This went on for an unknown but very long time. War after war, Gods killing gods, demons killing gods, gods killing demons, demons killing demons and everybody killing humans until, very roughly, some twelve hundred years ago. The final War of the Gods was fought to a standstill. Those divine and infernal beings still alive agreed to an armistice and signed an accord. They marked out their metaphysical territories, so to speak, and all the powers more or less stuck to tending to their knitting after that.
For two centuries, near enough, humanity had a bit of breathing room. Civilization, highly advanced in some areas and unheard of in others, took off like a cur with its tail on fire. Huge leaps were made in every area of human endeavor, from the magical Art to the mundane sciences. Some of it was due to the fact that cities weren't in danger of being leveled as collateral damage in one divine skirmish or another. Some more of it was due to the fact that those gods whose aspects aligned with human endeavor began to do their jobs consistently.
It was a good couple of centuries for mortals. Then, of course, we fucked everything up.
The Cataclysm
There was a group of very clever, very wise men (why is it always men?) who called themselves Philosophers. Some considered them mystics, others thought them deluded fools, but their Philosophy afforded them undeniably real power. It is said they could disappear in one place and reappear instantly in another. It is said they were almost impossible to kill. They weren't mages; in fact they looked down on the Art as a false trail to what they called 'liberation.' Liberation from what? I'm not getting into that. Somebody might think it a good idea and revive the whole mad shambles.
So. The Philosophers, in pursuit of their 'liberation,' decided that reality itself needed to be adjusted, so that it better suited them. They started 'adjusting.'
Think of it like this: You're sitting on a stool. You're not satisfied with your stool. Maybe it's too low. Maybe you want to rearrange the legs. So, still sitting on your gods-damned stool, you start hacking the legs off of it.
If the Philosophers had had some other reality to shift the world to while they made their 'adjustments' then perhaps it might not have been so rats-in-a-bag insane. Alas, we have just the one.
Evidence suggests they did their tinkering on an island off the southwest coast of Sulamel (Stay the Hells Away), if you trace backwards the spread of the Cataclysm.
But what exactly was the Cataclysm? Put short, it was a loosening of the natural order. One witness's account should suffice to explain:
“The Cataclysm raced across the land, an unstoppable tide of unreason, first sickening and then severing every bond of nature and logic. Up became down, light became dark, the blood in your veins might turn to water or wine or molten lead. The very air might become poisonous vapor, or simply disappear, leaving countless thousands to suffocate like fish on land. You could not trust your senses. Silk could suddenly cut skin like razors. Between one moment and the next, your eyes might see something a thousand leagues or a thousand years removed. Reality itself was collapsing. Most living things died. Some became monsters. A few became dark powers, not far removed from gods.”
The Cataclysm emptied virtually the entire western portion of Sulamel. Those who fled before it mostly ended up settling around the Dragonsea, eventually giving rise to the cultures and countries we are familiar with today. This mass exodus came to be called the Diaspora.
As for those lands humanity fled: There have been several expeditions over the last hundred years or so into what most call the Empty Lands or the Silent Lands (Stay the Hells Away). No human civilization remains. No humans remain. Those pinnacles of civilization that still live on in legend and imagination, such as Thagoth, Hluria, and Trevell, are either gone without trace or are shattered ruins.
There has been one organized attempt to resettle the Silent Lands. Two centuries and more ago a Lucernan prince hacked out a portion of the wilderness and founded a colony. He named it Haspur. For more than a decade Haspur thrived, trading in natural resources and taming the countryside around it.
Then, overnight, every soul in Haspur disappeared. No one has the least clue what happened to them.
On those maps that bother to mark it at all, the notation reads 'Ruined Haspur' (Stay the Hells Away).
You'd have to be mad, desperate, banished or hunted to call the Silent Lands home.
The Diaspora
The Diaspora is a nice, neat name for a very messy period in history. What records there are are generally fragmented. We know when it started, of course–the moment the Philosophers touched off the Cataclysm. But it's not as if everybody who was alive at the time just got up and headed out the door. Individuals, families, small groups, and entire nations fled at vastly different times, in every direction that was away from the danger that was engulfing the land in an unpredictable tide of chaos.
Survivors of the Cataclysm that fled eastward found accommodating lands to settle around the Dragonsea. They came in successive and overlapping waves, and by and large their strength at arms, technology and magic was far superior to the indigenous inhabitants. Those original peoples either assimilated, got pushed out, or expired. That's unpleasant, but then the truth usually is.
None of the old, pre-Cataclysm cultures survived unchanged either. Some morphed and became entirely new social constructs. Others blended and melded together, becoming hybrid cultures. A few kept the outward forms and observances that were their heritage, more or less. Generally less. Often you'll find they don't really understand the meanings or reasons for some of the more startlingly odd things they do, and if you ask them, they'll say that that's the way it's always been done. The real reason–obviously–is that people, by and large, are thought-challenged sheep.
Post-Diaspora
Right then. We've almost caught up to the present day, give or take eight centuries. If you want to delve into the minutiae of the history of every country on the Dragonsea, you've come to the wrong place. This person killed that person and became king. This country fought that country and won, then it fought another country and lost.... When you're my age, it all starts to sound like 'blah blah blah people are bloodthirsty gits who never learn.' If you really want to know more, say, about the Camlach occupation of the Low Countries, or the Helstrum-Elam wars, there are many thick, incredibly detailed, dusty volumes in the stacks of Lagna's temple in Lucernis. Just remember to drop a mark in the offering box. Silver is good, gold is better. And by all the dead gods, we do not lend out any materials. If you want a copy of something, you pay for Jessep to copy it out for you. And don't even think about trying to steal anything.
The Current Age
It's a little-known, rarely discussed, but undeniably true fact that the world is changing. The gods, rarely seen for centuries, seem to have disappeared entirely. Magic, the force that much of civilization once depended on, is increasingly being eschewed in favor of more mundane solutions to problems ranging from keeping rats out of the grain stores to killing lots of people quickly on the battlefield. Times are changing, even if people generally aren't.
Don't get me wrong. There are still lots of ghastly, dangerous beings of a supernatural bent roaming the world who would be more than happy to eat your face. Far, far too many deadly artifacts still litter the world, relics from the distant past waiting for the chance to wreak havoc once again. It's just that, for example, cities are more likely to fall from cannonade rather than the Art.
Why the change? Damned if I know. But the gods rarely get involved anymore and magic, from all indications, is on the way out. What this means for the future, I've no idea. But being a realist, I'd offer the caution that whatever comes next, it's probably not going to be rainbows and warm hugs. Good thing I'm as old as dirt and likely won't have to deal with whatever fuckery comes next.
And with that I end my incredibly brief yet inestimably useful treatise on the World and its history. You're welcome.
Oh, all right, there's a bit mo
re I could say about the gods and religions. No idea why you'd want to know, but if you do, turn the page. Or don't. It's all the same to me.
The Gods, Goddesses and Infernal Powers
There used to be so many divine and semi-divine beings running around loose you couldn't keep track of them, like cockroaches scattering in sudden light, if I'm honest. But over the millennia they did a damned fine job of thinning themselves out by making war on each other. They're just not the force that they once were. Sure, a few people still worship this or that god or goddess, but for the most part deities are only useful when you really need to let loose with some crude language. Religion, per se, isn't really a motivating force. There are exceptions, of course; adherents of the Keddy faith can annoyingly dogmatic, and in Camlach, devotion to their prophet of the fields isn't just lip service. But on the whole, people lost a lot of faith in the gods when they did fuck-all, for the most part, to prevent or even moderate the effects of the Cataclysm. People believe in the gods, certainly, just as I believe in bedbugs. Belief doesn't automatically lead to worship.
So let's make this easy on everybody, shall we? I'll just jot down a few of those immortal beings who still have some hold on the popular imagination in one fashion or another and we can all call it a day.
Bath: God of secrets. Fate unknown. Common epithet being 'tighter than Bath's arsehole.'
Gorm: Peace-bringer. Got impaled for his trouble. Common epithet being 'Gorm on a stick.'
Isin: Goddess of love. Fate unknown. Common epithet being 'Isin's (usually creamy) tits.'
Kerf: Hero-maker. Fate unknown. Too many epithets to list, but balls, back, beard and staff are quite common.
Lagna: God of Knowledge. Got his head chopped off by a Low Duke of the eleven hells for knowing the solution to a supposedly impossible puzzle. Common epithet being 'Lagna's reward.'
Mour: Goddess of preservation. Destroyed in the Cataclysm, some say while preserving the city of Trevell. If so she did a rotten job, since Trevell is nowhere to be found. Younger sister of She who Casts Eight Shadows. No known epithets.
She Who Casts Eight Shadows: Just don't. You think you want to know, but that's because you're ignorant of the danger. (Un)common epithet: 'The Eightfold Bitch.'
Vosto: God of fools and drunkards. Fate unknown. No common epithets; Vosto's one of the few gods that people still pray to with real devotion. Or desperation. Same difference.
As for the denizens of the lower planes, the less said the better. I'll just leave it at this: The gods and goddesses sometimes helped mortals, when it pleased or amused them to do so. The infernal powers treat mortals as food, which is what we are to them, when all is said and done. You might play with your food, but you certainly don't help it.
Other Miscellaneous Metaphysicalities
There are an unknown number of planes comprising reality. The one we inhabit is generally called the mortal plane. There is at least one and likely several planes that the gods inhabit(ed) and there are, as everyone generally knows, eleven lower planes, or hells.
The number of planes of existence could be infinite for all I know. I'm the high priest of the dead god of knowledge, but he's unavailable for questioning, being dead, and the office didn't come with any special pointy hat of omniscience.
Some gods have temples,some gods have worshipers. It doesn't seem to matter much to people whether the god is dead or not, or whether he or she answers prayers. Mostly it does no harm, I suppose. Keeps the punters from rioting in the streets for the most part, and temples are good places to meet people and exchange recipes and the like. Or at least I've found them to be.
There is one kind of temple that holds no god as its patron. You can find it in most cities around the Dragonsea; the temple of the departed. The survivors of the Cataclysm needed a place to mourn all that was lost, and the temple of the departed was their answer. They're usually grim, gray places, staffed by volunteers. Generally speaking, they're one of the few religious houses that are respected. Even during times of extreme strife, they don't get violated. So if you find yourself in a city being invaded, my advice to you would be to head for one of those temples and don't come out until the smoke clears.
What else? Ah, yes. Souls. Yes, you have one. Yes, it can be destroyed. Yes, you can sell it if you're an idiot, and can find a buyer. No, I'm not going to tell you how to do that, because I'm extremely grumpy, not pathetically amoral.
Magic
And then there's magic. It comes, essentially, in three flavors. There's divine magic, which I know fuck-all about, not being a god. There's the Art, which mages employ. And then there's whatever unnatural or supernatural power bloodwitches, seers and necromancers call on to do what they do. First, let's discuss the Art.
A mage is a person, generally but not necessarily male, who is able to sense and tap into the magic that permeates the mundane world. He is a person able to use that power, generally called his well, to enforce his will upon reality and alter it. Maybe he turns a pink flower blue. Maybe he makes your head pop off and roll down the street. The only real limits to what a mage is capable of reside inside the mage himself, and boil down to three questions:
What change can he imagine with sufficient clarity to convince reality it should be as he wishes it?
How determined is he to effect that change? Put another way, is he himself utterly convinced that the change is unstoppable, inevitable, more real than the reality he wishes to replace?
How much power does he have to draw on, to transform that change from an imagining to an undisputed, objective fact?
If you think it's easy, give it a try. Even if you aren't a mage. Go pick a flower and try to convince yourself it's a color other than what your eyes tell you it is. Go on. This book will still be here when you return, head throbbing.
No two mages are alike, not in their will, their imagination, or the depth of their well. In a very real sense, each mage practices a completely different sort of magic from every other mage. And that, I suspect, is why they call it the Art rather than the Craft, or the Science.
As for bloodwitches, necromancers and seers, they seem to derive their uncanny powers from some source other than that which mages do. Or, if magic were a river, they dip their buckets in a different tributary. They seem to have much less control over their powers, especially seers. Necromancers tend to rely much more heavily on ritual, brick-a-brac and other external paraphernalia, though whether it's just for show is debatable.
Bloodwitches are generally but not exclusively female. Many are also necromancers and or seers, to a greater or lesser degree, but their primary power seems to involve the use and manipulation of blood, as their name would suggest. They might cleanse the poison from a dying man's blood. Or they might have put it there in the first place. They might be able to track down a missing child, say, were a drop of the child's blood kept for such an emergency (and it often is in the Low Countries). They also might make a man's blood boil in his body. Literally. Or dry it up in his veins. Or they might create a blood doll, a simulacrum of the person who had donated blood for the purpose.
There is some speculation that bloodwitches, seers and necromancers trace their lineage back to the original, indigenous people of the Dragonsea area, while those with magely power are the descendants of the people of the Diaspora. How much truth there is to such speculation, I honestly do not know, though I suspect there is something to to the notion. But one thing is certain: none of them make good enemies.
I think that about covers the metaphysical aspects of the World. What, you want to know more? At the risk of repeating myself word-for-word, if you want to know more, there are may dusty tomes, etc. Temples don't keep themselves from falling down, you know. They require donations and offerings. And at Lagna's temple, you get access to the knowledge of the ages in return, rather than some feel-good singalong. Top that.
Right then. I'm old and it's time for my nap. If you want to know more and you can't find you
r answer in the stacks, you're perfectly welcome to write to the paunchy, middle-aged scribe who's translating this, Michael Something-foriegn-whatsit-lung, and he'll pass it along. If it's not an incredibly doltish question, I'll give you a reply. Eventually. If I don't die in my sleep between now and then.
-Lhiewyn
The Map
It's on the next page. It shows the Dragonsea area. You can't navigate by it by land or sea, unless you want to end up getting very, very lost, but it will give you a good general idea of the geography of this part of the world.
If you want more accurate maps, we have a very nice collection in Lagna's temple in Lucernis. Looking is free, whatever the old man tells you. If you want a copy, however, that does cost money. He marks the ink bottles and inventories the parchment.
-Jessep
The Amra Thetys Series
The Thief Who Pulled On Trouble's Braids
The Thief Who Spat in Luck's Good Eye
The Thief Who Knocked On Sorrow's Gate
The Thief Who Wasn't There
Thief Who Pulled on Trouble's Braids Page 20
