#THE TRUE NATURE OF THE WORLD
all of the information in this post would be considered a pretty big spoiler, in the sense that it’s never readily accessible to players or easily revealed by prodding. in campaigns, i want to mirror the general structure of Greek myths like Heracles. campaigns begin as low fantasy, with the true nature of the world the characters inhabit remaining, at best, a distant cultural memory. as players discover more of the world (and their characters become more experienced, graduating from just-scraping-by to carving out names for themselves, getting ensnared in political quagmires, playing vital roles in national conflicts, etc.), it’s natural for them to begin to poke and prod at the edges of the world. eventually, the world gives way, bit by bit, and players gradually become mythic figures, discovering the edges of their reality, traversing the underworld, embroiling themselves not just in the conflicts of humans but of gods.
some of this information may never make its way to players, for the sake of preserving a sense of wonder, but i’ve written it out so i can make sure to keep it internally consistent in the future.
#INTRODUCTION: AN INCOMPLETE EPISTOLARY ON THE ALTAR OF THE ABYSS
"Reviewing what fragments of the historical record I have access to, there is little evidence that the Altar of the Abyss exists. The only details that are consistent across accounts are 1) that there is an altar lost to time, but not destroyed, and 2) that this altar is enchanted with dark magic so powerful that it can completely revive the dead. Anything beyond that (the Altar’s origin, its location, its appearance, its necessary rituals) all conflict and lack credibility. Some claim it was created by a powerful cult in the Second Era; others claim it was created by Bellatrix herself in the First. The only evidence I have ever seen provided for any of this is astrology, numerology, and church dogma. When people want something to exist badly enough, they’ll twist whatever information they have to prop it up.
Please stop sending me inquiries about the altar. I am a historian. I do not chase after ghosts." -Zenithal
…But the gods’ children still were weak, like the beasts of the Earth
They died in labor, and from Disease, and from Old Age;
The people wept over their dead parents and children
And Bellatrix said unto them:
I will bestow a Gift, a way to bring back what ye have lost
A gate between worlds and an Altar to the Abyss
A door to the House of Dust, dirt, and ash
Land of Eternal Dusk where souls lay forgotten
And using my Gift wisely
You may open the gates and bring your people home…
When AURORA saw that Man had conquered Death
She walked among the people in secret
And asked how they had done this
And they said:
'It is BELLATRIX who spoke to us
And bestowed upon us the keys to the House of Dust;
PRAISE BELLATRIX’…
When AURORA gazed upon the Altar she grew afraid,
That one day Man would grow to surpass Her
She asked the Stars, and they whispered back
'ONE DAY YOUR CHILDREN SHALL REBEL
AND MEN WILL GROW TO KILL GODS’…
In her fear AURORA hid the Altar, and smote the reborn dead
And hid the Gates to the House of Dust…
AURORA and BELLATRIX fought, and their Holy War
Scarred the Earth, tore the Sky apart into DAY and NIGHTE
Drew impossible beasts from the Land of Dreams to the Earth
To rend each other’s flesh;
And the Earth shook and cracked, and the land burst into a Sea of Fire…
Hearing their children’s screams
AURORA and BELLATRIX began to weep
And they said:
'We will settle our fight where no man can reach us
And where our fight can reach no man.’
Saying this, they withdrew from the world.
Thus ended the First Era.
-Excerpts from the Book of Bellatrix, translation circa early Fourth Era, saved from a fire in Regnum Dei by Ashkott and sent for safekeeping to friends in Barbaros
#THE DOUBLE TRINITY
Aurora and Bellatrix exist, though more as collectives than as discrete entities.
their spirits battle in the Astral Plane, where they fight a battle outside of time for control of the stars that decide the Fate of the world.
their will is acted out on our plane through their respective schools of magic, particularly in generational magical adepts, Avatars of their will.
their physical bodies lay dormant, tucked within the roots of the World Tree, awaiting the day of their Reawakening.
this would be very bad for everyone involved, the most likely outcome being the end of the world.
#THE PLANE OF STARS AND FATE
here, at the highest plane of reality, just beyond the flow of time, the Stars hold an open congress where they decide the course of all events, future and past. the Stars, while holding absolute power over the lower planes, are powerless in their own, and are under constant threat by Aurora and Bellatrix, who have been waging a millenia-long political battle for a majority in the Astral Senate.
Aurora and Bellatrix are unique in that, unlike the Elder Gods they usurped (and who now wander throughout the vastness of space, constantly vying against each other and building untenable political alliances), they care about the affairs of mortals.
Aurora believes in absolute good, a world without hardship, and therefore, ultimately inert and without meaning, only technically alive.
Bellatrix believes in absolute free will, and was the goddess who bestowed the gift (and curse) of sentience upon Man.
both wish to initiate the Awakening so that they may end their battle directly. neither acknowledges all the reasons this is a bad idea, despite the fact that they nearly destroyed humanity the last time this happened (see: the Altar of the Abyss in the First Era).
by reading the positions of the stars, light mages can make insights about the past and future. for all but the most gifted, though, these insights tend to be vague, cryptic, or, most likely, completely irrelevant to whatever they wanted to find out.
beware shooting stars. they are exiles or refugees from the Astral Senate, and one manages to land in our plane they will become an Eclipse Lich, living red dwarves seeking to use their hazy memory of future history to build a new dominion over mortal men, and sabotage the plans of their brighter brethren. these attempts are always futile, but take a serious toll in human lives.
#THE PLANE OF SKY AND DREAMS
this is the world the soul floats up to while the body is asleep, the folded and creased edge of linear time. its clouds reflect the starlight of the Astral Senate above, and souls drifting through them experience dispersed and diffracted visions of the past and future, from pleasant but nondescript cirrus dreams to roiling cumulonimbus nightmares.
it is the home of the Summerlings and Dreamons:
These bright beings visit a rare few in dreams, and trade in certain objects for great acts.
They come first when you are asleep, and in need. You find yourself surrounded by a summer sky. Vast angle-spanning pillars and revetments of cloud. Like the piled layers of storms, but more peaceful, higher and deeper than any storm could ever be with no ceiling to their reach and no ground below. Lit in the low long light of a fading summer, the rich red sun that draws long shadows on the ground at the end of the day. And the many colours, vermillion and crimson, cornflower and petal-pink, more like the shades of flowers than of clouds.
The Dreamons are there. They are tall, and bright, like that place. There are several all around you but they speak as one. Their arms are sleeved in feathers, their heads wear iridescent helms and the rest of them is shifting scales that shine like beetle shells. The feathers on their arms are strong, thick and stiff like the flight feathers of eagles, but bright. The plates of its body seem like armour, perhaps they are. But there are hundreds, thin, and delicate, like china-ware, none identical, all neatly shaped to fit and slide. What armourer would build like this? and in such colours? The rippling pigments of the feathers and plates are precisely counterpoised.
The head is hidden in a kind of mask or helm. Each holds its own identity. It looks like metal plates have been bent around the head and joined together with a seam down the centre of the front. There are lenses in the mask and these can also vary in their shade. The metal of the helm is like that of the armour plates, iridescent, shifting like spilt oil under the light, with weaves and snakes of metal running through. Behind their heads, the Dreamons have a spray of feathers, radiating like a peacock’s tail.
When they come to you in dreams, they do not yet have the black spikes that can lodge them in this world.
-Patrick Stuart, Fire on the Velvet Horizon
the summerlings were molded by the Astral Senate as gatekeepers between the Astral Plane and our own, with the hope of preventing interference in both directions.
they herd butterflies of pure artistic inspiration, preventing them from slipping into our world and driving everyone mad (occasionally one slips away and becomes someone’s muse).
they man the Sky Temples, their bastions of defense against invasion by rogue elder gods, and the portals to guide lost souls and VIPs of the Astral Senate to the Plane of Stars.
summerlings are obliged by the Astral Senate not to involve themselves in the affairs of humans unless absolutely necessary, an ordinance loosely analogous to the Prime Directive. when interference is necessary, they tend to seek out light mages, who are the most lucid dreamers and the most in tune with the Astral Plane, and therefore the most aware of this plane’s existence.
but many summerlings resent the task they were made for, or grow envious of the world below. they rebel against their masters in secret and become dreamons.
all of the abilities they were granted to be good watchmen and custodians also make them excellent and dangerous schemers. some seek out sleeping dark mages, with the hopes of teaching them the ritual that would bind them to the physical world. others attempt (fruitless) munity against the Astral Senate. if you’ve ever experienced sleep paralysis, a dreamon was probably sitting on your chest.
here in the Plane of Dreams, Aurora and Bellatrix are the Sun and Moon, chasing each other fruitlessly around the sky, and always trying to bargain with the dreamons. even after all this time, they are not particularly good at it.
#THE WORLD TREE
dig too greedily, and too deep, and discover an Underworld that wasn’t what you expected it to be.
follow the branches down far enough, past where the Fruit of Wisdom grow, past the territorial ents and the bound and vengeful jötnar, past the black pools that the aboleth, the forgotten bastard children of the Elder Gods and the Deep Ones of the Abyssal Sea, call home, and you will arrive the Hollow, where the spider Anansi spins a web of memories as old as the Tree itself, and will happily trade stories for favors.
follow his directions to the roots of the World Tree, where the corpses of Aurora and Bellatrix wait to be reborn, the Altar of the Abyss still clutched in their jaws. meet the Primeval Men and learn the true nature of the world.
before the world began, primordial life stargazed from the Abyssal Sea, without consciousness or souls, only infinitely slow and instinctual drives.
The Earth grew an island from the infinite ocean.
The Wind carried a seed to land there.
The Water let it grow.
The Fire kept it warm.
The tree grew and bore fruit. Two of the mindless primordial things ate from the fruit and became aware of their own existence. Then they ate from the fruit again and became gods.
#THE PLANE OF MAN
They envisioned a race that could combine the sentience and abstract purpose of the Stars with the physicality and agency of primordial life. They made a nest for their children in the tree and tried to create new life.
Most of their attempts were failures.
The final product was always meant to be a prototype. It was the result of a long chain of unhappy compromises. But before Man could be finished the gods were at each others’ throats, and their bickering nearly tore the world apart. now they wait, their bodies overgrown and waiting to be born again.
