no longer worth it.
But the thing is, though all the universe may have been explored in a general sense, an explored universe is not really anything like an explored planet. You might not know everyone on your planet, but it is at least possible to have a general idea of the kinds of things that might be going on.
An entire universe isn’t like that. It’s simply too big. Even were one to spend only a few seconds on each one, one might spend centuries studying the wonders of the universe, and still be entirely assured of being able to fly to a random point in space, and find something entirely new. There are planets that have been made into spaceships, and spaceships constructed entirely from scratch that make planets look like grains of sand. There are species which are so closely blended with machines that it is impossible for even them to tell any more what is natural, and what is not. And there are species which think that such a thing is blasphemous. There are cretures made of pure energy, and wizards capable of feats that those only a few galaxies away would swear entirely impossible - even things that other wizards can definitively prove are impossible.
Xilmar is peaceful, but only on from a long way away - there are more individual dramas than there are numbers to count them. And, whilst with the size of the population involved, any quantifier would be almost meaningless, it is common for people to spend their time exploring the vastness of it, toppling tyrants and writing wrongs. Because with a whole universe to choose from, there is no shortage of either.

Viti

Wow. Started up again, and near immediately missed like, what, two weeks? That’s awful, and I’m only thankful that I don’t think I’d actually told anyone I restarted it. But the voices in my head are very disappointed.

They think I should burn things, but that’s their solution to everything.

In my defense, I spent some of that time (amongst other things) in hospital. Not all of it, but I’m counting that as a pretty good excuse for going into a tailspin for a little bit.

Still, I’m back now. For at least one post that is, as per tradition, on something that can vaguely be called ‘Monday’ in certain parts of the world.

The world of Viti is alive.

By this is not meant that there is some nebulous planar spirit, or that in some sense the inhabitants of the world give it a form of life. What is meant is that the world itself is a sapient creature, with wants and needs and desires.

And chief amongst these desires is entertainment. Being a planet, it transpires, is incredibly boring. And although Viti is omnipotent, the problem is that conflicts it has created for itself are generally not of any particular interest - they are nothing more than playing with toy soldiers to it, even if the soldiers are breathing, thinking beings. It is simply not interested in any scenario it created, because the stakes then mean nothing to it.

And so, Viti has allowed life to develop upon its surface, almost unhindered, watching and gaining its entertainment from the struggles of its people.

But that is not to say it does not interfere. A promising story being cut short in mere moments, simply by bad luck? That is hardly interesting. And a thumb on the scales here and there is quite different, to Viti, to contriving the whole situation.

Needless to say, the people of Viti have learned its ways. Most notably, there are the talesingers. Viti cares about its children as entertainment, and nothing more. It cannot be persuaded by compassion, because it does not care. It cannot be reasoned with, because there is nothing its mortal children could give it.

But, as noted, it loves its entertainment. And so, the talespinners frame the narrative. Make out what is happening as an epic tale of revenge, of love, of good against evil - of whatever they can make it, that will catch Viti’s interest. And much of the time, they fail. Viti remains unmoved. Things proceed as normal.

But sometimes, they are able to catch the interest of the planet themselves. To convince it that their story is of interest, that it should not be cut short. And what to a creature such as Viti is merely a finger on the scales, to mortals can change the course of history. Wars have been won and lost at Viti’s capricious whim. Empires have fallen, and great kings have been brought low.

But, of course, not everyone seeks Viti’s favour - not everyone is willing to worship such an indifferent god. There have been many attempts, indeed, to bring down Viti. It doesn’t care - it sees no danger of actual harm. It plays along, even, sometimes allows itself to be ‘killed’ and withdraws from the world for a while, watching passively without active interference. Or, at least, without making that interference obvious.

Most nations simply ignore Viti, in everyday life. People know, certainly, that it exists. They know that it can solve their problems, and they act accordingly - everything from court cases to martial arts have a degree of drama built into them, in the vague hope that Viti’s attention might be piqued. But mostly the activities of everyday humans, no matter how dramatically they voice their ‘Objection!’ to the latest evidence, no matter how dramatic the fight to save the Dojo from being shut down by real-estate developers, do not catch Viti’s attention. It has a whole world to choose from, after all. And so, life goes on much as it does in other worlds, although somewhat more dramatically. People, for the most part, rely on themselves, not an indifferent god.

And they have achieved rather a lot without such help - even with a degree of hindrance. For although Viti does not prevent people from building things for themselves, it is known to actively interfere with the spread of technology, preferring to keep parts of itself trapped in eras it finds particularly interesting.

Despite this, in parts of Viti the people have begun to develop gunpowder, electricity manned flight, and a thousand other wonders which, a scant few dozen miles away, would probably have the inventors burned as witches.

And in one part of Viti, the Medriis Academy, a particularly interesting technology has been discovered - known as the ley-bore, it can tap into Viti’s own power and make it usable for humans. It has even been theorised that the same technology could be, with some work, adapted into a weapon capable of hurting or killing Viti itself.

The researchers have tested the ley-bore several times, and so far have not attracted Viti’s attention, Viti’s attention having been occupied elsewhere (as it most often is) on each occasion. Thus, Viti itself has no idea that this device exists, let alone that it might be in danger. Still, the researchers know that it is only a matter of time before they are noticed, particularly if they try and siphon off any significant amount of power. As such, they are preparing carefully, both to avoid drawing Viti’s attention for as long as possible and, when the inevitable finally happens, to attempt to survive the wrath of the world itself.

Kontheios

One of the things about writing things like these is that it gives me a chance to try to be less verbose (which I have a habit of being). On the other hand, whenever I write less, I just end up either feeling lazy, or like I’ve left something out.
That said, in this case I am absolutely being lazy.

In Kontheios, Castle Atrekei was where the Gods lived. Once. But one day, more than five hundred years ago, the gates opened, and there was no one inside.
Texts were found, written in the language of the gods. As far as anyone could tell, they really had loved the people of their creation, and had sought to do what was best for them. Countless theological and scientific questions were answered in a heartbeat. And nowhere was there any hint as to where the gods had gone, or what had happened to them.
Over the following century, numerous religions sprung up, purporting to have answers. And just as soon, they declared each other blasphemous, and fought. It was a time of great upheaval, and, as with all times of great upheaval, there was no shortage of men willing to make things worse, if it would profit them to do so. Today, only a few major schools of thought remain on the subject of the gods:
The Avessei believe that some great human sin so horrified the gods, that they left the world, disgusted by the evil in humanity. The Omoroi go further, believing that this act was so heinous, that it actually poisoned the gods, who retreated from reality to heal. Meanwhile, the Prossei believe that the gods left their children behind to forge their own path, that the next step in humanity’s development requires them to be without their gods. And the Calanei believe that a being they call Asanelan, the adversary of the gods, attacked them, and that the gods were able to defeat it only at the cost of their own lives.
But in fact, the world today has in large part moved on from the gods. Whilst few doubt they did exist, fewer still believe that they will return soon, or that some clue as to their disappearance might be found. When the disappearance first happened, numerous men dedicated their lives to finding the answer to that mystery,but there is no record that any succeeded.
There have been other changes, too, since the disappearance of the Gods. The souls of the dead, which were once ferried by Xarile to the great beyond, now linger in this world. Whilst only the strongest can manifest as ghosts or spectres, anyone who has died since that day can be called upon by magic. Plants, too, unconstrained by Demmera, have grown wild and unruly. They grow wherever they please, weeds choking crops, and forests ignoring their natural borders. Even the Sun has grown erratic in the sky, now that Heimmora is no longer there to measure out its path. And in a thousand other ways, the world has changed, now that the gods are not there for it.

Merithos

I still have some odd ideas about when days and, yes.


In Merithos, the wolrd is written in the stars - every detail of it. With the proper care, and sufficient knowledge, there is no question about the state of the world in the present which cannot be answered.
Those who study the stars are called astrologers, and what might at first be a surprise is how little one sees such people. The uses of their functional omniscience should, after all, be obvious - the humblest merchant would wish to know what the grain harvest is like a thousand miles away, and the greatest king should like to know immediately what happens in the furthest reaches of his kingdom. And yet, there are no astrologers to be found in plain sight.
This was not always the case. Many generations ago, there were people who made use of them. Never many, but some. But the problem is, that the one thing a merchant wants more than to know his competitor’s secrets, is to be sure that they do not know his. Kings are even less willing to let their secrets be known. Astrologers, and those who employed them, had short lives.
And so, the astrologers banded together, and founded the Academy of the Night under its twelve Grand Magi (the number has varied since, though never for long). Although it is not a traditional academy - it has no buildings, or grounds. It has no physical location whatsoever, indeed. It is simply a name for an organisation of astrologers, working together, and passing their knowledge down from one generation to the next.
Where astrologers were often attacked, noone comes after the Academy, because those who do rarely find anything to speak of, and tend to find that their secrets from that moment forth do not remain secret.
And, of course, the Academy is rich beyond measure. Both from their own investments (which are considerable), and from the high price they charge those who seek them out for their services. And people who would never have employed an astrologer do seek them out. Because anyone who can afford those service and does not buy them, risks what might be done to them by someone who did.
Beyond the academy, there is unfortunately very little in Merithos which is constant enough to be worth speaking of. The Academy, as a result of the abilities of its members, reaches across seas and continents. And the temporal kingdoms of the world are small, brief things, constantly fighting for dominance. It is said that the Academy keeps them that way, using its wealth and knowledge to keep any one kingdom from becoming too dominant. Of course, the Academy is blamed for everything from plague to earthquakes, but this rumor seems plausible - a weak kingdom is a potential customer, whereas there is the risk that an empire might be able to threaten them.
As for astrologers who do not belong to the Academy, the Academy itself tends to see them as a threat to its control, and those who survive spend most of their lives on the run from its enforcers.

The Corcuran Empire

Oh God, someone reminded me today that I have a blog!
I was distracted by writing about Dove.
Anyway, first thing first, so before doing anything else, new world!

The Isle of Corcura is a very special place for one important reason - it’s the only place where griffin eggs will hatch.
A full-grown griffin is a sight to behold. Even carrying a knight and armored beak to tail in thick steel, a griffin can soar through the skies, and reign death down upon whoever might require it.
Because, you see, on the back of the griffins, the people of Corcura built an empire. The island might have been small, but it was rich in ore, and there is, as any student of military tactics should know, significant value in complete air superiority.
Noone in the world had anything to match griffins. They were fast, well armored, and tended to carry archers on their backs. Great armies were left devastated and demoralised before the bulk of the Corcuran army even arrived.
The Empire of Corcura spread across two continents, and ships were being prepared to investigate the claims of  the griffin riders that there was a third.
Then came the Gorsi Rebellion - though it wasn’t much of a rebellion. Oh, armies rose, of course, and there were battles, and there was fighting, that the empire won with almost comical ease. But the real point of interest was inside the palace. A group of conspirators, led by Fiole Gorsi, quietly killed the emperor’s guards, and took the emperor Himself prisoner. An army of griffins is not much help against a palace coup.
In the following days, the emperor was executed, Fiole was named as his successor, and The Red Declaration was signed, severely limiting the power of the emperor, and giving far more freedom to the lesser lords who ruled under them.
Fiole Gorsi lived to the age of eighty, and was succeeded by his son Morie, and he by his son Puri after him.
But Puri, who rules today, is a poor emperor, more inclined to art and philosophy than to the rigorous task of running an empire. There are whispers that it would be better to replace him with a more able ruler.
Meanwhile, there is the third continent, called Ruali By the Empire of Corcura, and by a thousand different names by those who live there.
For it is a wild and savage place, with strange creatures the people of the Empire have never seen before - great serpents, half a mile long, who speak in all the tongues of man, and birds who seemed to be made of living flame. The continent is covered in a thousand scattered kingdoms, with a thousand petty kings, all vying for power. And there are wizards - people capable of things the people of Corcura would have thought impossible, of calling down lightning from the skies, or fire from the earth. Even of creating something from nothing.
Although the Gorsi dynasty has focused mainly on keeping order in its many provinces, an expedition to the continent was ordered by Morie, and so a small outpost has been created there, and the men and griffins stationed in it have begun to explore the continent, and  to trade with the nearest kingdoms for the goods they need to survive.