Sorry about that.
Anyway, since this is a milestone (if a pathetic one), some decisions:
I'll probably only be doing these on weekdays from now on, on the basis that honestly there is probably a limited amount people are willing to read. It's less because doing one of these *every* day is really hard, although yeah, that is a factor. Hopefully there'll be fewer posts which I end up hating while I'm publishing them.
I'm actually considering just doing worlds M/W/F, and doing something else Tues/Thurs, though I'd have to figure out what.
Second, this story: It's a little different from normal. I wanted it to be good, since I've been planning it for like three days (wow, such advance planning), and I really don't think it is. Pity. But it's probably a little more high quality than what I normally post here, because having it go up a day late means I actually edited it.
I'm sure there were other things, but I forget what they were, so:
When the world of Aquimocualli was young, its people warred against their gods. They were a proud people, and they wished to forge their own destinies. The gods wished to rule over them, and so they fought against them.
Eventually, humankind gained the upper hand. For though the gods were powerful, they were young, and not yet as hardened to the world as gods become, over the course of eternity. Whilst the humans were full of the rightness of their cause.
And so, the mortals stormed the mountain of the gods, burned their palaces, and bound them beneath the world. Then they got down to the proper business of all free people, which is ensuring that there aren’t any other free people around to spoil their fun.
Really, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that things were less than perfect. Things rarely are, even under the best of conditions, and the aftermath of a war is rarely the best of conditions. The world had problems, as all worlds must.
Eventually, a man named Tlahui was born, in unremarkable circumstances, to unremarkable parents. As is tradition. He suffered a great tragedy. As is also tradition. For he was struck down by a terrible plague.
Caring little who was listening, Tlahui shouted to the skies, to the earth, to whatever there might be in the world that might help her. It was, of course, not the first time such a thing had been done. But it was the first time the gods had responded.
Oneta, goddess of death, came to Tlahui in his dreams, and spoke to him.
“My child.” She said to him. “We are moved by your plight. Please, let us help you.” And when he awoke, Tlahui found that he knew the ritual he must do, which would invite the gods into his home, and allow them to work on him. And, knowing that his only alternative was death, he did as the goddess had bid him. She did as she had promised, and () was healed.
In time, too, his strength returned to him, and he was grateful to Oneta for what she had done for him. And so, he wished to tell the world of them. He founded, therefore, the Cult of Oneta, and she made him her prophet.
Now, one might expect that a world that had overthrown its gods, would still be suspicious of them, even hundreds of years later. But it had not been hundreds of years. It had been thousands. The god’s bindings had not been weak.
Gradually, over the years, the world had forgotten its gods. It was not hostility Tlahui faced - but confusion and ignorance. It had been so long, that the very concept of the gods was now alien to the world. But Tlahui owed his life to Oneta. He was determined. And he was unopposed. Slowly, but surely, the Cult grew.
Finally, Oneta had enough of a foothold in the world, that she was able to act in it more directly - to shape it to her whims. And she began to work to free her fellow gods.
Of course, she was not entirely free herself. Her body was bound still beneath the earth. She could act within the world only with the help of those who still lived upon its surface, and then only within limits which, to a god, were intolerable. And she could not act directly against her prison.
Rather, she was patient. Indirect. Slowly, slowly, sure at every step to seem to want nothing more than to help her people, she worked to bring about circumstances in which the cages which held her fellows, would weaken as hers had. And, with agonising care, she bent those prison bars.
Yet she was not quite subtle enough. For though the gods may have been forgotten, the people of Aquimocualli were still naturally suspicious of the motives of the powerful.
Oneta quickly found that, despite her caution, she had made enemies. The Order of the Broken God. The Seekers of Divinity. The Watching Eyes. A thousand different groups sprung up to vex her. And though, of course, she could have crushed them with a thought, but the gods had lost in open warfare once before. Instead, she ignored them, and continued her work more carefully than ever.
Until, at last, she succeeded. Though the gods were not now the force they once had been, they were, after a manner of speaking, free. Once again, they could work within the world. Once again, they were able to call on power that no mortal could even dream of. And, in their newfound freedom there was one thing they wanted above all else. Vengeance.
Millennia had passed, it is true. Those who had once imprisoned them were dead and gone. Their bones were dust, their names forgotten. But this did not please the gods. Instead, they raged, and felt cheated. They wanted revenge. And so, since it could not be upon their captors, they decided it must be upon all mortals.
One day, therefore, Oneta proposed a plan to them. And, after long discussion, they agreed. And so it was, that they came to an ambitious young mortal named Micti. And offered him great power - a power to create, that would rival that gods themselves. And, being an ambitious man, he agreed.
Right away, he began his creation. He made a thousand things, each more wonderful than the last. And always the gods were there, urging him on to ever greater heights. Until, at last he created something which would suit their purposes. A creature, capable of destroying worlds. A great beast, more than a dozen miles tall, and twice as long. And, with the help, of the gods, the beast multiplied, and spread across the world.
Then, at last, the gods realised their mistake. For they were dependent upon mortals, to allow them to act upon the world. Soon, it seemed, the mortals would be dead. And the gods would be trapped forever beneath the world.
And so the gods reluctantly agreed amongst themselves, to save the mortals, and put off their vengeance for at least a little while. One final time, the gods appeared to their followers, and one final time, offered them their help. They would, they said, send away the creatures, to some other world. And through that door, the gods escaped their prison, and left the world forever.
Little enough has been said of Aquimocualli, because little enough of it now remains. What civilization there once was, is devastated. There are no nations, no cities, no great monuments. Technology has regressed, and knowledge has been lost. All that remains is the cults, the last bastion of stability remaining in the world, carrying out empty rituals to praise absent gods. Nature quickly reclaims the world, and Micti’s strange creations attack without warning. Mortal magic, which sprang from the gods, is beginning to fade. It will not be long before the more fundamental forces of the world begin to follow.
Though the gods may have been forced to relent in their vengeance, the mortal blow was struck nonetheless, and even the most devout cultists are losing hope of survival. All that remains, then is to drag out the end. Inch by bloody inch.
Tuesday 28 February 2017
Monday 27 February 2017
Aelia
It's not quire tomorrow yet!
I.... yeah, I honestly forgot I needed to do this.
Anyway, tomorrow is the one week mark for the Atlas of Impossible Worlds. Which is hardly much of an achievement, but *I* feel proud. I don't know if it'll be any good, but it should at least be a little different.
Anyway:
There is a nameless city, high in the mountains, where it always rains. It has walls that seem to be made of a single piece of black rock, and streets that had never seen sunlight. No living thing in its right mind would be willing to go near the place. So it would take an incredible cynic not to be surprised that it was one of the busiest cities in the world.
As it happened, the city was located on the only pass through the Dark Mountains, which stretched from one side of the continent to the other. Those who wanted to get from one side to the other, could pass through, or they could die trying to cross any other way.
As one might guess, there was more behind the city than awful weather and an architect with a very particular sense of style. In fact, the reason in question was currently lying in a mausoleum under the city. His name was Aleos.
He was born more than a thousand years ago, the third of six sons, to one of the petty kings who had dotted the area centuries ago. He had been an ambitious youth, and a brilliant one. But he was cold, and prone to keep his own counsel.
And then, one day, another king’s soldiers had, mysteriously, been able to break into his family’s home. The entire family was killed - Aleos was the only survivor.
He had been furious - uncharacteristically furious. There was no indication of which of the neighboring kings might have been responsible, so he had waged war on every single one of them. And conquered them. That wasn’t unusual - the petty kings conquered one another all the time. But the speed and brutality of it, that had been new. In a scant few weeks, the neighboring kingdoms had been brought to heel.
But King Aleos didn’t stop. By charm or by force or by magic, he continued to grow his kingdom, until he became known as high king, and then as emperor. And still, he continued to spread out across the continent like a dark blot, until only the furthest corners were free from his rule. And then, not even those. He sent out ships, to find new lands, and bring them under his rule. And by means of dark magics, he conquered even the inevitable march of age.
But even that didn’t last forever - it ended the way it is traditional for such things to end, with an unlikely band of heroes, who came together, stormed his fortress, and, after an epic battle, slew him.
Naturally, within the year, the entire continent was engulfed in civil war the likes of which the world had never seen. Emperor Aleos had built an empire, but hadn’t been particularly concerned with whether or not it would outlive him. Warlords and kings rose and fell within days or weeks. The dead plied up in the roads and in the fields, plague and famine stalked the land.
In time, the fighting died down - if only because there simply weren’t enough people left alive to keep it up. But the broad stability of the former continent was lost forever. What rules there had been to war, no longer held - Emperor Alexos had not been beholden to any rules. And, in time, Aleos’ fortress fell into ruin. Whatever name it had once been called by, was lost. And Alexos was remembered only as a legend, as the man who had forged order out of chaos. Noone knew what had happened to those who had killed him.
Until one day two armies met amongst the ruins of that ancient fortress, and the hungry earth drank deep of blood. And, as it turned out, Aleos had not been quite dead. For as the armies fought, the sky turned dark, and the nameless city rose from the ground about them. Thunder and lightning split the air, the earth rippled like water, and the dark mountains rose from the ground like great waves, splitting the entire continent in two, then spreading outward into the sea. Not a single one of the soldiers there that day left the city alive.
But they left. Clad in the ancient uniform of Emperor Aleos’s armies, their eyes were hollow, their flesh rotting. They brought peace, and they brought law - those who broke the laws of the ancient empire, were punished according to those laws. Which was a problem, because there was no record of what those laws had been. But over time, people learned. Enough to get by, anyway. They survived, they kept their heads down, and if they had any complaints about their new situation, they learned to speak about them only in whispers, and only behind locked doors.
I.... yeah, I honestly forgot I needed to do this.
Anyway, tomorrow is the one week mark for the Atlas of Impossible Worlds. Which is hardly much of an achievement, but *I* feel proud. I don't know if it'll be any good, but it should at least be a little different.
Anyway:
There is a nameless city, high in the mountains, where it always rains. It has walls that seem to be made of a single piece of black rock, and streets that had never seen sunlight. No living thing in its right mind would be willing to go near the place. So it would take an incredible cynic not to be surprised that it was one of the busiest cities in the world.
As it happened, the city was located on the only pass through the Dark Mountains, which stretched from one side of the continent to the other. Those who wanted to get from one side to the other, could pass through, or they could die trying to cross any other way.
As one might guess, there was more behind the city than awful weather and an architect with a very particular sense of style. In fact, the reason in question was currently lying in a mausoleum under the city. His name was Aleos.
He was born more than a thousand years ago, the third of six sons, to one of the petty kings who had dotted the area centuries ago. He had been an ambitious youth, and a brilliant one. But he was cold, and prone to keep his own counsel.
And then, one day, another king’s soldiers had, mysteriously, been able to break into his family’s home. The entire family was killed - Aleos was the only survivor.
He had been furious - uncharacteristically furious. There was no indication of which of the neighboring kings might have been responsible, so he had waged war on every single one of them. And conquered them. That wasn’t unusual - the petty kings conquered one another all the time. But the speed and brutality of it, that had been new. In a scant few weeks, the neighboring kingdoms had been brought to heel.
But King Aleos didn’t stop. By charm or by force or by magic, he continued to grow his kingdom, until he became known as high king, and then as emperor. And still, he continued to spread out across the continent like a dark blot, until only the furthest corners were free from his rule. And then, not even those. He sent out ships, to find new lands, and bring them under his rule. And by means of dark magics, he conquered even the inevitable march of age.
But even that didn’t last forever - it ended the way it is traditional for such things to end, with an unlikely band of heroes, who came together, stormed his fortress, and, after an epic battle, slew him.
Naturally, within the year, the entire continent was engulfed in civil war the likes of which the world had never seen. Emperor Aleos had built an empire, but hadn’t been particularly concerned with whether or not it would outlive him. Warlords and kings rose and fell within days or weeks. The dead plied up in the roads and in the fields, plague and famine stalked the land.
In time, the fighting died down - if only because there simply weren’t enough people left alive to keep it up. But the broad stability of the former continent was lost forever. What rules there had been to war, no longer held - Emperor Alexos had not been beholden to any rules. And, in time, Aleos’ fortress fell into ruin. Whatever name it had once been called by, was lost. And Alexos was remembered only as a legend, as the man who had forged order out of chaos. Noone knew what had happened to those who had killed him.
Until one day two armies met amongst the ruins of that ancient fortress, and the hungry earth drank deep of blood. And, as it turned out, Aleos had not been quite dead. For as the armies fought, the sky turned dark, and the nameless city rose from the ground about them. Thunder and lightning split the air, the earth rippled like water, and the dark mountains rose from the ground like great waves, splitting the entire continent in two, then spreading outward into the sea. Not a single one of the soldiers there that day left the city alive.
But they left. Clad in the ancient uniform of Emperor Aleos’s armies, their eyes were hollow, their flesh rotting. They brought peace, and they brought law - those who broke the laws of the ancient empire, were punished according to those laws. Which was a problem, because there was no record of what those laws had been. But over time, people learned. Enough to get by, anyway. They survived, they kept their heads down, and if they had any complaints about their new situation, they learned to speak about them only in whispers, and only behind locked doors.
Sunday 26 February 2017
Quabra
This one was frustrating, for two reasons. First, because I wrote most of it under... less than ideal conditions. And more interestingly, because of the difference between stories and worldbuilding. If I was writing a story set in Quabra, I probably wouldn't set it 'now'. Actually, I'd probably set it around when Vasi Purogami first set foot on Do, when Akamsa was still on a knife's edge and when fighting phantoms was still mostly a matter of luck.
I went back and forth on whether or not to edit it. I ended up not doing so, on the basis that, honestly, I'd already written it and I haven't had much time today. But also, I tend to think there's an advantage to having a preference for setting these tbings as late in the timeline as remains interesting.
The surface of Quabra is devoid entirely of vegetation. There is only one kind of animal that lives its life on the ground, which itself is cracked and broken. And the reason for that, is the animal that does live there. The ativir, the great beast of Quabra. Even the smallest stands more than a dozen miles tall, and twice as long. One would think so huge a creature must soon die, but the ativiru never ate, or drank or even breathed - if it had not been obvious from their sheer size that the creatures were somehow magical, the briefest observation would have demonstrated that they must be. Not that it was easy to observe one - the only way to get a good look at one would probably have been from another planet.
Noone knows exactly where they came from - save that they came through great glowing portals, which opened suddenly, and closed as fast when the ativiru were through. And even that knowledge has been gained only through extensive divination. Anyone who might have been close enough to have had firsthand knowledge, had not survived their arrival.
For it was not that the beasts attacked people. Nor, indeed, had they even stepped on any - they hadn’t got close enough. For the impact of their feet on the ground was by itself enough to kill anything for miles around.
The ativiru were slow, for their size, but they still walked far faster than a human could run or drive. There was nowhere to run, they strode through even the deepest oceans as though they were nothing. It was possible to avoid them, but you had to be fast, smart, and above all you had to be incredibly lucky.
Then, there were the phantoms. There had always been a few, floating around but now they were everywhere. And they had started attacking people, which was the last thing anyone needed.
Over time, food got harder and harder to come by, and more and more people got unlucky. Until humanity was just a few isolated pockets, each one not sure if it was the last one.
In one of these pockets, there happened to be a man and a woman. The man was named Nayak. And he is credited with having suggested the obvious - living on top of the ativiru. It wasn’t the idea, though, for which he is mostly remembered, but as a leader. He organised the survivors, to make or scavenge or conjure what they would need. Soil, seeds, water, what food was left… all the things they’d absolutely need to survive. And then, they built great envelopes, to haul the whole thing up. The project took years. But eventually, it was complete - a great vessel which would carry, as far as they could tell, the whole of what now remained of humanity.
And this is where the woman came in. Her name was Daya, and she is remembered as the greatest mage in history for her part.
First, she called up a swift wind, to take the vessel towards the closest of the As the great vessel rose, it became cold, and hard to breathe. The vessel rose slower, and slower. But Daya called upon his magic, and wrapped them in warm air.
And so they rose, and rose, higher and higher, far higher than anyone had ever flown. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the bottom of the creature’s torso, then an eternity more to reach the top.
As it turned out, the creature had a broad, flat shell, covered in great spines. They would soon learn that the shell made an excellent building material.
The first thing, though, was to make sure they would survive the night. And this is the feat for which Daya is remembered. For she cast a new spell, and bound it into one of the shell’s spines (it’s said that it turned to diamond that very instant, though that was probably actually done deliberately some time later). It was, in essence, the same spell she had cast before, to make for them a pocket of warm air. Except this spell didn’t cover only a single vessel, but the entire shell of the ativir. And that is how Akamsa was founded.
There were few enough people around then that now, generations later, their numbers have only started to recover.
Over time, as the population grew and Akamsa became established, new sky-ships were built, and sent out to colonise new ativiru. Each one carried numerous magi, to replicate Daya’s spell.
It might seem odd, to have expanded when so much space was left for Akamsa to grow. But there were reasons - from political dissent, to the simple grudges that can develop over the centuries. But in truth, the real reason was that everyone was very aware how close they had come to extinction. All staying in one place simply didn’t feel safe.
Today, four of the ativiru have settlements on them.
Ek
The first of the ativiru to be colonised was named ‘Ek’ by the settlers. The city of Akamsa is the heart of what remains of civilization, though even it is still, by the standards of the old world, barely more than a small town, surrounded by fields. Trade happens between the other three settlements, mostly goes through Akamsa.
Do
The second was named ‘Do’. The original colonists were in large part political dissidents and risk takers, and the fingerprints of that history can be found in their culture to this day. Traditionally, those who go to the surface come mostly from ‘Do’, and something of a feud exists between the people of ‘Do’ and those of ‘Ek’.
Tin
‘Tin’ is known mostly for being insular. Its foreign policy consists primarily of trying to keep a balance between ‘Ek’ and ‘Do’. They are also known for learning - they have the largest library remaining in the world, and the only university. It is Tin where people go who wish to become magi.
Car
‘Car’ is a fairly new colony, containing only a few hundred people. It hasn’t developed much of a reputation yet, and still relies upon the other colonies for support, and each is eager to leave its own mark on ‘Car’.
Despite their differences, the colonies have more in common, than they do that sets them apart. Each one is a dictatorship, each is primarily agrarian, and deals with criminals by casting them over the edge.
Beyond the obvious difficulties of political conflict and a barely sustainable population, there is one more problem that must be faced by the colonies, and that is that they are not entirely self-sustaining. Sky-ships must, from time to time make the long, perilous journey from the ()’s back, down to the world below, and fend off the diverse phantoms that inhabit it, to gather the raw goods they need. In the case of more basic things like stone and water, this not difficult - they can be gathered and loaded quickly. But as more and more infrastructure is rebuilt, there is more and more demand for rarer and rarer materials, and so the expeditions have to spend more and more time on the surface. In places, mines have even been set up, the crews digging as deeply as they can, before the approach of an ativir forces them to escape back into the sky.
I went back and forth on whether or not to edit it. I ended up not doing so, on the basis that, honestly, I'd already written it and I haven't had much time today. But also, I tend to think there's an advantage to having a preference for setting these tbings as late in the timeline as remains interesting.
The surface of Quabra is devoid entirely of vegetation. There is only one kind of animal that lives its life on the ground, which itself is cracked and broken. And the reason for that, is the animal that does live there. The ativir, the great beast of Quabra. Even the smallest stands more than a dozen miles tall, and twice as long. One would think so huge a creature must soon die, but the ativiru never ate, or drank or even breathed - if it had not been obvious from their sheer size that the creatures were somehow magical, the briefest observation would have demonstrated that they must be. Not that it was easy to observe one - the only way to get a good look at one would probably have been from another planet.
Noone knows exactly where they came from - save that they came through great glowing portals, which opened suddenly, and closed as fast when the ativiru were through. And even that knowledge has been gained only through extensive divination. Anyone who might have been close enough to have had firsthand knowledge, had not survived their arrival.
For it was not that the beasts attacked people. Nor, indeed, had they even stepped on any - they hadn’t got close enough. For the impact of their feet on the ground was by itself enough to kill anything for miles around.
The ativiru were slow, for their size, but they still walked far faster than a human could run or drive. There was nowhere to run, they strode through even the deepest oceans as though they were nothing. It was possible to avoid them, but you had to be fast, smart, and above all you had to be incredibly lucky.
Then, there were the phantoms. There had always been a few, floating around but now they were everywhere. And they had started attacking people, which was the last thing anyone needed.
Over time, food got harder and harder to come by, and more and more people got unlucky. Until humanity was just a few isolated pockets, each one not sure if it was the last one.
In one of these pockets, there happened to be a man and a woman. The man was named Nayak. And he is credited with having suggested the obvious - living on top of the ativiru. It wasn’t the idea, though, for which he is mostly remembered, but as a leader. He organised the survivors, to make or scavenge or conjure what they would need. Soil, seeds, water, what food was left… all the things they’d absolutely need to survive. And then, they built great envelopes, to haul the whole thing up. The project took years. But eventually, it was complete - a great vessel which would carry, as far as they could tell, the whole of what now remained of humanity.
And this is where the woman came in. Her name was Daya, and she is remembered as the greatest mage in history for her part.
First, she called up a swift wind, to take the vessel towards the closest of the As the great vessel rose, it became cold, and hard to breathe. The vessel rose slower, and slower. But Daya called upon his magic, and wrapped them in warm air.
And so they rose, and rose, higher and higher, far higher than anyone had ever flown. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the bottom of the creature’s torso, then an eternity more to reach the top.
As it turned out, the creature had a broad, flat shell, covered in great spines. They would soon learn that the shell made an excellent building material.
The first thing, though, was to make sure they would survive the night. And this is the feat for which Daya is remembered. For she cast a new spell, and bound it into one of the shell’s spines (it’s said that it turned to diamond that very instant, though that was probably actually done deliberately some time later). It was, in essence, the same spell she had cast before, to make for them a pocket of warm air. Except this spell didn’t cover only a single vessel, but the entire shell of the ativir. And that is how Akamsa was founded.
There were few enough people around then that now, generations later, their numbers have only started to recover.
Over time, as the population grew and Akamsa became established, new sky-ships were built, and sent out to colonise new ativiru. Each one carried numerous magi, to replicate Daya’s spell.
It might seem odd, to have expanded when so much space was left for Akamsa to grow. But there were reasons - from political dissent, to the simple grudges that can develop over the centuries. But in truth, the real reason was that everyone was very aware how close they had come to extinction. All staying in one place simply didn’t feel safe.
Today, four of the ativiru have settlements on them.
Ek
The first of the ativiru to be colonised was named ‘Ek’ by the settlers. The city of Akamsa is the heart of what remains of civilization, though even it is still, by the standards of the old world, barely more than a small town, surrounded by fields. Trade happens between the other three settlements, mostly goes through Akamsa.
Do
The second was named ‘Do’. The original colonists were in large part political dissidents and risk takers, and the fingerprints of that history can be found in their culture to this day. Traditionally, those who go to the surface come mostly from ‘Do’, and something of a feud exists between the people of ‘Do’ and those of ‘Ek’.
Tin
‘Tin’ is known mostly for being insular. Its foreign policy consists primarily of trying to keep a balance between ‘Ek’ and ‘Do’. They are also known for learning - they have the largest library remaining in the world, and the only university. It is Tin where people go who wish to become magi.
Car
‘Car’ is a fairly new colony, containing only a few hundred people. It hasn’t developed much of a reputation yet, and still relies upon the other colonies for support, and each is eager to leave its own mark on ‘Car’.
Despite their differences, the colonies have more in common, than they do that sets them apart. Each one is a dictatorship, each is primarily agrarian, and deals with criminals by casting them over the edge.
Beyond the obvious difficulties of political conflict and a barely sustainable population, there is one more problem that must be faced by the colonies, and that is that they are not entirely self-sustaining. Sky-ships must, from time to time make the long, perilous journey from the ()’s back, down to the world below, and fend off the diverse phantoms that inhabit it, to gather the raw goods they need. In the case of more basic things like stone and water, this not difficult - they can be gathered and loaded quickly. But as more and more infrastructure is rebuilt, there is more and more demand for rarer and rarer materials, and so the expeditions have to spend more and more time on the surface. In places, mines have even been set up, the crews digging as deeply as they can, before the approach of an ativir forces them to escape back into the sky.
Saturday 25 February 2017
Vuovdir
First: This blog has over a hundred views. I know that's not that much, but considering how recently I started it, I'm really proud.
Second: This world almost got pushed back as being too simlar to the last one. You can judge that for yourself.
Third: I am aware that oak trees aren't actually immortal.
So, here we go:
In the world of Vuovdir, there lies the continent of Meahccis. And the whole of Meahccis is a great forest, the people living only in small villages, in the few natural clearings in the forest. And this is a tale they tell there:
‘Once, there was a great old oak tree, and they called it the wishing tree. Because it was said that if you laid your hands on it, and whispered to it a wish, that wish would come true. And because, honestly, they were not a particularly creative people.
Nor, indeed, a lucky one. Because their wishing tree did not, in point of fact, actually work. It was a perfectly normal oak tree, which should have had no impact on world history whatsoever. Except that there was a boy in the village, named Jørgen. And Jørgen had a bit of magic in him. Not much - but enough. And so he put his hands on the tree, and whispered to it ‘I wish to talk to you’. And, with his magic, he did.
The tree was an old, slow thing, but kind. And it was in pain. For it wanted to help these people, who whispered their problems to it, but it could not - it was just a tree. And so with his magic, Jørgen made himself closer to the tree, and showed the tree how to move as people do. And so the tree rose from the ground, and was the first of the Muorrae. And in return, the oak showed him the secrets that the forest knows - how to live without food, but only sunlight, and how to age as trees do, growing ever-stronger with the passage of the years.
And the people of the village were amazed - but they were afraid, too. For magic was strange to them, and they were fearful of new things. So they drove out the Muorrae, and Jørgen with it. And together, they fled deep into the forest, and lived there, far from humanity.
But as they lived there, and as Jorgan became closer to the trees of the forest, and learned from them, there were people who heard of him, whose eyes were unnaturally green, and whose step was unnaturally sure. And the people went out into the great forest, and called to him, and told him they wished to learn from them.
And those of them who had the talent, Jørgen, came to, and taught them how to link themselves with the trees, as he had done.
And that, they say, is how the elves came to be.’
However true that may be, the elves certainly exist. They did not age, they were strong as oaks, and they claimed all the trees of the forest as their own. And to hurt a living tree, is to invite the vengeance of the elves. For Jørgen has no love for humans,, who drove him out. And this he passes to his students, and they to theirs, until, in the younger elves, the reason has been lost, and there remains nothing but a deep distrust.
And the elves who speak out against Jørgen, they are exiled, cut off forever from the trees. They became the hulderfolk, with backs like rotten logs, to mark their shame, and desperate once again to feel a link like that they felt when they were linked to the forest. Many look to humans for such a connection, but they are inevitably disappointed - either by rejection, or by a connection that is so much less than what they had before.
But other things live in the forest than elves. Great serpents who would devour you whole, hideous swarms of strange insects which could strip you to the bone in seconds, and things stranger and more dangerous still. And the development of the humans is strangled by the forest - and so, they live in fear of attack.
And so it is, that from time to time, there is some brave human, with strong magic, fighting skill, and great bravery. And, armed with one of their precious swords, he leaves his village, and goes out into the forest, to hunt down those things which are a threat to his village.
And, as time goes by, if he survives, he will become stronger, more skilled in magic and with a blade. And so they range further and further from human villages, seeking out ever more dangerous threats. And it is from these adventurers, that the creatures of the forest are known, and from their words that maps are made.
But recently, this status quo has been disturbed. For strange men have come, from across the seas, and have landed on the shores of Meahccis. They come from the continent of Niwegan, and there, there are no elves to protect the trees. So they have started cutting down the trees, to make an outpost for themselves. And so, they have come into conflict with the elves.
The elves are strong, and fast, and magical. The elves know the forest like it was a part of them. And the elves have their Muorrae allies to fight with them. But the strangers, though they have no magic, have strange weapons which spit hot lead, and tubes which billow fire. And more and more of them are arriving, in their strange vessels, whilst the elves and their Muorrae are few in number.
The continent of Niwegan is a far different place than Meahccis. As has been noted, there are no elves there. Indeed, there is no magic there. And so, humanity has developed without hindrance, clearing the great trees that once covered their continent, too, and building great cities in their place.
The nation which the explorers come from, Vendra, is not a power of the world - it is simply a moderately sized nation, which has sent out explorers, hoping to find new lands into which it can expand, and so enrich itself. It has numerous stronger neighbors, but they themselves are threatened by the Arthurian Empire which covers more than a quarter of the continent. The emperor (who is curiously named Alexander) has declared his claim to the entire continent, proclaiming that although the countries outside of his direct control are free to continue to govern themselves, he will step in and assume more direct control, if they declare an unjust war, or break any other of the Sacred Laws.
The only other nation worth mentioning is Suolu. Suolu is a nation spread out over several small islands, and the people there are excellent sailors - maybe they do have a touch of the magic that is otherwise unknown in Niwegan.
They are notable, because they have been at war with the Arthurian Empire for decades. Though they are a small nation, their fleet has humiliated the emperor’s time and time again, and though they would be no match for the armies of the empire in a battle on land, no such army has ever been able to set foot on the islands, and the fleets of Suolu have continued to harass and raid the ports and ships of the empire.
Second: This world almost got pushed back as being too simlar to the last one. You can judge that for yourself.
Third: I am aware that oak trees aren't actually immortal.
So, here we go:
In the world of Vuovdir, there lies the continent of Meahccis. And the whole of Meahccis is a great forest, the people living only in small villages, in the few natural clearings in the forest. And this is a tale they tell there:
‘Once, there was a great old oak tree, and they called it the wishing tree. Because it was said that if you laid your hands on it, and whispered to it a wish, that wish would come true. And because, honestly, they were not a particularly creative people.
Nor, indeed, a lucky one. Because their wishing tree did not, in point of fact, actually work. It was a perfectly normal oak tree, which should have had no impact on world history whatsoever. Except that there was a boy in the village, named Jørgen. And Jørgen had a bit of magic in him. Not much - but enough. And so he put his hands on the tree, and whispered to it ‘I wish to talk to you’. And, with his magic, he did.
The tree was an old, slow thing, but kind. And it was in pain. For it wanted to help these people, who whispered their problems to it, but it could not - it was just a tree. And so with his magic, Jørgen made himself closer to the tree, and showed the tree how to move as people do. And so the tree rose from the ground, and was the first of the Muorrae. And in return, the oak showed him the secrets that the forest knows - how to live without food, but only sunlight, and how to age as trees do, growing ever-stronger with the passage of the years.
And the people of the village were amazed - but they were afraid, too. For magic was strange to them, and they were fearful of new things. So they drove out the Muorrae, and Jørgen with it. And together, they fled deep into the forest, and lived there, far from humanity.
But as they lived there, and as Jorgan became closer to the trees of the forest, and learned from them, there were people who heard of him, whose eyes were unnaturally green, and whose step was unnaturally sure. And the people went out into the great forest, and called to him, and told him they wished to learn from them.
And those of them who had the talent, Jørgen, came to, and taught them how to link themselves with the trees, as he had done.
And that, they say, is how the elves came to be.’
However true that may be, the elves certainly exist. They did not age, they were strong as oaks, and they claimed all the trees of the forest as their own. And to hurt a living tree, is to invite the vengeance of the elves. For Jørgen has no love for humans,, who drove him out. And this he passes to his students, and they to theirs, until, in the younger elves, the reason has been lost, and there remains nothing but a deep distrust.
And the elves who speak out against Jørgen, they are exiled, cut off forever from the trees. They became the hulderfolk, with backs like rotten logs, to mark their shame, and desperate once again to feel a link like that they felt when they were linked to the forest. Many look to humans for such a connection, but they are inevitably disappointed - either by rejection, or by a connection that is so much less than what they had before.
But other things live in the forest than elves. Great serpents who would devour you whole, hideous swarms of strange insects which could strip you to the bone in seconds, and things stranger and more dangerous still. And the development of the humans is strangled by the forest - and so, they live in fear of attack.
And so it is, that from time to time, there is some brave human, with strong magic, fighting skill, and great bravery. And, armed with one of their precious swords, he leaves his village, and goes out into the forest, to hunt down those things which are a threat to his village.
And, as time goes by, if he survives, he will become stronger, more skilled in magic and with a blade. And so they range further and further from human villages, seeking out ever more dangerous threats. And it is from these adventurers, that the creatures of the forest are known, and from their words that maps are made.
But recently, this status quo has been disturbed. For strange men have come, from across the seas, and have landed on the shores of Meahccis. They come from the continent of Niwegan, and there, there are no elves to protect the trees. So they have started cutting down the trees, to make an outpost for themselves. And so, they have come into conflict with the elves.
The elves are strong, and fast, and magical. The elves know the forest like it was a part of them. And the elves have their Muorrae allies to fight with them. But the strangers, though they have no magic, have strange weapons which spit hot lead, and tubes which billow fire. And more and more of them are arriving, in their strange vessels, whilst the elves and their Muorrae are few in number.
The continent of Niwegan is a far different place than Meahccis. As has been noted, there are no elves there. Indeed, there is no magic there. And so, humanity has developed without hindrance, clearing the great trees that once covered their continent, too, and building great cities in their place.
The nation which the explorers come from, Vendra, is not a power of the world - it is simply a moderately sized nation, which has sent out explorers, hoping to find new lands into which it can expand, and so enrich itself. It has numerous stronger neighbors, but they themselves are threatened by the Arthurian Empire which covers more than a quarter of the continent. The emperor (who is curiously named Alexander) has declared his claim to the entire continent, proclaiming that although the countries outside of his direct control are free to continue to govern themselves, he will step in and assume more direct control, if they declare an unjust war, or break any other of the Sacred Laws.
The only other nation worth mentioning is Suolu. Suolu is a nation spread out over several small islands, and the people there are excellent sailors - maybe they do have a touch of the magic that is otherwise unknown in Niwegan.
They are notable, because they have been at war with the Arthurian Empire for decades. Though they are a small nation, their fleet has humiliated the emperor’s time and time again, and though they would be no match for the armies of the empire in a battle on land, no such army has ever been able to set foot on the islands, and the fleets of Suolu have continued to harass and raid the ports and ships of the empire.
Friday 24 February 2017
Aylmez
Sorry this is so late. That should get better, actually, because one of the great things about this is that it naturally creates its own buffer. I think of ideas that are close enough to something I've written that I want to space them out, but not close enough to rule them out entirely, and bam, future entry.
Someone asked me why I was doing this. It's mostly because I enjoy it, and because it might make my writing better. But if, as was suggested, anyone else wants to use these worlds for something, I'm flattered. If they're interesting enough to use, I've done my job right. So if you do use one, do tell me about it.
Anyway, the third world, is... a little different from the last two:
In the world of Aylmez, humans were far from the dominant species. Dragons, unicorns, and the hordes of the undead - all had magic on their side. Humans were forced to rely on technology, and it wasn’t much of a contest.
That is, until the discovery of a drug called Flerovinam. Mana. Mana was addictive, unpleasant to take and deadly. Whether or not they managed to stop taking it, the average person lasted about a year after their first dose.
But it let you do magic. Not just any magic, either - powerful magic. They called them wizards - thin, desperate-looking things, with matted hair and wild eyes. But the weakest of them could shift the pillars of the world, do things the world had never seen before. It seemed like nothing was impossible any more, if you could find the right wizard.
And so, mana spread. The death toll was catastrophic, but mana was unstoppable. There was always someone desperate, or reckless, or ambitious. Someone who wanted that power so badly, they’d die for it.
The creatures of magic, formerly unchallenged in their dominance, fled to the far corners of the world - to deep forests and barren moors, and under the deepest oceans. And the nations of the world struggled to respond. Mana was banned, of course, but it was a ban in name only. You couldn’t punish a wizard.
So, they employed them. They had to - what if there was a war? Or if some addict decided they could run a country better than its elected officials? The only defense against a wizard, was another wizard. So it was that, almost universally, the punishment for breaking the law was high office, a generous salary, and a pension for your family when you were gone. People took that offer in droves, and the death toll only rose.
Still, for the world at large, it was a golden age that lasted for centuries - free food, free energy, anything could be created with ease. The economy roared, magic and technology were fused as one, and humanity expanded to cover the world.
Except that, oddly enough, there was still rampant poverty. The idea of any kind of safety net was flatly denied. The food and energy might have been created for free, but it wasn’t so free to use. So people still got desperate. People still got sick and hungry. And people still turned to mana as a way out. The government still had its wizards.
Because there was one thing all the wizards in the world couldn’t seem to do. They couldn’t find a cure for the side effects of mana. Wizards still died, and they died fast.
Until Almasa. Almasa didn’t die. Instead, she took over her home country of Olketsa.
At first, noone was worried. It had happened before. Entire countries, who hadn’t been sufficiently vigilant, were ruled by wizards now. They passed down the torch from one to the next, year after year. Noone liked sitting across a table from a weapon of mass destruction, but they were drug-addled, and didn’t last long enough to figure out what they wanted to do. Or even what was going on. They were rarely a threat to a country with its own wizards to protect it.
Then she didn’t die, and that was a problem, because she was the only one who knew how to do it - wizards flocked to her, hoping to learn. She only seemed to be getting more powerful, more clear-headed, and that was another problem. And she seemed to want to conquer the world, which was a third problem.
So, the countries of the world came together. They gathered the wizards who were still loyal, and marched on Olketsa.
At which point, it transpired that Olketsa no longer appeared to exist. It had, in fact, been replaced by a large, but otherwise rather nondescript, lake.
Wherever she’d gone, though, she knew the way back. First, a great and terrible voice was heard across the world, declaring that the governments of the world had failed the poor, and that she would from now on be taking control. Because, she said in a more normal voice, there was no way she could do a worse job. The worlds’ leaders disagreed, vehemently. But her first attack happened scant minutes later.
An army of hideous creatures, such as noone had ever seen before, appeared and ripped through the palace of Cruice, seemingly unstoppable. Even the resident wizards fell before them. And, when all resistance was thoroughly crushed, Almasa herself appeared before the First Lord of the Treasury, Alexander Fields.
Over the next few weeks, country after country fell to her creatures. Some gave up without a fight, and some started to worship her as a goddess (she told them to stop). And wizards defected in droves to join her, hoping to live at least a little longer.
But a new kind of wizard emerged - the patriots. The wizard who took mana not out of desperation, but to fight for his country. And eventually, the allied nations of the world managed to put together an effective defense.
And so, we come to the current state of the world. The nations ruled by Almasa are prosperous and poverty-free. Almasa did exactly what she promised, and turned out to be a talented (if sometimes unstable) leader. But many of her citizens, unused to living in a dictatorship, are making their displeasure known via armed resistance. At least when they’re pretty sure that she and her creatures aren’t around. The nations free from her are forced to remain as united as possible, to fend off the waves of creatures that regularly appear in their capital. But though nations from even the other side of the world have joined them, there are still rogue states which refuse to. And even within those who have joined up, there are tensions. The members of this alliance are still independent countries with conflicting interests and ambitions. After each attack, the weakened nation that suffered it finds its ‘allies’ eying it in a way which feels distinctly unfriendly. On the edges of civilization, seeing their chance, the creatures of magic are coming out of hiding, and reclaiming their natural habitat. And Almasa, on her own private plane, is pretty sure that she is entirely safe from harm. The ‘Almasa’ she sends out is a copy, no different from her creatures, save that she is in direct control of it. As for the wizards that come to her, they die. She has no idea how to save them, she has no idea why she is still alive. But she makes copies of them, too, and lets people see them. Defections weaken the enemy, and that’s good, right? In the end, she’ll be saving lives.
Someone asked me why I was doing this. It's mostly because I enjoy it, and because it might make my writing better. But if, as was suggested, anyone else wants to use these worlds for something, I'm flattered. If they're interesting enough to use, I've done my job right. So if you do use one, do tell me about it.
Anyway, the third world, is... a little different from the last two:
In the world of Aylmez, humans were far from the dominant species. Dragons, unicorns, and the hordes of the undead - all had magic on their side. Humans were forced to rely on technology, and it wasn’t much of a contest.
That is, until the discovery of a drug called Flerovinam. Mana. Mana was addictive, unpleasant to take and deadly. Whether or not they managed to stop taking it, the average person lasted about a year after their first dose.
But it let you do magic. Not just any magic, either - powerful magic. They called them wizards - thin, desperate-looking things, with matted hair and wild eyes. But the weakest of them could shift the pillars of the world, do things the world had never seen before. It seemed like nothing was impossible any more, if you could find the right wizard.
And so, mana spread. The death toll was catastrophic, but mana was unstoppable. There was always someone desperate, or reckless, or ambitious. Someone who wanted that power so badly, they’d die for it.
The creatures of magic, formerly unchallenged in their dominance, fled to the far corners of the world - to deep forests and barren moors, and under the deepest oceans. And the nations of the world struggled to respond. Mana was banned, of course, but it was a ban in name only. You couldn’t punish a wizard.
So, they employed them. They had to - what if there was a war? Or if some addict decided they could run a country better than its elected officials? The only defense against a wizard, was another wizard. So it was that, almost universally, the punishment for breaking the law was high office, a generous salary, and a pension for your family when you were gone. People took that offer in droves, and the death toll only rose.
Still, for the world at large, it was a golden age that lasted for centuries - free food, free energy, anything could be created with ease. The economy roared, magic and technology were fused as one, and humanity expanded to cover the world.
Except that, oddly enough, there was still rampant poverty. The idea of any kind of safety net was flatly denied. The food and energy might have been created for free, but it wasn’t so free to use. So people still got desperate. People still got sick and hungry. And people still turned to mana as a way out. The government still had its wizards.
Because there was one thing all the wizards in the world couldn’t seem to do. They couldn’t find a cure for the side effects of mana. Wizards still died, and they died fast.
Until Almasa. Almasa didn’t die. Instead, she took over her home country of Olketsa.
At first, noone was worried. It had happened before. Entire countries, who hadn’t been sufficiently vigilant, were ruled by wizards now. They passed down the torch from one to the next, year after year. Noone liked sitting across a table from a weapon of mass destruction, but they were drug-addled, and didn’t last long enough to figure out what they wanted to do. Or even what was going on. They were rarely a threat to a country with its own wizards to protect it.
Then she didn’t die, and that was a problem, because she was the only one who knew how to do it - wizards flocked to her, hoping to learn. She only seemed to be getting more powerful, more clear-headed, and that was another problem. And she seemed to want to conquer the world, which was a third problem.
So, the countries of the world came together. They gathered the wizards who were still loyal, and marched on Olketsa.
At which point, it transpired that Olketsa no longer appeared to exist. It had, in fact, been replaced by a large, but otherwise rather nondescript, lake.
Wherever she’d gone, though, she knew the way back. First, a great and terrible voice was heard across the world, declaring that the governments of the world had failed the poor, and that she would from now on be taking control. Because, she said in a more normal voice, there was no way she could do a worse job. The worlds’ leaders disagreed, vehemently. But her first attack happened scant minutes later.
An army of hideous creatures, such as noone had ever seen before, appeared and ripped through the palace of Cruice, seemingly unstoppable. Even the resident wizards fell before them. And, when all resistance was thoroughly crushed, Almasa herself appeared before the First Lord of the Treasury, Alexander Fields.
Over the next few weeks, country after country fell to her creatures. Some gave up without a fight, and some started to worship her as a goddess (she told them to stop). And wizards defected in droves to join her, hoping to live at least a little longer.
But a new kind of wizard emerged - the patriots. The wizard who took mana not out of desperation, but to fight for his country. And eventually, the allied nations of the world managed to put together an effective defense.
And so, we come to the current state of the world. The nations ruled by Almasa are prosperous and poverty-free. Almasa did exactly what she promised, and turned out to be a talented (if sometimes unstable) leader. But many of her citizens, unused to living in a dictatorship, are making their displeasure known via armed resistance. At least when they’re pretty sure that she and her creatures aren’t around. The nations free from her are forced to remain as united as possible, to fend off the waves of creatures that regularly appear in their capital. But though nations from even the other side of the world have joined them, there are still rogue states which refuse to. And even within those who have joined up, there are tensions. The members of this alliance are still independent countries with conflicting interests and ambitions. After each attack, the weakened nation that suffered it finds its ‘allies’ eying it in a way which feels distinctly unfriendly. On the edges of civilization, seeing their chance, the creatures of magic are coming out of hiding, and reclaiming their natural habitat. And Almasa, on her own private plane, is pretty sure that she is entirely safe from harm. The ‘Almasa’ she sends out is a copy, no different from her creatures, save that she is in direct control of it. As for the wizards that come to her, they die. She has no idea how to save them, she has no idea why she is still alive. But she makes copies of them, too, and lets people see them. Defections weaken the enemy, and that’s good, right? In the end, she’ll be saving lives.
Thursday 23 February 2017
The floodplane
...I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the pun.
I am rubbish at the Cyrillic alphabet, but points to whoever spots the joke despite that.
World two:
The floods come frequently, and without warning. Water rises swiftly to cover the land, leaving above water only the peaks of the great mountains that dot the landscape. It is not really known how humans evolved in such an environment, but the leading theory is that the floods started only recently (geologically speaking) - a punishment from an angry God.
Regardless, the floods have been happening since the beginning of recorded history, and society has been shaped by them. In the east, lie the squabbling kingdoms of Deed Tseg. The kings there build great stone castles upon the mountaintops, and rule with an iron fist. Open rebellion is unthinkable - a seige takes time, and to be barred from the castle when the floods come is a death sentence.
To the north, there (sometimes) live the Khôwôlt traders, in truth the great power of the known world. It is tradition that all Khôwôlti children be born on a boat, and many of them will spend most of their lives in one, travelling from place to place, buying and selling. It is a profitable business, since travel is nearly impossible for the average person. Khôwôlt boats are specially designed to act as land vehicles when the floods are not come, propelled slowly by dwarven engines. But the great achievement of the Khôwôlt is their great floating cities, which rise with the floodwaters - the sceret of which, they jealously guard from outsiders.
To the South and West, there lie a mix of different nations, which cannot be summed up with a brief description, and might therefore prove useful if a story required a specific kind of country *cough*. What these nations have in common, though, is the cult of Ursgal, dedicated to the worship of the beings responsible for the floods. Indeed, many of them tend to be functionally theocracies, under the cult, and a few practise ritual drowning as a form of sacrifice. Having been beaten back several times by great armies of Ursgal cultists, few of the kingdoms of Deed Tseg have any dealings with Ursgal nations, but Khôwôlti traders often travel them extensively - and some even speak of strange lands beyond.
And finally, wherever there is space for them, there are the dwarves. Starting at the mountaintop, the dwarves dig their fortresses deep into the mountain's rock. They dig so carefully, and reenforce their homes so well, that not a single drop of water can get in when the floods come. Since they take up so little space, their territory often overlaps with that of human nations - indeed, to have a dwarven fortress below one's mountain is often considered a great honour. Dwarves have their own cultures and clans, alliances and emnities, but humans know very little of such things.
I am rubbish at the Cyrillic alphabet, but points to whoever spots the joke despite that.
World two:
The floods come frequently, and without warning. Water rises swiftly to cover the land, leaving above water only the peaks of the great mountains that dot the landscape. It is not really known how humans evolved in such an environment, but the leading theory is that the floods started only recently (geologically speaking) - a punishment from an angry God.
Regardless, the floods have been happening since the beginning of recorded history, and society has been shaped by them. In the east, lie the squabbling kingdoms of Deed Tseg. The kings there build great stone castles upon the mountaintops, and rule with an iron fist. Open rebellion is unthinkable - a seige takes time, and to be barred from the castle when the floods come is a death sentence.
To the north, there (sometimes) live the Khôwôlt traders, in truth the great power of the known world. It is tradition that all Khôwôlti children be born on a boat, and many of them will spend most of their lives in one, travelling from place to place, buying and selling. It is a profitable business, since travel is nearly impossible for the average person. Khôwôlt boats are specially designed to act as land vehicles when the floods are not come, propelled slowly by dwarven engines. But the great achievement of the Khôwôlt is their great floating cities, which rise with the floodwaters - the sceret of which, they jealously guard from outsiders.
To the South and West, there lie a mix of different nations, which cannot be summed up with a brief description, and might therefore prove useful if a story required a specific kind of country *cough*. What these nations have in common, though, is the cult of Ursgal, dedicated to the worship of the beings responsible for the floods. Indeed, many of them tend to be functionally theocracies, under the cult, and a few practise ritual drowning as a form of sacrifice. Having been beaten back several times by great armies of Ursgal cultists, few of the kingdoms of Deed Tseg have any dealings with Ursgal nations, but Khôwôlti traders often travel them extensively - and some even speak of strange lands beyond.
And finally, wherever there is space for them, there are the dwarves. Starting at the mountaintop, the dwarves dig their fortresses deep into the mountain's rock. They dig so carefully, and reenforce their homes so well, that not a single drop of water can get in when the floods come. Since they take up so little space, their territory often overlaps with that of human nations - indeed, to have a dwarven fortress below one's mountain is often considered a great honour. Dwarves have their own cultures and clans, alliances and emnities, but humans know very little of such things.
Nedrehiem and Loptheim
I'll write an introduction page later.
Yes, I am incredibly lazy. Short version: I give you a new fantasy world (hopefully) every day.
They won't be that detailed, because I am creating them completely on the spot, but hopefully you enjoy them anyway.
Anyway, let's go!:
Long ago, there was a war between the gods. And in their war, the world was split in two. And one world rose, so that its sky almost touched the heavens, and the other sank, until it rested upon the roots of the world. The upper, Loptheim, is bathed in gentle sunlight. It is a land of prosperity, and very uch a traditional fantasy world with kings and knights and elves and wizards. But the lower, Nedrehiem, is bathed in gloom. The people are barely able to grow crops. Poverty is rife, and violence common. Even magic is weak there. But because of this, they have developed a more 'modern' society - governments are focused on trying to help the common people, and technological development has been faster.
The two worlds are connected only by a single bridge, which is steep, narrow, miles long, and guarded at both ends by an order of knights who believe that, should the bridge fall and the worlds be entirely severed from each other, Nedrehiem will fall utterly into darkness. To prevent any risk to the bridge, travel between the worlds is highly regulated, though individuals known to the bridgekeepers can generally pass without issue. This policy has made the occasional efforts of Loptheim's monarchs to aid the people of Nedrehiem somewhat ineffective.
Yes, I am incredibly lazy. Short version: I give you a new fantasy world (hopefully) every day.
They won't be that detailed, because I am creating them completely on the spot, but hopefully you enjoy them anyway.
Anyway, let's go!:
Long ago, there was a war between the gods. And in their war, the world was split in two. And one world rose, so that its sky almost touched the heavens, and the other sank, until it rested upon the roots of the world. The upper, Loptheim, is bathed in gentle sunlight. It is a land of prosperity, and very uch a traditional fantasy world with kings and knights and elves and wizards. But the lower, Nedrehiem, is bathed in gloom. The people are barely able to grow crops. Poverty is rife, and violence common. Even magic is weak there. But because of this, they have developed a more 'modern' society - governments are focused on trying to help the common people, and technological development has been faster.
The two worlds are connected only by a single bridge, which is steep, narrow, miles long, and guarded at both ends by an order of knights who believe that, should the bridge fall and the worlds be entirely severed from each other, Nedrehiem will fall utterly into darkness. To prevent any risk to the bridge, travel between the worlds is highly regulated, though individuals known to the bridgekeepers can generally pass without issue. This policy has made the occasional efforts of Loptheim's monarchs to aid the people of Nedrehiem somewhat ineffective.
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