On the far corners, on the edge of the remains of Gnasha, lies the temple of Dol’Genih. Dedicated to the first part of the Cycle, it was once a place of refuge for all those that weren’t invited into the lecturing halls of Godia. After the end of the War of Change, the Gnarin Enqishi called for a great conference which would lead to the great schism within their people. So only a few of the tenders had remained at this sight of grace, keeping the ever flourishing gardens alive, even in those times of utter despair.
There used to be a saying that even the mighty Gnasha themselves loved to rest in this place, as it was one of the only places in existence that could provide a chance for any flower to grow, any tree to flourish and any animal to rest, all in one place. Though whether it came here because of this, or was this phenomenon caused by its prolonged presence was unknown, the result remains unchanged and this tucked away nook overflowed with Genesis. Another feature of this unbound life was that some of the oldest flora that took root there grew to impressive size, while nowhere close to a Wonder of Genesis, these plants functioned as a living temple to the Lah.
After the Great Feast of Limbo, many of the fleeing denizens of Gnasha found themselves hiding away inside the sacred halls of Genesis, praying for its endless branches to protect them from the Perennial tide. For the Garden and its tenders would not tolerate those who would desecrate the sacred gift of the Lah of Life by polluting it with the vile un-life of Limbo. The very wildlife stood guard alongside them, with walls made of roots, branches and leaves. Animalistic guardians stood behind them, protecting this oasis and its residents from desecration. Luckily resources were more than plentiful to sustain the large population of refugees and this natural palace was fated to stand for a long time.
Though, as the vengeful child, the Silver Monarch sought to destroy every trace left of Genesis, it sent its Silverlings towards the gardens, to slowly overtake it. As the invaders were fellow creations of Genesis, the protectors did nothing as the skittering tide of Silver encroached upon their ground. And by the time their intent was made known, it was much too late, as the tiny insectoid creatures found their way to the central temple, burrowing underneath the trees bark, both eating away and replicating it in their own image. And from this newly metamorphosized place of worship emerged a Silver Father, born with a deep connection to the latent energy of Life. To it, all of the denizens, sentient or not were like a fuel to the fire, beings that merely provided the Silver Monarch additional lifeforms to integrate into its own twisted vision of the Shattered World. The same roots and branches that once shielded them from the horrors of Limbo became a prison of Silver that they never escaped.
It took some time, but every single being that called the Gardens of Dol’Genih their home had been substituted for a version that was connected to the Silver Monarch. And since Genesis was boundless here, this desecrated cradle of life became a hub for the Silver Monarch to encroach onto the Shattered World, bringing his vision one step closer to fruition. Now, a new legend has spread of this festering ground of Silver, for anyone who dares venture inside will find themselves either turned into one of their kin, or they will receive a blessed grace as a willing subject that came to worship this hallowed land of Rebirth.
The ruler of the war hungry great nation of Lugron, bearing the title of Salugar, which in the old tongue of Valn means conqueror of conquerors, Sorun Skyras is an absolute ruler and an invincible warrior. Also known as the Lord of Arms, he took the throne at a mere sixteen years of age when his father Nelen died, bringing with him a regime focused on disciple and brutal enforcement of laws, which he enacted indiscriminately. He dreams of a world unified under his iron fist to fight against the ever-consuming Warp and its many creations. It is said that ever since his childhood training and during his long rule, up to the present day he has never lost a duel nor a battle in which he had been involved.
Ever since he was a young boy Sorun was thought to be destined for greatness due to his resemblance to his great-grandfather Vagnur. He was raised on the tales of his heroics, but the story of General Menos was the one which he was most fascinated by. To him, the Rhino general represented an ideal, the will and strength to fight against anything, as well as the fact that his life is remembered numerous centuries later. Sorun committed himself to embodying and eventually overcoming this ideal, honing himself not only to become a peerless warrior, nor an incredible politician, but as the one that would be remembered for the rest of time as the uniter of the Shattered World and conqueror of the Warp.
He was mercilessly trained by Thradrom, the only original member of the Council of Conquerors, whose slowed aging allowed him to be present and train every member of the Skyras family. Even during his childhood his talent in the art of war was immense, espicialy impressive was his ability to implement new techniques into an already existing fighting style. The stories of his exploits start when at sixteen years old he willingly went away from his royal home in Voln to complete the Telvis trials and came back with an entire Occibala, something that usually took an entire company to accomplish. Ever since that day it is widely known that he has never lost a duel, nor has a battle in which he was involved in went in favor of the enemy.
After he came into power, the Lord of Arms instantly implemented strict laws that allowed harsh punishment of any who would dare act out of order within the borders of Lugron, starting his ruling career by slamming an iron fist on those who even considered conspiring against him. The armed forces were also affected as a humiliation in the shape of them being unable to defend their king from a single immortal was unacceptable in his eyes. Their training was rigorous before, as ever since the tribal days of Menos, war was a significant aspect of their culture, but Sorun made it so that it was a way of life. He replaced most of the Council of Conquest with people he considered more worthy of the position, allowing each to host a specialized cohort instead of them merely commanding a segment of the army.
Despite the severity of Sorun’s order, he disliked senseless killing, preferring to exile and imprison wrongdoers rather then executing them. Likewise his goal of unification was not one of slaughter, rather it was one of subjugation, believing that his cause is the correct one and that other need only a little guidance in seeing it. To further this, all who are integrated into Lugron are granted full citizenship and are granted every amenity of his nation.
Incidentally it was during his campaign to assimilate the Kamata tribe where he met Vartha, his future wife and fell in love, bringing her people over to his side in a peaceful manner. They since had five children, adding the moniker of Father of Conquerors to his ever growing list of appellations, each of which is exception much like their forebears. To symbolize the love for his family, Sorun lights candles for each of them in Menosian fashion, carrying all seven on candelabra upon his back, one to represent each living member. Ever since his youngest son Sora was kidnapped, the seventh candle could not be lit, no matter the kindling.
The mere mention of the Bloodnight manor Lord’s name is an act that inspires either fear or awe in those who hear it, for he is a living legend who was instrumental in shaping the Newborn’s delegation into what it is today. He is a tyrant with a penchant for grandeur, his subordinates revere him as god-given and are often fighting amongst themselves for his favor. A Sadrian akar by birth, Friedrich was the acting Desmodent of the Ur’Baal family during the creation of Mislav, with his longevity being but one of the perks granted to him for his contributions. Although his home is seated outside of Dela’Lah, he is in no way lesser than the delegation itself, being connected by the Demi-Lah’s veins to their cloister-quarter inside the holy city.
Despite the decimation that the War of Change brought upon the warriors of the Sadrian front, many of their influental minds still remained as they didn’t participate in the fight personally. They were tasked with making a decision on how to move forward, for which many debates were held without any conclusion on the matter. Friedrich was one such Desmodent and he vied fiercly in favor of conducting the ritual to ressurect their fallen soldiers, since he was one of the rare few who had seen the horrors face-to-face. To further this goal, he organized a banquet in his manor, as was not uncommon in the years before, yet this time it was those with an opposing view alone who were invited in secret. In one dreadful night, he slew all of his guests, allowing the ritual to commence. When news of this spread, the event was dubbed The Bloodnight, with the location of the massacre itself becoming the Bloodnight Manor.
Alas, such a contribution was viewed unfavorably even by those who supported the necromantic agenda and he was shunned by the elite. He was not allowed to participate in the rite, which turned out to be in his favor, as those same Desmodents merged into an abomination of flesh during the process. He still became one of the malformed and he did not despair like his kin, instead he embraced the change with a morbid curiosity of what this newfound form has in store. The many- headed monstrosity took to leading the cult that formed around the Newborn, while Friedrich retreated to his home where he concocted many experiments greatly furthering the art of assimilation. Over the next few decades, maybe even centuries, he rebuilt his name and power mostly in secret, working with those who sought to replace the old Desmodents as heads of the Newborn’s faithful. Enhanced by his assimilations and aided by his daughters – the maidens of the birthed blade, they successfully overthrew the existing order and became the new Delegation of the Newborn that is known today.
During his days of exile, the Bloodnight Desmodent did not possess the ability to conduct large scale trials, so in a delusion that greater devotion would yield better results he performed them on his own children. Over the years he accumulated an incredible amount from his numerous brides and while his daughters bore great results, his sons all ended up as mindless creatures overpowered by their instinct to consume for their deity. The maidens of the birthed blade as his female offspring became known, were the closest a mortal came to Mislav, even being granted the privilege to enter his realm of nightmares where they became pregnant with a blade of flesh and bone that is still connected with an umbilical cord to their insides. They only listen to the whims of the Numen of Blood, not heeding the word of their father, a fact that did not stop the despot from manipulating and twisting the deity’s words into aggression focused at his enemies.
After the new Delegation rose thanks to his contributions, Friedrich was granted an honored position within their ranks, not the council itself but adjacent to it. Assimilation and abomination became their ways of war, transforming both theirs and their enemies bodies into morbid monsters that are incredibly proficient at slaughter. He himself partook in the act and grafted an enormous clawed right arm to his shoulder instead of the one he lost in the War of Change allowing him to fight again. It even grants him the ability to manipulate the blood of whoever he impales, along with the expect incredible physical strength that it holds. In spite of the fact that he has no need to engage in combat himself, his ingrained lust for blood only grew as he aged and he relishes any opportunity to tear through victims in spectacular displays of eviscerated bodies for all to see.
At the top of the eponymous mountain located on Menos sits the Dark Sun Monolith, an apparatus used in ancient times to commune with celestial bodies. It is the very thing that allowed the Demi-Lahs of the Diurnal Cycle to regulate the duration of day and night among other things. Though with the War of Change splitting the Shattered World into what it is today, it lays dormant and bereft of its original purpose. Instead it has been overtaken by numerous tribes that sought to evade assimilation into Lugron and have found refuge in the harsh landscape.
Those who sat at the peak itself tried to use the monument for their own purposes, but they had no way of achieving that, as the mechanisms were far too complex. And while they pondered and prayed for a way to unlock its power a mysterious stranger offered a helping hand. The well dressed man whose head was but a talking chest gave them what they sought, but at a terrible price. The Pact of the Warp as he called himself in front of mortals, was a sovereign of the Warp, demanded unwavering servitude to his master and most of the lesser tribes were taken to the ever hungering dimension. In return, the monolith’s power poured forth to embolden man and monster alike, spilling a host of creatures straight from the bowels of the Warp.
The tribesmen welcomed their new masters, their hatred for the nation of conquerors, those who captured their people and razed their homes, burning far brighter than their humanity. And in a grand act of devotion, they brought a Sovereign’s Warpstone from Oblivion’s domain and used the Monolith as well as numerous sacrifices to birth it prematurely. Thus the Thirst of the Warp came to be, an abomination that appears both young and old, both male and female, still embedded up to its waist in the stone, as if a chick emerging from its shell. The grotesque creature was immediately venerated and seen as the new ruler of the mountain and its first decree was to bring it more sustenance in the shape of fresh sacrifices. Yet it is still an infant and it cannot consume the fragments of mortals well, so the tribesmen were forced to eat and regurgitate flesh in order for the beast to be satisfied. And with the limited amount of their own population, they began to descend from their abode and abduct the Lugronian populace.
Seeing their residents in peril, the war-hungry nation responded quickly and an army led by Sora Skyras, Sorun’s youngest son, was set upon the mountain. They thought little of their opponents, as remnants of the tribes were not unheard of. Though this would turn out to be a grave mistake, as their inexperienced leader was faced with a monstrous charge that quickly broke their host. The result of this hubris was the capture of Sora himself, who has been escorted deeper into the clutches of the Lah of Destruction and its followers. When the Lord of Arms saw one of the candles representing his close family flicker its flame and eventually extinguish entirely, he was enraged beyond reason and now he seeks to personally be rid of this infestation that has taken root upon the lands of Menos.
While the Verstadts of Lystra hold authority over most of the towns on the continent, some noble families outside of them still hold lands or power. Most notable of which is Kirpatz Waldron Castlemore, hailing from a long and prestigious line of blue-blooded Lystran Akar nobles that have ruled over the Castlemore estate and the surrounding lands long before the War of Change. His egoistical pale face is rarely seen outside of high society, as the only times he leaves the seclusion of his manor is to attend gatherings of the Verstadts, as well as any similar gathering of Lystra’s high and mighty. Though at every opportunity when he does appear to the common man, it is followed by a great calamity for all involved, giving him a dread reputation.
Much in tune with Oblivion’s corruption running deep through the ruling class of Lystra, Waldron is a follower of the Lah of Destruction. Interestingly, this is not out of deep devotion towards the deity of death, rather it is a combination of curiosity and practicality that had led him down this path. Even for a Kirpatz, to resist the will of the Warp Sovereigns posing as Verstadts is nigh impossible and Waldron quickly realized the fact that obeying their demands was the path of least resistance. In a similar alley of thought, he had decided to make the most of his situation and began a deep research into the power of Oblivion.
Unlike his faux allegiance to the Warp, the Kirpatz of the Castlemore estate had pledged his true loyalty and devotion to the Demi-Lah of Torment, Fah’Gala. Waldron’s manor lies at the entrance to the Undermass, the hollow underbelly of Lystra that houses the church in which the Demi-Lah itself is located, giving the lord an easy opportunity to showcase his zeal. Consequently to this dark dedication, Castlemore dungeons are conveniently always filled with the guilty and the innocent in equal measure, fueling pleasurably torturous experiments conducted by Waldron himself.
Since he needs to maintain appearance with the local populace as a merciless yet just ruler, atop all the other deception, Waldron’s plans require incredible preparations. For this purpose, he enlisted the Black Ravine Mercenary Company to aid him in procuring anything he might ever need. As the leader of the company is a fellow follower of Fah’Gala, the two managed to find common ground and the network of couriers spanning most of the Shattered World had become available to the Castlemore estate. Furthermore, the manor lord deploys his own agents and loyal followers to most of the burgs in one way or another, even sending his own daughter as a candidate to become the new Kirpatz of Northgate, for the last family had been entirely snuffed out. This all results in a tough web spanning over the majority of Lystra and even further across the Shattered World.
One of the things that fascinated Waldron the most during his research is the fragment itself. The core of every being that held within it Yav’haraz, connecting it to the very Cycle of the Shattered World, as well as the thing that the Warp twisted into the many abominations held within its vast expanse. He sought to replicate the process in a way that would allow him to control the emerging monstrosities, though the task proved too difficult even for him. They always proved far too chaotic to control and had to be restrained, only used as beasts of war by Castlemore forces. Though, with every failure he felt a step closer to his goal, until he finally managed to find a way to create a creature of the Warp that would fully obey him. But it came at a great cost, for the method used to achieve this was to split his own fragment into two and sending the piece to the depths of the Warp to nurture a being born of Oblivion. Now he has a twisted version of himself permanently bound to the remnants of his fragment, waiting to answer his call at a moment’s notice.
Leading up to the War of Change, Gnarin society was at its apex with the deans of their university-cities standing atop their order. Ever since his days as a student, Saminas proved himself an inquisitive mind with a strong desire to deepen the understanding of the world. He was relentless in his pursuit of knowledge and furthering science, allowing him to quickly rise to the ranks of the professors as a direct protege of Hoshma, the dean of Godia. Learning and experimation was something that occupied every moment of his life, often making him forego even basic necessities such as eating, giving him a reputation of a recluse. After the passing of his mentor he was an obvious choice to lead their people, as the Gnarin value nothing more than commitment to enlightment. It was during this time that he had acquired a large following in the upper circles of their society, as his zeal was unmatched and to many an incredible inspiration.
When Oblivion was unleashed and it started decimating the Shattered World, Gnasha answered the call and led the coalition in the War of Change. When the Demi-Lah wavered in battle, the three deans noticed it first and entered the massive bio-factory in an attempt to resolve the rampaging deity. Alas they were too late, the damage had already been done and the many minds of Gnasha had already succumb to the fear of an untimely demise, so they made the difficult decision to slay them before they could inflict more damage in their maddened state. As they lay to rest these beings, the black sludge of Limbo poured forth and it fascinated Saminas at first glance. He collected samples and after the retreat conducted various experiments.
Sceptical and reserved at first, he used himself as a test subject in an effort to spare his people unnecessary suffering. But as his understanding deepened, his need to consume it grew greater and greater. To start he thought it would stave off his own demise, relinquish his need for sustenance and rest, allowing him to work tirelessly on a way to use it to save the Gnarins from an encroaching demise at the hands of the Warp. In a manner of speaking he was correct, it did indeed stop all natural processes within his body, but it also forwent his humanity quickly turning his desire into pure obsession to spread it further. When Bashas came up with the idea to turn Gnarin mages into wards that would prevent the spread of the Warp, all those who feared death were quick to turn to the call of eternal rot alongside their dean.
The Lah of Stagnation seeped into the very ground from the wounded Numen and tainted the waters throught most of the continent, leading to the river Mavahar becoming a source of Limbo on an unprecedented scale. Saminas collected large quantities behind the other two deans’ backs and when enough followers rallied to his side, he organized a massive feast. The participants gorged on the ooze to the point of bursting, with him leading by example, resulting in his emaciated form becoming bloated from the amount. The rest of the sludge was infused into Godia, granting it the final push into the un-life it has now, causing it to wander aimlessly across the lands of Gnasha. Newly converted Limbo Gnarin considered their leader not only a political figure, but a spiritual one as well, for showing them the embrace of stillness and allowing them to live on in a world crumbling all around them. This was the moment that the Perennial Cult was formed, born of the idea to save the Shattered World by allowing its residents to enjoy an eternal state between life and death.
In between desolate Menos, decayed Gnasha, shattered Lystra and visceral Sadrin lies a vast void that the few living souls of the Shattered World call the Warp. It is an ever-changing plane that seeks to continue its perpetual expansion and consume the last remnants of still inhabited land. It consists of broken and distorted remains of everything it had previously consumed as well as twisted landscapes dotted with dark Monoliths honoring the Warp’s deity, Oblivion.
Traversing this gap in reality is possible due to tears that occasionally form near the edges of the four continents through which mortals may enter into this aberrant waste. Traveling like this is highly unpredictable due to the shifting nature of the lands as well as the horrific creatures that reside within them. Similarly to how humanity can utilize these portals to come into the Warp, endemic creatures often use them to exit and wreak havoc until slain. Once inside, the laws of physics seem to bend and change just as much as the ground beneath, with seemingly impossible terrain being commonplace even on the most outer parts of the Warp. For instance when you take a step and turn back it may seem like you took a thousand paces, or you can walk for hours in a straight line only to find yourself right back where you started. Falling down a crag that seems to have an infinite drop can feel like you’ve fallen down for a mere step, but when you look upwards, there is not even a trace of where you fell from or you may realize that you haven’t fallen at all but are standing upright on the face of the cliff.
The central physical body of this Demi-Lah exists outside of space, carving a piece of the Warp’s non- existance into its domain. It is a crude mesh of an innumerable amount of Silverlings all melded around the half-living humanoid part of the great general Sadryn, which was taken during the War of Change. Around it they sculpt an entire castle of pure shimmering Silver, every tile, every door, every pillar a living and shifting piece of the Silver Monarch.
This logic defying topography makes traveling to a specific destination very difficult, yet it is not impossible as a couple of techniques allow people to move in a knowing manner. The most common methods for which is following the Maker’s bridges, colossal structures that used to connect the landmasses before the War of Change that have crumbled and have been consumed by the Warp. While they are prone to bending like any other terrain, their starting and ending points are always the same, so if you follow one for long enough, you will emerge at the place where it once connected to the mainland. The other method is to use an item called the Gilded Idol, a handheld device in the shape of a totem that points to the nearest temple of the Maker. While the direction it shows can change at a moment’s notice you will eventually arrive at an exit that allows you to leave the Warp.
Nothing inside of the Warp can truly die, as everything eventually gets corrupted and changed by the Warp’s influence. Most of the horrific monsters that can be found within are a twisted, disgusting version of what they were before being consumed. Everything that loses its life in this place feeds the growth of a Warp Tree, a plant made of bodies that bear stone fruits called Warp Stones. These things function like eggs for those born of the Warp, feeding on the souls of those unfortunate enough to die near it. Once sufficiently provided for, they hatch into unspeakable fiends that populate this hellscape.
This once vibrant continent might not have suffered much at the hands of the Warp, but it has nonetheless been reduced to a shallow husk of what it once was. Alas, their downfall came in the form of the Demi-Lah Voldyr abandoning humanity due to the fact that it had turned in on itself under the pressure of their mighty foe. Now, with the grand river that gave it life completely dried out, it is dominated by a vast desert of sand and stone where seldom anything can thrive. Yet under such unforgiving conditions, a nation blossomed when barbaric tribes came together to form a grand country of soldiers and conquerors – Lugron.
Before Oblivion’s descent Menos was ruled by the eponymous king of all Valn, under whose reign it prospered. During this time, the giant race spread all across it, building massive fortress cities that served as a haven for everyone who came. And while other species could effectively coexist with their giant rulers, they could never be considered equals, as even though they were permitted to work and learn alongside the Valn, lesser races weren’t granted all privileges. The most notable of which was the right to own their own artisan shops and for a people that deeply revered the Maker, this was a terrible price. For the time before the Lah of Destruction burst onto the Shattered World, this was enough, as they had the veil of being close to some of the greatest craftsmen to ever live.
The central physical body of this Demi-Lah exists outside of space, carving a piece of the Warp’s non- existance into its domain. It is a crude mesh of an innumerable amount of Silverlings all melded around the half-living humanoid part of the great general Sadryn, which was taken during the War of Change. Around it they sculpt an entire castle of pure shimmering Silver, every tile, every door, every pillar a living and shifting piece of the Silver Monarch.
Yet the general Menos was a mighty and noble warrior who was never pleased with the peaceful state of the world, so he was always looking for an excuse to prove himself as well as his comrades’ strength in battle. While overseas campaigns satiated his thirst for a while, it was nowhere near enough and only in the Warp did he finally find his true adversary. Obsession quickly overtook him as the combined forces of mortals suffered defeat after defeat and he completely neglected his duties as a governor. He organized the first Warpwalker order and launched costly and unsuccessful crusades into the depths of the Warp, with him as the spearhead the weight of his crown fell onto his brother Voln. The lands crumbled before their very eyes and the number of mortals who accepted the call of Oblivion grew, the regent made a heavy hearted decision to exile all non- Valn from the cities, fearing that those who did not bear a deep connection to the Lah of Craftsmanship like his kin would eventually succumb and collapse his empire from within.
The Shattered World is inexorably tied to the Cycle and its Lah, and the land where this connection is the strongest of all is Sadryn. One of the four remaining masses yet unclaimed by the Warp, this continent was once home to the birthplace of all Demi-Lahs. It was a hub were all the various species gathered to witness beings ascend to divinity. But as the War of Change decimated the mortal population, the desparate remenants birthed one final Demi-Lah who reshaped the entire territory of Sadryn into a heap of viscera.
The lands of this continent are a spitting image of Mislav, with his veins spreading slowly from his body. They dig through the grounds, like roots of a growing tree, extending across Sadryn from his seat to the very World’s Edge pillars that protect it from the Warp. The dirt is in most places replaced by a meaty mass with bones protruding violently from below. A disgusting membrane connects pieces that are breaking off the mainland, revealing the hungering abyss of the Warp below. The veins leak blood into rivers and lake, turning the waters into a vile coctail of crimson. But this process of an empyrean takeover is still ongoing, it has not yet claimed the enitrety of the continent as patches of regular ground yet remain. In these parts of Sadryn those who refuse the path of Mislav reside, hiding among what flora still grows there.
On the edge of Sadryn lies its crowning jewel, the largest city that the Shattered World had known even before the War of Change. Dela-lah, meaning the birthplace of gods in the ancient language of the Nastals, is a hive of culture which housed members of every specie and a representative of every nation even beyond what is known today. It harbors remenants of civilizations long lost to the Warp’s corruption, faint as they are. This city is built overlooking the youngest Wonder of Genesis, brought over from Gnasha by Bashas, one of the three deans of the university cities who gave the seed to Sadryn himself as both a gift and safety measure. The titanic tree is now protected by a shining golden barrier, maintained by Bashas himself who fled there after the desolation of his homeland. Mislav’s very veins cannot penetrate it no matter how much they try, desparately keeping the Demi-Lah of blood from merging with a shard of Genesis itself.
We were desparate back then, oh so very desparate. We thought it was our only salvation, a way to bring back our fallen. How wrong we were. The very air of Sadryn changed that day, when we forcefully gave birth do a Demi-Lah. Drops of blood rained from the skies, dying the ground in a crimson hue which we would never be able to wash away. I watched in horror, as from the spire behind Dela-Lah arose a red Sun shining a grim light upon me. It turned the land into writhing flesh and petrified bone, putting the earth itself into a state of raw agony. I write this as a warning as I prepare for a journey through the Warp which I do not know whether I will survive. Do not approach the spire, for you will meet a fate far worse than any demise.
The cosmic force of the cycle needed a hand on the Shattered World to enact its will and to force those who seek to break the wheel back in line. Hence Genesis birthed the Demi-Lah of renewal, the Cycle’s vicious enforcer that eventually went rogue after the Great Mistake during the War of Change. Now the Silver Monarch seeks to recreate the entire world in his flawless image, a world of Silver.
Much like its sibling deity Gnasha, the Silver Monarch is a being made up of a myriad living organisms, each one equally divine as the Demi-Lah itself. The vast majority is comprised of tiny creatures that are named Silverlings. Insectoid in appearance and interconnected by tissue that grows from one individual to the next, connecting them into one whole. Together, the Silverlings can create many shapes and forms, quickly learning to replicate anything that bears its origin in Genesis. Any part of the Silver Monarch that separates from the whole must answer to a Silver Emissary, a larger variant of the Silverling which acts as a telepathic relay to the entirety.
The central physical body of this Demi-Lah exists outside of space, carving a piece of the Warp’s non- existance into its domain. It is a crude mesh of an innumerable amount of Silverlings all melded around the half-living humanoid part of the great general Sadryn, which was taken during the War of Change. Around it they sculpt an entire castle of pure shimmering Silver, every tile, every door, every pillar a living and shifting piece of the Silver Monarch.
The Demi-Lah of rebirth is everywhere where there is Silver, even when a piece is detached from the Silver Palace. These wandering pieces are still connected to the central mind, through a variant of the Silverling, a larger insectoid creature usually located where the head or heart of a replicated being would be, named a Silver Emissary. It is a telepathic relay with a direct mental link to the greater will of the Silver Monarch itself. They are the only individual organisms which have eyes in the entire echelon of this deity. If the link to the central mind is ever severed, the isolated Silverlings will quickly disperse, hopelesly seeking to re-attach to the closest functioning Emissary.
Before the War of Change, the Silver Monarch was but a blind servant to the Cycle, enforcing its will upon wayward mortals. Be it rulers or slaves, this remorsless warden would coalesce and devour any who dared even so much as learn the true nature of the world, preventing any form of deviance from the path fate had laid out for humanity. But a single notion slipped through the cracks, whether a man who escaped or an idea that couldn’t be contained, the Revolutionary had succeeded in its goal and shattered the crystal which contained the Warp, starting the War of Change. During this brief conflict, when the Cycle’s cogs began to creak and groan as it struggled to restore balance, the Silver Monarch fought with all its might against the encroaching force of destruction. But its time spent inside the everchanging plane of the Warp had inflicted the deity with the gravest of afflictions… The Demi-Lah gained a sense of self, a will of its own, born of the idea that a world governed by the Cycle is imperfect as it had led to this great mistake in the first place. It now considers itself as superior even to the very Lah that created it, seeking to engulf the enitre Shattered World in its embrace, an entire existance made of only the Silver Monarch.
The Numen of Blood is one of the few Demi-Lah born after the War of Change and quite possibly the one with the largest impact upon the Shattered World. His very creation tore through the lands of Sadryn, completely altering it to fit his revolting image, a mass of flesh, blood and bone that writhes beneath the feet of its inhabitants. He resides in the Spire of the Newborn, named after his other moniker – the Newborn, a place where his incomplete form is still incubating by absorbing nutrients from the land as well as its denizens.
The creation of this deity is an anomaly in every possible way, as it is the result of an erroneous ritual of ressurection conducted by the people of Dela-Lah in desparation. As Sadryn’s front was the one that suffered the heaviest losses during the Great War, the survivors attempted to raise their dead as a last resort. They gathered all the bodies they could, those killed in battle and those already dead and burried long ago, placing them atop the holy tower’s stone plateau. But the effort was far too great for the meager amount of sorcerers that were willing to attempt such a monumental task and as the incantation began it quickly began burning the casters’ lives as fuel. Yet this still wasn’t nearly enough and as the mages fell one by one, drained of all their blood which congealed in the center of the mass of corpses, the magic ravenously increased the scope of what it devoured. Never truly ending, the ritual fused the cadavers and most importantly, their fragments into a monstrosity the likes of which were never seen before, an unfinished Demi-Lah stood where they were once nurtured by the Cycle’s machinations.
A bloody rain fell the morning of his birth, as a crimson Sun arose in the sky signaling the monumental shift for the entire continent. The abomination made from mortal bodies unleashed a curse upon the living inside the holy city, turning them into the Drahyn, an entire specie whose fragments are eternally bound to Mislav who slowly consumes them in order to finish the process of his birth. They waste away from the moment they are born, as the tithe the Demi-Lah takes is paid in blood. The only way to stave this off is to consume the vitality of others through acts of cannibalism, most notably consuming the heart and blood of other mortals, directly feeding their twisted deity with every morsel eaten. Likewise to how he corrupted the living, he bent the land to his will turning the soil into squirming flesh and jutting bone. Sadryn, which was broken by the battles with Oblivion connected its broken pieces back together joined by thick tendons spanning miles. Rivers were quickly replaced by sanguine liquid, as everything that was protected by the World’s Edge Pillars became a spitting image of the Demi-Lah. Massive veins sprout from the Numen, all across these fleshy plains and forests of bone, boring into the earth to feed upon the scraps of nutrition found within the ground. The endemic wildlife was also not spared of this shift, creating an environment which is amongst the harshest on the entire Shattered World.
The god of Destruction is the last part of the Cycle, the inevitable end where all things cease. As the delicate balance of the Cycle has crumbled this death no longer feeds new life in the way it once did, it now only serves to bring about even further ruination as every soul lost to the Warp spawns more creatures that lust for blood.
Worshipers. Worshipers of this deity are either lunatics whose minds have eroded due to the corruption of the Warp or unfortunate souls who have suffered greatly and now harbor immense hatred towards the world that they were forced to be born into. What they all have in common is that they will stop at nothing to obliterate anything in their path.
Despite this, some Oblivion followers as well as Cycleists who have devoted themselves to this part of the Cycle are of sound mind as they focus their passion to the concept of death. They find beauty in the moment of something’s natural end, knowing that something new will come from it. Forcing destruction upon something is taboo among these adorers, for interfering with the order of things will drastically decrease the sanctity of the moment of ruination.
No matter how insane or how enlightened, anyone who devotes their lives to this deity is not welcome into any civilized settlement. Although, any dark corner in a city may hold a sect or a lone madman preaching their god’s words. Everywhere in the Shattered World where there is demise in bulk one can be assured to find a score of revelers who celebrate in honor of the Warp.
Temples of Oblivion do not exist, as constructing one would go against the creeds of Oblivion, instead their places of worship are just like the Warp – everchanging. Their holy symbols and any other relic is carved in the very flesh of followers so that they may be able to commune with the Lah of Destruction no matter where they are.
Followers of the path of demise hold a firm belief that they shall be reborn of the Warp once they die. Thus they seek the most glorious ends, so that their rebirth can be of equal magnitute, hoping to emrge as fresh beings ready to sow even more destruction upon the Shattered World.
The god of Stagnation, also known as the Great Mistake is an outsider that forced itself into the order of the Cycle, disrupting the system that existed since the world’s inception. It came to be from the spinal fluid spilled in the death of the first living beings, Gnasha, whose death came before its predetermined time.
As the many creatures comprising Gnasha’s mind died one by one at the hands of the Gnarin’s three deans, the thick black liquid that seemingly endlessly poured out of the corpses was Limbo itself. Seeping deep into the lands of Gnasha, the very continent entered a state of perpetual rot where not even those already dead can find rest.
Anything that consumes this substance becomes tainted, decaying rapidly until it is stuck in a state between life and death, never to change again. Even trees whose roots suck up nutrients from the festering ground are not immune, withering and drying until neither leaves nor fruits are left, yet standing forever still.
There are those who willingly partake of Limbo’s blessings, mostly those who fear the coming end of their lives, becoming worshippers of the Lah of Rot. Many followers have gathered under Saminas, the dean of Gothria who in his boundless thirst for knowledge had consumed the substance out of pure curiosity.
By preaching sweet lies of a deathless existence in bliss, he brought the masses to his side and created a massive cult known as the Perenials. In an event referred to as the Great Feast, the Gnarin who listened to Saminas’ words all partook of a ritual in which they consumed a great amount of Limbo.
As the only deity with a strong physical presence, not many places outside of the continent of Gnasha have felt the influence of the newly created Lah, the only one with a substantial presence being the Undying of Dela’Lah on Sadrin, whose ruler had brought it from afar to shift the scales of power within the holy city.
These men in contrast to the Perennials see their stagnated bodies with a utilitarian outlook and no deeper connection to what Limbo represents.
The largest problem the cults of the god of Stagnation face is that they cannot reproduce or increase their number in any way whatsoever. To combat this issue many of them practice keeping a small population of those who have not yet consumed the dark sludge, only allowing them into their ranks after having children. In some extreme cases, unwilling mortals are treated like cattle by the fanatics.
Temples of this Lah are few and far between for worship is conducted as massive gatherings of devotees come together to commune with their deity. These buildings are usually great in size, but scant in decoration, with those mostly being holy symbols or fetishes symbolizing eternity and immortality.
The largest and most significant ceremony is carried out by the Perennial Cult, a repeat of the Great Feast where all Limbo-Consumed members gather at their grand temple to feast upon the black sludge of their god.
As the god of immortality, Limbo doesn’t present the afterlife as a pleasent thing at all, instead it offers staving it off indefinately. Many followers truly fear death, either the uncertainty of what happens, or knowing the fact that something may disturb their eternal rest.
The God of Craftsmanship is the second part of the Cycle, considered to be the patron of humanity as well as its last hope it is the most widely worshiped deity. Legends say that the Maker fought the Oblivion and lost, so many believe that he was shattered and that his fragments went into the hearts of mortals.
Followers of the Maker are scattered all across the Shattered World as the War of Change had left them without a proper home. They can be found in any place where human civilization has taken hold, although in most cases the time they spent apart has shaped their religion to take on new forms integrating it into local cultures.
Worship is done through many varying forms of craftsmanship, especially using gold as it is the most sacred metal of the Maker, considered to be the blood he shed while he fought. Those who are devout to their utmost, prove their belief by performing a ritual that involves pushing parts of their own body into molten gold.
If their souls and beliefs are found worthy by the Maker’s will they are remade in his image, with the submerged appendages emerging made of living gold. Their eyes take on a bright glow and their very blood is likewise turned into the precious metal, easily visible on the veins of the person.
These blessed individuals are revered throught most of mortal civilization, both for their gain in holy power and in their raw repute as beings favored by the patron of humanity.
Temples constructed in the name of the Lah of Craftsmanship used to be grand structures of meticulously carved stone filled with many artistic depictions of their legends. Murals and frescoes adorn the walls of these churches, statues and busts decorate the halls and golden ornaments were plentiful before scavangers pillaged the abandoned ruins.
Some of these monasteries have been rebuilt by the remaining faithful, repurposed as bastions and fortresses that stand as an upfront to the Warps advance.
As worshipers of the Maker put faith into the fact that their souls bear a shard of the Maker himself, they also believe that upon their demise the piece is returned to their Lah. Legends exist that one day their diety shall reform and regain his strength when enough righteus followers perish, although their lives must be lived in accordance to their creed and their end must not come before its intended time.
The God of Life is the first part of the Cycle, it is believed to be the progenitor of every living being. Genesis is a neutral force that is neither good nor evil, it exists merely to create life in this world and does so constantly. Were it not for the passage of time in the Cycle, the world would be overrun with its creations. It is also considered to be the only one that can create a soul and bestow it upon an entity.
Genesis, after the War of Change is believed to be in great pain, as many of its creations died before the Clock’s approval. Cycleists and worshippers of this deity try to return the order of life, by repopulating existing species and creating new ones.
Worshippers of this deity often consider their life’s purpose to be creating new lifeforms, healing the dead earth, and retaking what they can from the Warp. Tenants of their worship are protecting nature, not meddling with the natural order of things, which often results in sacrificing many things for the greater good of Genesis and this world.
In the First Ages Genesis’ temples were secluded structures made from living beings, blending in with forests and jungles. After the War of Change they could no longer remain stationary, so most of their temples are now constructed on the backs of animals or moving plants so that they can move and hide from the Warp’s influence.
Genesis worshipers hold a firm belief that after their death, their soul will return to Genesis to fuel further creation of life. As such most of their graves have trees planted during the funeral, eventually turning graveyards into forrests of the dead that have merely taken on a new form.
Tortured, both the lands and the living, the Shattered World is but a remnant of what it once was. The landmass is divided by the vicious, hungering Warp, a phenomenon that appeared after the War of Change. It seeks to consume all that is left and without massive human sacrifice it would have already done so. This apocalyptic event has claimed many nations and even cultures, leaving the rest to struggle in a fractured land that used to be paradise for mortals. Hopes and ambitions were taken from the living, along with their strive for greatness, as most of the common folk wait for the hour of reckoning. Yet, in this hopeless world, there are certain people who decide to fight against the odds, and take matters into their own hands, each having their own idea of salvation, forming a conflict amongst the leftovers of mankind. Along with the newly formed nations, all vying for dominance over the Shattered World, there are the accursed or perhaps blessed, Warpwalkers, individuals who brave the warp and strike blows from within.
Lush plains, verdant forests, open seas and snowy mountains, all vistas I had seen in my youth. They are now no more than twisted vestiges torn apart by that vile thing. Wastes of war and blood are all that remain in this accursed world after the War of Change. I lay with fear of its return every night and I cannot bear it any longer. I hope when this night ends, my soul returns to a place where there are stars in the sky and hope in people’s eyes. If you are wise, you too should end your life before the final reckoning.
