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· The World of Tyrrania ·
The Essential Traveller's Handbook
by Professor T. Nydell


Contents
Chapter 1 - Introduction
Chapter 2 - Geography
Chapter 3 - Anthropology
Chapter 4 - Bestiary
Chapter 5 - Theology


Chapter 1 ~ Introduction

Dear Reader,

Allow me to tell you a little about myself. I am Professor Terrence Nydell, born and raised in the Amorynthian village of Middlewood on one fine Summer's Eve. My parents' only child, I was expected to stay in Middlewood and one day take over my father's humble whittling trade. But, being the imaginative child I was, young Terrence had greater things in mind. I was to slay dragons, earn riches and discover far-off lands unknown. And so one day, aged just fifteen, that's exactly what I set off to do.

I never looked back. You see, my dear Reader, I have always been an adventurer at heart. I was never able to sit still, constantly longing to be back on the road in search of discovery. Even now, on my deathbed, as I write this foreword for my life's work, my legs ache to once again walk the path untrodden.

In your hands lies a tome of knowledge unmatched in these realms. Through my adventures spanning more than half a century, I have collated a resource of information gathered from the furthest reaches of Tyrranian soil; and, in some cases, further still. This book is more than pages bound in leather; the product of sixty-three years of passionate exploration and discovery, this book is the essential tool for those with adventure in their hearts.

All adventures start somewhere, Reader. Yours starts here. And whilst my days of reconnoitre may be over, it would be my honour to guide you; to assist you; to be reliably by your side for one final quest.

Best of luck,
Prof. Terrence Nydell
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Chapter 2 ~ Geography

In all my years of exploration, I was continuously surprised by how easily I fell in love with the new landscapes I discovered. Tyrrania is a world of such awe-inspiring beauty, from the vast mountains that burst holes in the clouds to the endless blankets of lush forest that caress the land; even the golden spread of poor Tumeken has a haunting emptiness that forces the heart to skip a beat.


I've been fortunate enough in my life to visit every opposing corner of Tyrrania, unearthing secrets a plenty and discovering the hidden treasures our fine land has to offer. Below, I detail my wealth of findings in the hopes that they will prove useful on your own travels. Attached overleaf is a map, illustrated beautifully under my own guidance by Amor's finest cartographer, Mr. R. Marnie. But remember, Reader; for every mystery I solved, a dozen more remain hidden, just waiting to be discovered.


· Amorynthia ·

Amorynthia is the largest and wealthiest kingdom in Tyrrania. Ruled by King Valdez III, the region has a reputation for being politically underhanded when it comes to monetary gains. The council stooped as low as to exploit Dwarven kind in order to gain the upperhand on the once-great nation of Tumeken. Amorynthia is the most diverse land in Tyrrania, with a wealth of races, terrains, religions and trades existing within King Valdez' rule.




· Tumeken ·

Once as lush as Amorynthia and twice as wealthy, Tumeken was ruined centuries ago by a freak drought that ravaged their cities and reduced to land to barren dunes of sand. Ruled by the Pharaoh King Setsiput, the Tumek people have retreated South in search of a new life. This new beginning for the kingdom is rooted in servitude to the Elder God, Tum, whom they believe will bring water back to the land. In the meantime, they are accepting favours from Amorynthia; but no gesture from King Valdez comes without a price...




· Vastoria ·

For the longest time, the mountainous region north of the Amorytes lay unoccupied due to its unforgiving terrain. However, during the Dwarven Revolution at the end of the Exploitation Era, a large party of Dwarven rebels moved North and settled independent of Amorynthia, in the land they named Vastoria. Unfortunately for the Dwarves, the rocky region was already home to some particularly territorial creatures, forcing them underground to live a subterranean existence.




· Ithelm & Savizar ·

The 'twin islands' of Ithelm and Savizar are certainly not identical, and they seem completely incapable of putting their differences aside. Segregated from mainland Amorynthia, their primitive people live basic lives of survival and conflict. Technically under the rule of King Valdez, the islands are essentially independent due Valdez' neglect and disinterest, leading Ithelm and Savizar to develop their own hierarchies. The islands are currently locked in a brutal war over the volcanic island that sits between their neighbouring shores.




· Falinstađ ·
The mysterious island of Falinstađ is rarely visited by outsiders; though not by choice. The inherently magical island seems to isolate itself through arcane means, turning away any visitors upon supernaturally rough tides. Known to mainlanders as Mirage Island, Falinstađ is near enough untraceable to the naked eye, occasionally visible on the horizon under the right conditions. The isolated island is rumoured to be the home of the Elves, though few who ever made it to Falinstađ's shores have returned with confirmation...
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Chapter 3 ~ Anthropology

Part of Tyrrania's inherent wonder is its ethnic diversity. Growing up in a small, woodland village, I had never laid eyes on a non-Human before I began my adventures. During my explorations, I came across a total of four species that I identified as sentient, Humanoid races; that is, non-animalistic, intelligent people. I have documented the details of these various peoples below, in the hopes that you are fortunate enough to cross paths with some of them on your travels. Through learning about others, we often end up learning about ourselves. It is important to remember that, as well as our differences, we also possess similarities through which we can unite.


· Humans ·
(Homo recognitus)
Humans are the most populous race in Tyrrania. The average height is between five and six feet tall; males are larger and more muscular than females. Their hair and skin colours vary in pigmentation from white to black; though red hair is not uncommon. On average, they live to be around seventy years old, though it is not unheard of for them to reach a hundred. Humans are an intelligent species and are responsible (or at least highly involved) in much of Tyrrania’s development. Humans are generally considered to be the most powerful race; if not for their advantageous build and intellect, then for their sheer numbers alone. All of Tyrrania’s royal lineage has been exclusively human, which has lead to a sense of humans being ‘above’ the other races. Humans have a tense history with the Dwarves; aside from the infamous Dwarven Exploitation and subsequent rebellion, some theories suggest that Dwarves were a failed experiment by the creator gods, from which the Humans were designed. This tension has largely settled in the modern age, but naturally some Humans remain who believe themselves to be the master race. Humans are capable of learning magic, but it must be studied and committed to memory. Humans are ruled by King Valdez of Amorynthia, or by King Setsiput of Tumeken, depending on their heritage.


· Dwarves ·
(Homo primitus)
Dwarves are the second most populous race in Tyrrania, though their population only equates to around 60% of the Humans. They live on average for between ninety and a hundred years. Dwarves are shorter and more muscular than Humans, with both genders averaging between three and four feet tall. Males are notably hairier than females. Aside from these differences, they are physically similar to Humans, albeit it shorter and stockier. Whilst they are stronger than Humans and easily as intelligent, their stature causes them to be much slower. The strength of their internal organs means they are largely immune to poisons, though particularly potent venoms may still affect them. Dwarves were exploited by Humans hundreds of years ago, in what was effectively entire racial slavery. This caused a large portion of Dwarves to move into the unoccupied lands of the North, which they would name Vastoria after their leader. However, problems with the feral Nosferytes that lived in the region forced the rebels underground, where they built the subterranean city of New Kelda. Elsewhere, Dwarves who resisted the rebellion can be found all across Amorynthia, especially in Gard, but the Tumeken kingdom tends to be too warm for them. Dwarves are notoriously good smiths, and Dwarven-crafted goods are considered by the majority of Tyrranians to be the highest quality available. Whilst many would argue that the exploitation of the Dwarves is over, with some smiths even able to set up their own smithees in high-end areas of Amor, most of the Dwarven kind still work labour-intensive hours in the Gardian mines. Whilst they do make a profit, it is minimal due to the heavy taxes imposed by the King. Dwarves are incapable of using magic in any form, even through study of the magical arts. Because of this, Dwarven weapons and armours are often enchanted by human mages and resold at a higher cost.


· Nosferytes ·
(Homo sanguinus)
A populous race, though few pay much mind to their existence due to their isolation in the frozen North. Nosferytes are visually similar to Humans, albeit it taller and more muscular, averaging between six and seven feet in both genders. Females are notably more slender. Their skin is pale and even white in some cases; their hair pigmentation is often dark by contrast, but ice-blonde hair is a coveted rarity considered the pinnacle of Nosferyte beauty. They have sharp, fang-like teeth and the race’s eyes are universally deep red in colour. Nosferytes are much stronger and faster than the other races, and they live to be around four hundred years old, in their prime for around half of that. Though, it is not without its drawbacks: an ancient condition curses the bloodline, giving the species an inherent craving for blood, which is highly harmful to their minds and bodies. Consumption of blood grants a Nosferyte instant euphoria and it is easy for them to become addicted: continued ingestion will quickly reduce the Nosferyte to a frail, emaciated shell, losing their hair as well as their mind and living only to consume more blood. These unfortunates are branded ‘Ferals’ by their kind, and immediately deported from Rotsanger on unmanned ships, intending to kill of the weaklings of the species. Unfortunately for the Nosferytes, many of their vessels crash in the convenient Gravesend Bay, which has lead to an increasing population of Ferals in the mountainous region of Vastoria. Nosferytes live in a constant war with themselves to resist the urge to drink, and sustain a carnivorous diet of meat ritualistically drained of its blood. Contrary to the vampiric rumours that surround the species, the Nosferytes are a race in themselves and cannot ‘convert’ victims; nor would they wish to. Nosferytes are capable of learning magic, though it is generally considered by their people to be a coward’s practice: the Nosferytes enjoy the thrill of direct conflict.


· Elves ·
(Homo arcanus)
The Elves are a scarce people, of whom very little is known about. Some wonder whether they actually exist at all, or whether the stories are just folk tale and mythology getting carried away with itself. Supposedly, Elves are v̶̝̗͕͍̙̜͎͔̅̒̍̈͋͛̉̄̓͐́̅̅͆͜į̴̢̝̞͕̯͇͖̩̮̄̂̀̊͂̔̾͐̀͐̔̉͠͝s̴͙̙̗̋̇͂̀̈̈́̉̓̾͘ụ̶̧̟͕̠̩̥̭̞͌͂͜͝ͅa̵̢̻̼̮̮̗̱͇̘̤̮̥̯̤̣̅̄ͅl̶̨̛͎̣͇͍͉͓̙̹͉͔̯̠͚̠̩̮̺͖̿̅̔̈́̊̊̆̈̃̃̏̽̑̇̕͘͝ͅl̴̤̮̲̄̌͌͐̐͌̉̾̀͑̓̀̊͘͝͠ỷ̴̨̢̤̩̻̬̬̜̼̥͍̗͍͓́̋̊͊̎̿͌͘ ̸̨͚̝̖̙̼͈̭̎̽͐̈̐͗͒͑̋́̓v̶̧̨̛̯̥͕͎͓̺̘͉̑̈̓̓̈́͝ͅȩ̴͇̖̭̭̹̲̱̯̘̞̖̜̎́͑͐̋̈̑̀͆͛̅͒̀̋͛͘͝͝ŗ̴̬̜̜̬̺̤̭͖͈̤̦̻͎͎͚̾̈̈́͗̽̍̃̈́̈́̕͜ͅͅy̷̧͕̟͕̩̹̖̙̟͂̎̉͘ ̶̛̱̊̔͝ş̶̧͎͎̜̼̦͖͎̮̮̫̰͍̜͇͒̂́̐̂͌͋͊̌͆̓̋̓ͅͅi̶̞͉̦̍͊́̒̌͂̈̀̆̍̈́̏̎̉͝m̵̨̛̫̮̟̱̠̭̹̘͍̤͓͗̎͑͝ï̴̧̡̙̖͕̣̮̙͍̳̤̹̤̱̣͓̣͓͜l̶̡̡͙̙̮̰̩̗̦̼̯̟͎̥̜̭̪̽͋̾̐͑̀̊͛̓̌̕͝a̵̡̡̰̳̘̪͉̫̦͎̭̺͖͍̜͈̟͕̤͊͐̉͆̃̔̽̄̕͜r̸̛̯͔̹͓͓̳̘̟͍̣͖̥̦͙̙͈̝̮̦̤̒̿͊̏́̐́̒̎̀̽͒͗̃͐̀̀̐̚ ̶̡͖̥̻͇̬͂̿t̴̙̖̳̹͔̜̦͎̮͉̪͆͆́̚͝ǫ̸̧̖̯̘͙̬̩̳̟͒̅̐̀̔̈́͊̑̇̓͜͜͝ ̶̛̦͎͙̗̣͙̘͈̲̺͊̃̃͒̌͛̆̓̆͠͝H̶̡̢̡̼̙͖̮̤͍͉̪̟͙͔͇̻̹͇̥̾̊̎̏̏̈́̐̈̈́̑̏͊̽͐̃̕̕͠͝ȕ̷̗̈́̾̃̑̒͌͆̄̑͋̐̕m̷̯̮̯̜̣̈́̅͐̎́̀̌̄̊̈́̐̍̓̓͗̈́̂͘͘͜ą̶̛̛̣̒̃̑͐̍̃̉̋̽̋̔̔̃̉͐n̶̢̡̝̺͕̖̬̲̥͕̟̱͚͖͔̈͋ͅs̶̨̡̪̤͍̣̲͚̻͎͇͓̭̲͓̮̪̩͆̓͋͛́͗̃̑̈́͊͋̿̇͘͘,̶͉̯͇̙͉͉̭͓̩̙̱̲̜̼͖͇̉́̒͊̅̓̚͜͜ͅ ̷̡̡̢̱̬͉̮̠̠̠̠͉̩̦̻͕͓̒͋̈́̆̕s̶̘͖̲̥͙̤̪̜̹̜̙̤̽̉͜͜ͅͅͅa̸̧̡̨̖̼̬̣͍͕̼͈̠̬͓̺̖͖͕̳̤͑̓̆̇̈v̵̡̳̜̯̖͍͇̦̖͍̘̫̲͚͍̜̠͊̈͊͂͛̏͒̓̅̄͑̊̃́̓͑̒͝e̸̡͙̖͔̜͚͖͕̖̫̜̦̓̀̈́͜ ̵̣̞̗̖̤͓͈̳̘̜̖̻̾͒̅͆͒̾̀̀͆͗ͅf̸̨̨̺̼̟̼̺̳̩̗͓̻̙͚̼̃̎͛ǫ̶̨̧̢̜͍̫̘͕̦̠͖̬̣͍̮̤̾͆̄̄͌̑̓͌̽̿̀̀̕r̵̢̟̥̬͈͓̱͙̻̤̱̲̫̭̟̄̆͜ͅ ̴̗̹͙͈͙̩̯̻̒̂̒́̾̈̂̄̉́͗͆͌͘͠ͅt̷̢̧̰͇̟͚̫͉͍͆͆̇̾̊͌̐͒h̷̢̛̫̱͎̣͙̖̮̿̽̊̀̓̈́̔̾̏̅̋͛́̐̃̚͘̕ę̶̨̨̨̦͙͓͍̜͙̠̗͍̙̰̻͉͇̩̍͐̉͒̓̓̈́͘͝ͅi̷̛̛͍̫̭͙͓̟̅̇͗͋̊̀͋̈́̀̅̌̓̃̈́͝r̴̺͌̋̈ ̶̧̛̤̬̮̙̮̳̼̺̪͙̝̯͎̭̈̓͛͐̉̂͌͑͐̌̈́̚̚̕ͅl̷̜̋͛͛̊̌̆̊͋́ͅo̴̢̦̞̥̬͇̜͇͕͕͎͖͙̓͊͐͊̌̆̈́̿n̶̛̛̲͍̝̪̱̙̅̌́͌͛͋̐́̀͑̚͘̚͝ǧ̵̨̡̫͈̫͉̪̮͔̮̪̜̾̇͑̇̏̚̕,̷̦̪͔̏̀̃̈̋̓̈́͆͘̚͝ ̸̢̧͉̝̠̱̻̦̣̀̾͌̎͂̀̚ṗ̶̡̡͚̭͙̥̖̙͙̫̬͉͚̋̐͊̾͜o̴͓̮̲͔̼͊̽̌͐̑̆̔̅͌̀͘̕͝į̶̢͈̳͕̟̟͇̪͍͛͊͗́͐̅̓̋͌̿̋̑̓̾̚͝ͅͅn̶̡̦̠̙̟̮̘̹̯̭̲̳͖̳̦̆̒͐̀̂̄̚̕͜t̶̰͎͑̑͋̔͆̈́͐̐̈́͌̚ę̷̣̝͓̮̯͒̎͋͐͐̀̈́̂̇̍̍́͘͜͜d̷̡͖̝̞̯̬̱͈̭͍̰̟̩̫͙͙̫̝̂͑̏͘͘ ̵̱̱̤̅́̎͛̊͗͌̃͘͠ẻ̸͎̞̠̓͌́͛͂͘̚͝͝͝a̸̛̱̽̍ŗ̵͍̣̖̘͖̜͇͙̭̻̮̰͕̮͂̀͗̔̋́͋̿̿͝ͅͅś̶̢͍͔͍̝͓͉̜̮̙͘ ̶̡͎̰͙̽̐͌̏̾͐́͑̃͂̚̕̕̚͝͝ā̸̳̙͎͍̞͚̭̫̩͙̝͍̼̗͙n̷̝̜̭͇̭͓̓d̸̢̧̧̡̧͖͓͙͍̤̦̫̺̲̩̩̰̲̺́̆͛͋̎̀̓̃̿́̀̀̓͂̿̚̕͝ ̷͙̬̮͉̭̍͋̈́͛s̶̛͇̹̮͖͆̑͗̄͗̏͐̅͊͊̉͌̿͆̍̚̕͠l̵͎͔̗̹̜̪̩̙͎͖̐̊̅̎͒̈͌͋́̄̑̚ę̴̡͖͖͙͇̞̝̽̍̿̑̈́̂̌̈́͑͐̔͒͘͠ņ̴̭̬̪̰̖̪̯̥̩͎̅̑͋́͂̈́̆̉͛́̽̓͋͂̋͗̾͒͝͝ͅͅd̶̢̡̜̟͙͈̺̩͇̠̜̳̟͍̰̥̱̖͎͐̋͋̕ẽ̸̙͕͔̼̼̻͖̰̰͇̎̿͛̄͌̈̎͒̀͂͌̊̂͂̚͜͝͝ŗ̸̳̟̗̪̹̝͙̹͓̭̪̫͍̾̽͛͜ ̶̡̟̺̭͚͋͗̂f̸̥͇̭̱͓̲̿̎̈́̏̓̓͑̈̏͊͋͛͂͝͝r̴̛̙̖̳̤͕̤̖͔͉̜͕̗̙̆̌̄̊̂͌͆́̓͒̀̈́͂͌̎̀̚͝͝a̷̧̢̡̖̣̝̠͉̟̻͚̜͇̠̥̳̙̤͇̼̐̂̄̚͝m̶̢̛̻̰̜̭̦̝̥̗͖͇͓̲̺̻̊̈́̏̈́́̈̈́̂̅̄̀̑̋̎́̄̕͘͜͝é̶̡̛̛͍͇͖͚̰̩͔͕͇̼̜̜̻̩̞̪̝͚̅̈̾̿̋̿̇̽̃̎́̂͑͊͜͝͝ș̶̢̡̫̦̤̟͙̳̘͈̭̮̈̋̈͊̐͛̅̓́͊͜͝ͅ;̷͈́̾̅̇͂̄͐̓̽͑͝͝ ̴̧̤̫̣͈͙̞̳̘͇̳͉̽̀̏̃̒͌͒̓̔͘ţ̴̳̱̲͚̩͖̭̟͕͊͊̅̄͗̃͋͌̓͆͘͘͝͠ȟ̷̢̨̧̗̥͕͉͎̖̥͔͇̄͂̀̒͛̎̇͗̍̈́̍̑͂͘͠ę̷̧̳̤̹̤͙̠̤̰͉͖͇͚̣̹̔͂̈́́̀̅̏̆̈́̇͒̀͘ͅ ̵̡͍̜̰̥͙̜̊͗̀͗̆̾̏̽̆̈̓̍͝͝l̴͍̪̙̜̪͉̖̜̳̝̤̥̹͙̏̑̌̆͊͠ă̴̡̝̞̗̩̩̗̘̮̻̟͕̟͍͈̼̱͚̈̀͜ͅt̴̞̥͓̮̻̣͛̒͛̍͊̓͂̈́̕t̸̹͖͑̓̓̑̂̔̑̂̍͂̊̍̄̉̈́̍͑͝ę̸̧̛̫̫̣̯̰̥͍̐̐̈́̏̋̈́̓̊́̂͒̔͘̚̚͜r̶̡̧̪̫̮̜̝̓̿̈́̿ ̸̣̰͕̟͎̬̳̲̜͇̖̠̰͛̐̆̉͑̑͝ö̸̤̝̯͕̳͚́̑̈́͊͂͂͛̏̉̋͑͋̀̅͐̊͝f̶͎̼͍̖̬̜̆̌̃̽̓̀́̎͑̑̄̑̀̑͝ ̶̭̺̳̬͙̆̒͛́̑́́̽̿̉̓͒͒̄͂͐̊͝ͅw̶̧̨͉̮̼͇̲͚̰͎͍̩͉̦̘͉͎̒̕͜h̷̨̛̤̝̪͓̞̣͔͕͈̲̟̻͍͇̬̩͈̱̑̏̂̄͐̑͂͐̐̍͗̂̈̃̑̈̀i̸̢̱̹̝̳̬̱͕̭̜̤̱̺̠̩͙̰͙̺̝̓͋̆́̔̈͗̏́͝͝ć̸̢̡͚̹̞̙̣͉̙̦͕͎͔̳͓͑̕h̴̻͓̗̫̮̖̮̠͍̦̑̿̈́͂̐̅̈́ ̷̛͎̲͈̹̯̩̣͚͐̑́ͅc̷̱̱̺̰̲̼͈̱̮̜̫͓̟̰͓̩̫̗̰̗̅̏̍̈̀ã̶̦̩̠̞͖̫̱͚̠͉̙̫̪̹̩͔̇͗̽̈́̀̔̎̐n̸͙͍̟̓͂͋̓̂́̐̈́͐̂̈́͐̓́̇́͠ ̷̘̬͔̳̝̣̥̟̤͙͓͈̦̥̼̰͌̇͂́͒͐̑͊̎̋́͗͛͑̀͘p̴̧̩͓̲̻̦̭̄̽̒͐̐̓̌̈́͝r̴̡̩̩͕̫̙͙͇͒̽̐̂̊ơ̸͓͕̦̫͓̻̜̫͊̒͆́͂̑̃͊͝b̶̨̥̦̞̟̼͑͒͊̈͋̈͌͘͠ä̴̛̘́̉̒̇̊̿̒̏͂̏̑͐̍̽̍̾͘͘͝b̶͙̗̭͚͚͓̱̫͇̎͌̽̍̕͘l̵̨̡̧̡̛̼̩̱̺͙̈́͐̂̉̆̈́͗̅͝ỷ̶̧̛̲̹͉̜̮̟̗̭̰̼̤̤͎̐͗͒̃́̅̂̈́͑́͊͋͊̏̆͝ ̸̧̢̨̛̰͎̘̰̠̼̹͕̭̿̎̊͂̈́̈́̂̆̀͊b̶̧̰̺̻͕̙̹̣̬̜̲̮͚̤̥̈́̒͆͜ͅͅe̷̛̹̩͔̝͔̞̾͆̔̓̓̉̀̊͝͝ ̶̢̮̼̺̗͉̟̻̯̝͕͎̬̎̿͌͆̈́̇̽̅̿̈̚͝ͅą̸̛̖͓̫̬̣̮̞͉̰̬̝̓̈́͠t̸̢̢̮͇̝̹̝͙̻̰̣̠̂͌͛͒̌̎̎͊̏̿͂̓͜ͅṫ̵̤̼̳̦̽̄͊̎̉́̔͋͛̑́r̵̡̧̘͎͍͓̯̜̠̹̳̫̣͔̮̩̩͛̽͛̎̊͌̅͊̒̇̓̌̊̀͐͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅï̷̡̻̯̹̪̺̻̝̺̤̜̻̜̹͕̣̯̊ͅͅb̸̡͕͔̣̫͖̙̯̼̲͛̐̏̑̅̊́̅̒͐̀̀̃̕͘̚͜͠ư̶̩̘̝̭͕̋̂͌̄͆̑̒͜t̶̨̢̝͙̳̱̰̮̘̳̖̬̞̗̮̤́̍̈́̏͊̂͒͊̏̚͜͜͝ͅȩ̶̛̺͖̳̜͚̩̙̺̌̔̈͊̓̊̈̌̿̚͠d̷̢̪̼͓̙̦̬̱̫͓̞̫̱̫̜̰͒̿͜͝ ̸̡͙̩͙̘̦̱̝͇̻́͒́͋̀͆́̃͂̈́̒̄̊́͘͠ͅţ̸͎̹̦͊͌̅̀̐͂͋͐́̀͘ǫ̸̝̬̭̗͕̱̯̠̖̥̩̪͎̦͈̩̣̙͍́̔ ̸͉̰͛̇̔̓͗̄̾͌͐͒͋͂̈́̔̎̉̓͘t̶͔͐͆͊̅̓̌̔̐͂͑̇̓͌̋̃h̷̫̲̦̘͒̆̌̐̎̽̆̔̈́̈͂͌́̎̿̉̄͜͝͠ȩ̶̢̛͕̝͎͚̝̭̦͚̪̞̯̲̋̾͋͂ͅḯ̴̡̯͎̪̤̖͚̼͔̩̩̩̙̜̖́͆̑͝ŕ̶̰̪͉̑ ̶̢̡̡̨̨̗̱̦̗̜̤͇̳̗̯̩̟̺͈̍̈́̈̒̍̀͗̍̇̓͘͠v̸̧̭̞̩͈͒̐̌͂̃͆̿̌̊̔́͝e̴̡̛̹͚͖̹͙̩̠̠̯̥̗͊̑͜ͅĝ̸̨̨̧̨̨͇̳̤̠̻̙͎̟̅́͆̏̌͋̏̔͛͒̈́̃̈́̏̓̂͑̕ą̷͈̯̫̺̳̹̥̜͙̗̠̀̒͆͐̍͛̂͗̕ǹ̷̢̧̡̧͓̣͕̘̫̙̼͍̞̳̰̱͖̖̑͒͒̓̑̽͌̿́̊͗͐̈́̈̀͌̀͛͘ ̷̛̛͓̺̽̽͆͝l̷̗̪͎͍̞̹͇̭̣͎̲̠̭̝͑̍̓́̈́́͂͂́́̕͠ï̵̢̱̘͍̬̲̙̦̹̣͕̥͂ͅf̶̖̘̥̉̃̓̉̑͒̽̿̄̈͂́̊̕͠ę̴̛͍͉̜̭̱̬̟̠̮̺̲̘̱̍̈́͛̏̎́̒̉͊̏̾̍̚͜͠ͅs̶̢̥̝͇̮̈́̀̏͛͐̑̎̒͛͆͘t̸̠̗̻͈͈̾̿͛̾͝y̸̰̘̯̎̀̌̋̓̚̚̕͜͝l̴͓̖̝̪̪͍͖̯̪̙̆͒̇̀̈́̈̇̀̾̏̆̿̚͝e̸̹͕͚̺̫̯̝͔̤͐̀̇͌̃̚͠ ̶̨̨͕̙̖̤͇̘̖͇̹̣͈̟̹̲̟̞̏͋͛̽͜o̷̜͍̙͉̠̖̻̪͈͓͕̜̠̲̲͎̘̭̾̋̊́̔͒̿͘͝ͅn̶̡̛̮̙̠̯̣͇͚̣̝̟͎͚̺̟̣͛̈́̈̿̓̀̌̍͘̚̕̚͜͝ ̶̨̡͖̫̗̠͉̼̭̺͓̪̙͋̾̀̆̈́̐̚ͅt̸̨̖̠̻̖̊̎̍̓̀̅ḩ̷̹͓̖̳̟̘̮͖̤̙̪̯̘̈̇̊̔͛̒́͋́̔̅̃̀͂̑́͜͝ͅé̶̞̥͈͓̹̓̈́͐̾͛́̈̾̂̑̿͗͋͑̔̚͠͝i̴̥̦̯͈͉̳̙͇͚̦̠̻͔̤̜̙͙̘̗̾ṛ̵̐̎͆͑͑͠ ̸̡̧̥͚̳͔̗͈͓͇̮̘̞̲͇̮͊̑͗̊̿̋́̀͋̉̀̓͘ͅͅm̵̛̞̼̺̈́̄̄̆̾̀̔̉̈͌̎̍͐̀̈́͝ͅy̴̧͙̻̺͈̯͍̟͓̺̮͍̮̫͈̠̼̐̈̾͗͋͘͝͠ͅs̴̨̢̰̭̫̳̺̘̙̘̭͍͚̦̙̳͊́̈́̀́͑̐͐̕̚͘ͅͅt̸̨͎̘̱͇̱͇͎͈̗̤̭͉̫͓͉̙̾͑́͒̍͌́̔̉͜͜ͅȩ̵̢̧̺͍͖̫̟̥̤̥̟̰̼̻̺̼͔̀̀͗̋̌̿̀̎͋̂̐͐͜ṙ̷̡̙͙͉̬̯̺̖̼̳̠͉͔͇͉̣͓͙͖͑̇͗̓̌͑̌̚i̶̡̢̞̱̗̓̅̌͆̽̏͊̊̒̔̄͝͝͝͝ơ̶͖̰͉̱͖̩̞͙̱̖̏̑͋͂̊͒̌̎͊̑̂ŭ̷̧͖̰̱͌̾̕̚ŝ̶͙͚̠̜̼̀̀͝ ̵͎͖̈́͒̄̌̑̿͑̓̽h̵̻̦̓͑͛̍͗͝ọ̵̤̌̓̌͝m̷̢͓̝͉̙̳̪͖̥̖̮̠̝̦͓̃̇͊͋̎̌͒͋͑͆̊̍̒͆͒͘͘̚͝e̵̬̙̲̗̥͓̹̬̝̗̜̻̬̻̼̾̔͛́̎̓̄̐͜͜͝ͅl̶̢͓̞̪͕̝̆̅̃ấ̶͕̣̌̊̇̊̓̔͌̒́̕͘͠͝n̸̬͈̬͙̣̮̳͖̼͈͔̻͍̬̅͜͜ͅd̵̻̖̍ ̷̫̮̩͉̘͎̻̙̹̗͔̻̮̝͕̼̦̳̈́̀̃̇̅̅̃̇̽̕̚͘ơ̷̧̻̬̜͖͓̫̭̘̼̪̹͒͗̈́̆́͊̃̋̄̊̍̎̈́̃̋͋͝f̴̋̀͆̔ͅ ̴͕̳̞̰̗̼͖̠͓̙͇͔͈̈͋͗̑̍̾̈́̿̀̍͊̈́̕̕͝F̸̟̣̃̍̒å̷͕̼̪͖̪̰̖̙̯̔̚ͅļ̷̼̗̗̥̭̦̻͚̼̜̫̙̜̳̣̠͊͆̿̈̌͆̀̽͝͝í̶̧̧̛̮͇̟͔̣̳͍͖̥͉͙̬̭̝͎̬̹̙̂̒͒̀̉̈́͊͂̀̃̽̅̓͘̚ņ̵͙̰̖̮̝̝̜̪̼̼͔͝ṣ̵̛̫̦͚̼͉̫̍͌̍͛̕t̶̼̱̳̲̝̻͈͍̭͓͐ͅą̵̞̫̳̟̦̯̪̗͎͕̫͓͕̞̂͋̊̕͘̚͝đ̸̢̖̦̗͉͓͍̻͋̍͒͊͊̂̄͑̎͘͘.̴̧͖͉̰̈́ ̷̡̤̠̹͔̥͓͓̬͚̐̅͊̔͊̒̓̔̏̽̊̿̐̑͑̀͆͝͝͠Ṕ̴̯͚͖̥͙̰̳̲͍͕̤̠̳̳̘͇̻̒̀͒̔̅ͅh̴̢̨͔̼͍̻͇̣͔́̎ͅͅy̶̧̥̮̣͖̤͈͕̠̘͔̥̒͆̃̊͂́̀̈̈̓̾̈́͘̕ͅş̷̧̨͕̞̟͉̗͕̱̠̹̯̋͐̓͂̒̄̑̈̄̋̾͠i̶̛̲̣̰̣̦͈̙̙̖͖̫̕͘͝ͅc̸̬͓̦͈̹̞̺͕̯͚̩̟̠͗̉̏̂͜a̷̤̩͔̲̩̻̮͕͆́͛̆̍͘͜l̶̢̻̹͇͉̬̰͍͓̫̦͙̬̞͎͈̥̟̺̊͋̃͌̈̿̃l̶̢̗̜̗͚̭̙̥̯̪͍͖͎̻̗̩̥̭͋͝y̶̛̹̟̍̊̒̒͆́̏̃̇̂̏̕̚͝,̶̢̱͎̱̟̜̘͕̘̳͇͉̟̮̝͛̿̓̌̏̄̇͋͗͆̈͊͋͜ ̵͇̓̽̏́̾͛̽̅͗̂̚̚͘͝͠t̸̛̺͎͋̎͋̍̑̐̂̏̆̈̏́́̋͐͝h̴͕̖̰͇͈̩̬̠̙̝̜͚̥͇̗̻̤̩͔͐̽͒̊̆̐̕̚͝e̴̛͇͇̮͚̯͆͑̈́͊̾̋͂̂͊̐̀̐̒͘͠͠y̸̰͓̳̣̯̖̻͆̐̒́̍͆͗̄̑͋͝͝ ̷̨̝́̀̀̓̇̚a̸̢͍͚̤̥͈͙̼̳͕̻̲̐̃̑͂͛͐́̈́̀͊̅̽̑̆́͘r̵̨͍̤͙̯̬̉͗̔̂̄͊̆͌̿̎̂̄͜͠ȅ̵͈̼͍͇̥̈́̾̃̔̉́̓̑̀͒̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ ̴͎̝͈̼̤̹̓͆̀̀̀̉̅̃̿̓́́̏̍͝͠p̶͕̩͓̜̮̩̱̭̱̫̎͊ŗ̴̰̙͔͉̦̰̰̖͚͓̣̗̽͑͜͠ẻ̶̢̧̨͙̩̘̱̭̘̻̣͍͕͍̳͎̦͜ṣ̶̞͍̪̻̤̝̰̳͊ͅu̷̗͖̙̼̺̩̩͎͈̯̲͎̲̞̩͐ͅm̴̞͋̿̓̏̀̒̊̀̑̚e̷̪̠͔̳̘͚̖̹̒̃̈́́̈́̈́ḑ̸̘̫̯̬̤͙͍̭̉͊̓́̾͊̎̀͛ ̸̧̡͇̞͈̰̘̱̗̮͔̍̽͆͆̈́̾̇́͌̓̔͆͘͜ͅt̵̡̨̡͍͉̙̺͙̫͉̞̬̮̙͂̃͑̕͜ͅǫ̸̭̟̗̱͍̙̼̝̳̤̬̭̪̤̖̙̦̀̾̉͐̀̀͋̽̃̃̓̅̓̿̔͗͂̓̕ ̵͔̹̥̰͈̜͉̹͂͒̀̎̌͛̇̃͊́̍͝b̴̨̡̢̜̬͍̳̘̰̳̳̭̟̖̒̃̈͋̀́̄͊̌̓̑̑̾͊̋̔̕̚͝e̵͎̮̓̑̋͋̄̏͊̿͋̊͝͝ͅ ̷̞͔̩̳͉͇̣͙̠̜͓̗̻̙̼̈͑̄̃̎̾̈́͜w̶͙̞͓̠̘͚̥̞̲̞̫̪̝̩̣̓̽̓̀̃̈́̃̋͋͂̌̾̍̒͊̋͋͜ė̸͖̗̮͇̪͕̫͎͙̘̠͕̻̰̙́̏̎̓̔̀̌̒͜͠ͅa̶̛̻͓̱̔ḱ̷̛͔̗͖͇̿̾̄̃̆̈́̽̈́͛͑̅͋̚̕͝é̶̡̛̲̙͚͆͋̊̍̊̏́̅͌͒͗̋̂͐̍͠ŗ̷̨̟̖̟̬̻̭̠̘̦̠̼͓̮̰̳̤̎͑̿̍̒͐̉̈́͋̑͋̍̚͘͘̚͠͝͠ ̸̫̺͉͕̫̺̰̟̻͔̦̬͉̱̙̀̿ͅa̴̧̨̗̠͕̩̟͈̥̭̳̜̒̄̾͐͂̋͒̐̊̿̀̈́̑̐͊͜͜͜͠͠n̷̛̛͇̯̥̿̍̋̐̈́̄͂̀̐̍̋̈́̓̄̚͠ḑ̵̨̢̛̗̱͔̞͕͈̳̪̹̤̥͓̭̯̹͇͆̃͋̆̉͒̂̓͋̈̐̑͘̕̚͘͜͠ ̶̙̥̮̝̞̈́͛͊̃͝ş̸͖͉̳̟͕̥͖͖̬̘̩͔͇͓̻̔̈́͊͐͆͝͝͠ͅĺ̵̹̤̜̑̀̓͌͛̐̾͊̋͘͜o̷̢̲̭̮͕̒͂͐̍͊͊͋̽̾̕͘w̴͔͚̞̺̮̫̯̖̭̯̹̝͗́̓́̏̒̑́̂̓̑̽̈́̉͜ͅe̵̪͎̩̩̪̪̘͖̞͈̮͕̅͠ŗ̷̛̪̤̺̗͓͍̌́͆͂̐͗̓͂͘̕͝ ̵̨̼͈̦̲̪̘̰͙̓ṫ̸̛̗̰̄̂̇̃̏͑̌̒̎͂̔͘͝͠h̸̢̗͉̙̗͍̬̲͚͆̂̐̐̉͝a̷̧̺̯̜̟͚̩͈̖̫͚̐̐̔̎̈́͂͜ͅͅn̶̡̧͉̩̲̹̣̮̺͌̊̂̿͋̈̉̉̈́͆̕͜͝ ̸̢̨̹̥̦̫̘̘̦̮̼͎͖̰̘̼̗̞̥̻̾̐̒͆̿́̔̉̽̑͂̂̏̿̓̊͊͒͠͠m̸̮̰̪̭̬͚͖̮͓͕̖̬͎̟̩̀͑͌͂̋͗̔͛o̷̢̬̝͔̮͓͓̰̻̅̎̅̋̈́̏͌̇̿̇͠s̸̢̡̤̲̼͉̣̺̝͉̪͚̦̯̞̰̳͍͍̆͆̕ẗ̴̙̦͖̘́̎̀͆̔̕ ̵̯̾̔͝s̶̺̖͚͔͉͙̬͎̯͓͆́̔͑ͅp̷̡̩͖̝͙͚͇̙̮͕͓̘̳̰̱̻̦͘ͅͅẹ̸̰͇͑̂̀̇̈́̓̀͑̆̃͛͊͊͠͝c̵̨̡͓͖͓̮͓̭̪̰̺̲̹̏̌͆͊̃͗͠i̷̛̝̣̜͐̅̽̽͆͐̈̉̈̅͆͗́̆͂̽̌́ͅe̸̦̞̲̦̞̙̥̥͉̹̞̰͋̃̂̔̉̓̽̄́̔̓̐͝ş̶̡̢̢̛̛̬͓͕̞͈̼̞̥̤͔̤̮͐̅́̌̿́̈̀̔͆̃͐̀̎͆͗̆͘͜ͅ ̶̢̛͎͚̹̫̲̜̤̳͍̞͕̖̤̮͈̰̤̖͐̅̄͘ḑ̵̡͙̰̱̳͍͔̱̙̭̼̬̺͈̜͍̃̏̚u̵̞̼̱̥̞̬̫̰̼͚̭͔̤̽͗̈́̉ͅe̶̛̮̤̲̲̼̋̽͋̌̃̓͗̍̈́̓́̀́̉͆̔͘͘͝ ̵̯̤͕̲̥̬̀̓̑̑̍̾ͅt̷̖͈̞̳͑̔̏̈́͛̌͊͑̅̈́̊͌̈͝͝o̴̢͉̰͉̹͓̩̗͚̦̻͈̱͔̖̬̳̐ ̴̼̣̣̩͙͍̳̝͎͕̋͂̆̈́̄͌͊̌̍ť̷̡̮͉͂̀̈͆͐̕h̸̢̯̹̠̀̍͊̈ę̷̮̟̖̤̬͕̪͉̭̦̬̮̖̺͙̼̫̫̰͌͝i̸̢̯̹̦͚̜̾r̷̩͉͂̒̅̓̇̍̐͂̓̚̚͝ ̵̡̡̣̹͈̤̻̫̯͇̫̞͉͙̜̟̾̏̈̈͐̍̅̿͆͌n̴̥̰̳͇̣͈͚̭̫̈́̎̏́͘͜ơ̶̤̮͓̤̼̞̿̽͛̾̀̂̇̎́͗̊̀͝ͅn̵̳͎̖̞̜̤̬͔͓̫̥̦̲̮͎̒͐͊̊̈́͊̐̊̐͛̆ͅ-̶̢̢̡̛̪͙̠͔͍͛̎̀͑̿̊̀̄̐̋̈́̕͘͘͝h̶̡̻͍͚̖̯͖͈͋̅́̂̒̆͛̕͝ö̶͎̟̦̳͖̯͕̗̟̼̟̍̈͌̉̽͒͐̓̽̄̔̈́͛̎̿́ş̶̧̨̢̛̫͓̙͍͙̝̤̰̳̼͎̮̠̤̜̉̾̊̊͊̋͋̚͘͜͠t̴̡̺̺͚̟͍̩̹̲̼̞̹͖̗̖͠ͅi̶͕͈̪̣͖̗͕̦̥͓̟̽̓̿̀̊̓͒̔̌̉́̓̉̄͜l̴̢̛̛͚̖̞̦̺͑̇́̒̔̃̀̌͒̽̈́̉͒̆̊̕ͅe̴̡̦̭͑͛ ̷̧̡̧̡̢̢̩͔̹̟̣̫͖̬̩̝̫̮̌͌̋̉̒̓̃̈́͜e̴̺͉̐̓̈́͐̀̊̂̈̌͗̅̿͝x̵̧͙̘̅̂́̓͛͂͒͐̽̽̈́̅̇̔̂̕̕͠i̵͇̘̳̩̞͈̞̞̘͉̟̽̓̏̇̔̊̿͆͗̊͛́̽̓̓̄͘͝ș̷̢̡͈̱̥̙͉̜̪̥̜̙͉̱͙͚̪̟͉͗͑̐̽͌͝ţ̴̧̱̳̗̘͕̖̑̽͌ȩ̵͖̟̣̬͈̤̪̝͖̮̦͔͚̒̾̑̋̆̇͌͘͜͜͝ͅͅņ̶̛̙̖͈̦̲̦̻͍̤̖̝̜̙͓̠̑̓͜͠ͅç̶̢̨̤̪̙̗͈͕͕̠̫̣̞̆̓̿̀́͗̉͐̕é̷̢̡̛̬͔͉͈̮̹̦͔̤̬̻̟̝̬̪́͗͗̒̔̃̔͜͝.̶̨̡̜̗̱̩͍̼͕̘̫̲̻̽͗͂͗̈̏͜ ̵̧̧̛̤̩̱̱͚͇̲̹͓̩̜͉̲͔̩̼̗̰̔̐̅̉̌͊́̈̏̒͂̔̚T̵̰̣̹̰̳̰͓̀͊̔͗̐̌̈̎͋̽́̍̓̇͝͠͝͝ḩ̶̛͕̣̻̭̖̦͚͔̩̲̩͇̂́͌̑̏̍̋̆̾͂̑̽̿͜͝ͅę̵̖̥̬̞̙̘̜̯̦͇̻̭̟̙͉͌̂̊̈́́


(These pages seem to be covered in some sort of green gunk; their contents are illegible.)
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Chapter 4 ~ Bestiary

This section of the book appears to be torn out completely; whether by hands or claws is uncertain.

The Grand Library apologises and assures readers that every effort is being made to retrieve the missing content.
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Chapter 5 ~ Theology

Whilst on my travels, I came into contact with many forms of faith and religion. It is with regret that, through my own atheism, I paid them so little attention, as in my final years the topic has come to fascinate me. With this in mind, I recruited the aid of Alexander Horne the First, an expert in the belief systems of Tyrrania. With his assistance, we were able to combine our collective knowledge to present you with the following summary of Tyrranian faith.


· Ahimoth ·
God of Life and Death
Ahimoth is regarded as the giver of life and the bringer of death. It is Ahimoth who ultimately determines whether a soul is pure, and whether it will pass safely into the Afterlife. Ahimothians live their lives according to his scriptures, which demand servitude to him, hoping to appease the God and ensure that their eternity beyond life is a pleasant one. Ahimoth is morally neutral: he encourages his followers to live good lives, but he is known to punish fiercely and has a reputation for being very unforgiving. This trait has earned him the nickname 'The Stern Judge', and is known to deter some Tyrranians from subscribing to his religion. Many of those who follow him do so out of fear rather than anything he might stand for.


· Adilah ·
Goddess of Justice and Wisdom
Adilah is a Goddess with a following throughout Tyrrania; many worship her in conjunction with Ahimoth, believing that her virtues will help them live a life pure enough to ensure them safe passage to the Beyond. But Adilah also has a strong independent following who worship her alone, and whilst she may only be the second most-worshipped deity in the land, her values of fairness, knowledge and morality earn her the reputation of the most benign deity. She is considered much more kind and forgiving in her judgement than Ahimoth; though her teachings focus upon order and justice, those who break the rules can be forgiven if they are able to learn from their mistakes.


· Carminda ·
Goddess of Beauty and Song
Carminda and her followers value the beauty of the world above all else, and see all creation in its pure form as beautiful. Their values of beauty and song have earned them an association with birds, which are considered sacred animals to the followers of Carminda. Her alignment with visual pleasures earns her a varied following, from painters and sculptors to carpenters and craftsmen. So charming is Carminda that even the followers of other deities have been known to offer her whispered thanks upon beholding particularly breathtaking views.


· Destina ·
Goddess of Fate and Order
Destina is regarded by her followers as fate itself personified: she is the one who decides what route a life will take, and it is her power that ensures the road is not strayed from. Her morality is considered neutral, as Destinites believe that she will enforce fate regardless of how the outcome will effect the individual. Destinites believe that fate is pre-determined, and thus it is common for them to dismiss the idea of Ahimoth’s judgement. They believe that Destina has a plan for them that will ultimately end well: they must learn self-control and persevere with the cards she deals them in order to attain her rewards. As such, Destinites are perhaps the most disciplined worshippers; they often favour meditation over prayer.


· Fusius ·
God of Strength and Power
Fusius is a controversial deity, renowned for the ruthless and self-serving nature of his teachings. The God believes that all individuals should fight for themselves; be it for their survival or their happiness. Where Fusius is concerned, there is no strict ‘right’ or ‘wrong’; he endorses doing whatever it takes to become stronger and more powerful. It is the belief of Fusians that the teachings of their God falls in line with the natural way of the world: the weak fall to the bottom, whilst the strong rise to the top. In a world where danger lurks around every corner, it is easy to see why so many people are willing to turn to Fusius for power. Whilst the faction is berated by other faiths, the Fusians believe that all life naturally craves power; it is just within their brave nature that they are willing to admit it and realise their desires.


· Ith ·
God of War and Hunting
Ith’s legacy began on the island of Ithelm, where the barbaric people there believed he dwelled within the flaming mountain; they prayed to him for success in their hunts and battles. Though the people of Ithelm remain his strongest followers to this day, worship of this God has found a place in the more civilised mainland over the last few hundred years. It is for this reason that Ith is often considered to be the youngest of the Gods. Despite his relative youth, however, it is easy to see why soldiers and huntsmen from across Tyrrania might turn to Ith in times of need. Even those not loyal to him have been known to carry armour or weapons imbued with his blessing into battle.


· Lynessa ·
Goddess of Fertility and The Land
Lynessa is associated with growth and health; she is the one women pray to for help conceiving children, and the one farmers pray to when their crops struggle. If Destina is considered to be a personification of fate, Lynessa is Mother Nature. She and her brother, Rhiver, are often worshipped in conjunction with one another. She lacks her brother’s kind heart, however, and her followers are often obliged to make personal sacrifices in return for her blessings. Every Winter, her followers celebrate their servitude to her by constructing large bonfires, into which they cast crops and produce in the hopes of earning her favour once again for the following year.


· Rhiver ·
God of Peace and Nature
value is peace between living things. His teachings encourage those who follow him to avoid killing or harming living things, though it is not prohibited entirely. Rhiver does not set rules that must be followed as he does not wish to be worshipped as a God; instead, he wishes to use his power to help guide people towards better lives. One could kill and eat a boar and still be considered a devout Rhiverist, as long as they ensured that the animal was treated with respect and saved from suffering. Whilst some dismiss Rhiverists as naive and idealistic, those who follow this religion are generally recognised as good-willed people.


· Zorion ·
God of Freedom and Will
Zorion is hailed by his followers as a god standing for independence, but his detractors would label him a force of mischief and chaos. In some respects, Zorionites share the same self-serving purpose as the Fusians, with one exception: their actions need not necessarily benefit themselves. Rather, those faithful to Zorion simply believe in acting on one’s free will, and rejecting the rigid structures of religion found in other faiths. Zorion asks nothing from his followers except that they do as they please, praying to him only if they wish; usually for protection in their endeavours. Zorion tends to attract the more roguish outsiders of society, as the religion is generally frowned upon as immature, irresponsible and disorderly. Because of this, Zorionites have a particularly tense relationship with the Destinites.


· The Great Mothers ·
The Old Gods
Across all histories, faith in various deities has waxed and waned. In one age, life itself may seem to revolve entirely around a particular deity; in the next, few may believe that same God had ever existed at all. The Old Gods, or the 'Great Mothers', are such beings lost to the passage of time.

The term 'Great Mothers' most often refers to three beings in particular: Yan, Rol and Tum. It is said that Yan, the oldest and wisest sister, created the earth and shaped it into Tyrrania, but it was too dark for them to appreciate it. The next oldest, Rol, gave birth to the Sun, which lit up the planet and allowed the sisters to marvel at its beauty. Tum, the youngest of the three, was overcome with emotion and wept in awe, her tears of joy flooding the planet with oceans, rivers and streams. They created lifeforms of increasing sentience, culminating in the eventual birth of the Humans. For some time, the Mothers did nothing but watch proudly as their creation blossomed.

That is, until Dar arrived. The fourth and youngest sister, Dar was abandoned by the Great Mothers in another plane of existence, and they believed her to be gone for good. However, Dar had been following them through the cosmos for millennia, and the Mothers had stopped for long enough to create Tyrrania that she was able to catch up. Enraged, Dar threatened to destroy Tyrrania, but together her sisters were able to defend their creation; though not before Dar was able to curse the land, introducing the concept of greed. She promised that, with greed now in their hearts, the once-perfect Humans would eventually destroy everything that the Mothers had created.

And so Dar left. Realising that their perfect world was no more, the Mothers soon followed suit; setting off in search of an equally suitable corner of the cosmos in which to rebuild what they had lost.
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"Memento mori: remember that you must die."
✶ P R O F I L E
BIRTHNAME:
Lucius Grimm

OTHER NAMES:
Grimm

AGE:
32

GENDER:
Male

RACE:
Human

BIRTHPLACE:
Woodsend, Amorynthia

RELIGION:
Ahimothian


✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT:
6’2”

WEIGHT:
171lbs

APPEARANCE:
Averagely built and only slightly above average height, Lucius does not strike anyone as particularly heroic by the light of day. Even when clad in his robes, his appearance is more unsettling than valiant. His skin falls on the paler side, a result of many hours locked away in his shack, and his icy blonde hair betrays his Grimm heritage. His piercing hazel eyes glimmer with a suggestion of greenness in the right light, and have a certain hypnotic quality when gazing out from beneath his cowl. His left hand is often bound in rags or bandages; when exposed, a ghastly scar is revealed running along the width of his palm, often with the signs of a fresh wound. His presence in a room is decidedly uncomfortable; he seems to have a vague aura of cold about him, and says very little. He has a reputation for lurking, and often startles people accidentally due to the quietness of his movements.

SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:
Lucius is a highly skilled practitioner in the dark art of necromancy, which affords him a number of specialist magical skills. Necromancy does not draw upon the natural arcana of the world like most magic; it is performed by channelling the power of death itself. Utilising this energy by sacrificing weakened enemies or exploiting their corpses, he is able to produce powerful effects. These can be destructive explosions and miasmas, or protective magical fields and portals through which to evade harm. These large feats of magic are ritual-based, and thus require a period of uninterrupted and very specific spellcasting to achieve.

In situations where more immediate magic is required, Lucius sometimes performs blood sacrifices; by cutting open his palm and allowing himself to bleed, Lucius gains access to deathly magical spells which affect the bodies of his victims. For example, he can cause excessive bleeding in his victims, or cause areas of their flesh to rot. These cruel spells require Lucius to make physical contact with his victim, often by wiping his blood on them. Similarly, he can create ‘blood bonds’ between two enemies, whereby any harm that befalls one party is replicated magically upon the other: effectively, killing two birds with one stone.

Not requiring himself to bleed or get close to his enemies, regular magic is the safest for Lucius to use. Trained in fire and ice spells at the Wizard’s Tower, Lucius is not well-versed enough in elemental magic to truly stand on his own two feet with it, but it does allow him to buy himself some time. More often than not, he uses a human skull as a magical focus in order to bolster his grip over fire and frost; without his focus, Lucius’ regular spellcasting ability is little more than beginner.

He does have skills outside of necromancy, too. He’s excellent with a knife, and can hold his own without magic against weaker foes. The sacrificial nature of his practice has forced Lucius to learn the basics of wrapping and treating wounds, but he does not know any healing magic. He also has little knowledge about wounds other than cuts; burns, breaks and disease are all things that would require a proper medic’s attention.

As a person, Lucius’ main strength is his unwavering loyalty. His devout upbringing and disciplined magical practice have shaped Lucius into someone who always sees things through; he will stand by his allies until the very end. He’s highly intelligent and fiercely curious, making him both a fast learner and a useful investigative eye.

WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:
Much of Lucius magical discipline is inconvenient in the context of battle; yes, he is able to conjure devastating effects, but they require extensive rituals and even self-harm. Performing rituals leaves Lucius vulnerable to attacks, and if he stops to defend himself then the spell is ruined. Similarly, allowing himself to bleed for the duration of a battle is clearly dangerous; not only is he losing blood, but also exposing the wound to a variety of infections and diseases through skin contact with his enemies. For all the risks he takes to perform impressive feats of necromancy, his regular spellcasting ability is quite weak through a lack of training; should he be separated from his focus, his spells are barely above beginner-level. When fighting without magic, Lucius may be skilled with a dagger, but his ability ends there. He lacks the physical strength to fight with a larger weapon, or to cause much damage with just his hands.

A lot of Lucius’ necromantic potential is ignored as a result of his faith in Ahimoth. With ability such as his, Lucius could easily raise small hordes of the undead to do his bidding, but he believes it to be the ultimate sin to interfere with Ahimoth’s judgement: he has never even attempted to bring something back from the dead, and he never plans to.

It is perhaps because of this that Lucius was so affected by the exile he earned through his necromantic practice. He felt that he had been unfairly branded a villain by people who had once loved him, but who now pictured him as someone who wanted to cheat death and lead skeletal armies. The rejection he experienced affects him to this day, and he still finds it difficult to place his trust in anyone but himself. Similarly, he finds himself unable to easily earn the trust of others, due in no small part to the stigma surrounding his profession. Plus, all his time spent alone has significantly impaired his social skills; he has a reputation in Valeview as being somewhat awkward. His shy, hermitic nature mean that his observations, which are usually insightful and valuable, often go unheard.


✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE:
Lucius wears fitted armour crafted from trollhide, famed for its durability and flexibility alike, with matching knee-high boots. Iron rings on his chest and waist offer some additional protection. On his left side is a hard sheath, in which he stores his athame, and a square leather pouch to house his personal journal. Two similar pouches hang from his right side, for keeping various belongings. He drapes himself in a heavy black cloak with a hood, which is thick enough to keep him warm without weighing him down.

WEAPONS:
Unlike most mages, Lucius owns no wands or staves. He fights almost exclusively with an athame; the blade of which is triangular, double-edged and forged by Dwarves in iron. The handle is beautifully crafted from onyx, into which a runic sigil has been carved. The weapon is used for physical stabbing and slashing, as well as being a conduit for magical attacks.

TOOLS:
As his non-necromantic magic is comparatively weak, Lucius uses a human skull as an off-hand focus through which to bolster his magical strength. He also carries a small bag of bones, which he believes he can use to divine messages from the Beyond.

PERSONAL ITEMS:
A number of ornate rings have been handed down through the Grimm family for generations; Lucius wears one such ring. It is pure silver of the finest quality, set with a sharp cut onyx rock. Along the inner band is an inscription pledging the servitude of the wearer to Ahimoth. He also carries a journal, bound in batwing leather; what he actually writes in there is unclear.


✶ H I S T O R Y
The Grimm family have lived in Woodsend for generations; well-known for their involvement with the Church of Ahimoth, some of Woodsend's most respected priests have been Grimms. The family are known to be devout in their servitude to the Stern Judge, as well as for throwing some of the best dinner parties in town.

Lucius Grimm was raised by his clerical father, Alistair, following the tragic death of his mother during childbirth. The Grimms were already a notoriously hardened folk, but Carmen's untimely demise only toughened her widower further. Still, he made sure Lucius was well looked-after; Alistair's responsibilities meant he was often obscenely busy, but the churchfolk were charmed by Lucius and always seemed willing to watch over him.

Growing up in the chapel was always going to have an effect on the boy, and Lucius was as devout to Ahimoth as any of his forefathers. It was assumed that he would follow in their footsteps, eventually leading the sermons himself and passing on the baton to his own offspring when the time came. And so it came as quite the surprise when, aged twenty-one, Lucius announced that he would soon be leaving Woodsend.

As he grew up, Lucius had become increasingly interested in his mother. She had been an accomplished healer, and pouring through her old journals had revealed to Lucius that individuals would come from as far afield as the First Capital to benefit from her magical prowess; she had even been called to the Palace on one occasion. All of this fascinated Lucius, and he became somewhat enamoured with the idea of training as a Mage himself. And so it was decided: he, too, would study at the Wizard's Tower, following in his mother's footsteps.

He didn't need to spend long at the Tower before realising that he was in his element; it was apparent to all those who knew him that Lucius had inherited his mother's talent for spellcasting. It seemed, however, that Lucius had a curiosity and a thirst for knowledge that set him apart from his parentage; while Alistair was contented in blind servitude to Ahimoth and Carmen was disinterested in learning magic outside of healing, the same drive that urged Lucius to leave Woodsend now compelled him to learn more.

After finishing his Basic Level classes, Lucius decided against specialising in Healing, having developed an interest in Elemental magic; perhaps driven by the symbolic connections to his beliefs around life and death, he chose fire and frost as his focuses for his first year of study. Whilst he excelled in his studies, catching the attention of several of the Tower's teachers, he began to grow frustrated when they denied his requests for additional classes. The Wizards were insistent that the mark of a good Mage was discipline; once he had finished his studies in frost and fire, he would be able to choose a new specialism - but not until. Of course, 'no' was not the answer Lucius wanted to hear, and so he took matters into his own hands.

With charm and light-fingered skill, Lucius was able to obtain a key for the Wizards' legendary library. It was here, deep beneath the Tower, that he would sneak to each night in order to conduct his extra curricular research. He read in brief about all sorts of fantastical magic: oneiromancy, metamorphosis and even alchemy were all documented in the library, and the wealth of offerings here that ought to have been available for general study only added to his initial frustrations with the Tower. But it was one tome in particular that caught Lucius' attention; bound in dark green leather, with an ornate pewter skull affixed to the cover. It bore no title, nor did it credit any particular author... But upon scanning the first of its yellowed pages, one word seemed to burn brighter than the rest: necromancy.

Everything Lucius knew about the so-called dark art told him to put the book back or, better yet, burn it. And yet, there was something beautiful about the way the author spoke about life and death; there was an intoxicating quality to the idea of utilising the very essence of everything his God stood for. It seemed to make perfect sense to Lucius that he would come across this path... Perhaps, as the son of an Ahimothian priest and an accomplished Mage, it was his genetic destiny. Enamoured with the idea of forming a deeper connection with both his God and his ancestry, Lucius read on.

He had covered considerable ground by the time he was eventually caught reading from the tome some months later, which became quite the scandal across the Tyrranian magical community. There is much communication between alumni of the Tower, and talk of a star pupil turning to the dark arts was shocking enough to sting many a graduated mage's lips. Lucius, of course, was disgraced, and immediately expelled from the Tower. Feeling defeated, Lucius headed home.

It was perhaps a mistake to expect a warm welcome: the townsfolk were both frightened and furious; Alistair himself was overcome with shame, his only son turned against the ways of their God. Lucius tried to explain himself: that he was using necromancy to connect directly with Ahimoth; working to his teachings rather than against them. But it was useless, and his words fell only on deaf ears. Estranged by his family and the people he'd grown up with, Lucius left Woodsend once more... This time, he realised, would probably be the last.

Alone, he headed East, eventually settling in the quiet village of Valeview. Here, on the borders of the vast Tumek desert, Lucius lived in exile; rarely speaking to his neighbours and focussing on truly perfecting his craft. He would spend his entire days studying the notes he'd made at the Tower and practicing his rituals into the night. In truth, some of the villagers suspected him as the star of the infamous tale; he who had promised to become a prominent figure in the magical community, but caved to temptation of the Dark Arts. Even now, ten years later, whispers fly around the village about the true identity of their most reclusive resident.
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✶ P R O F I L E

BIRTHNAME:
Bon Copperhelm

OTHER NAMES:
“Bon, just Bon.”

AGE:
42

GENDER:
Female

RACE:
Half-Dwarf

BIRTHPLACE:
Gard, Amorynthia

RELIGION:
Nature, or the First Child. Moreso than actively worship the Mothers, Bon has believes in their creation – even if she herself would describe her faith as fact rather than religion. Bon values nature as if divine, but doesn't deem any part of it as good or evil as the followers of the current Pantheon would. Rather Bon considers the subject of her worship a primal force, one that functions outside the boundaries of morality.


✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y

HEIGHT:
4'3

WEIGHT:
76 lbs

APPEARANCE:
As her dwarven lineage dictates, Bon is short and her build on the stocky side. Her face on the other hand, shows more human traits. She possesses a narrow jaw, large and expressive eyes, thick lips and a slight olive tan. Her wild, black hair is riddled with straps and ornaments she crafted for herself, like souvenirs from the sights she has seen. Bon wears robes and skins, not always entirely without the musk of their previous bearers. Strangely, neither the questionable hygiene of her garments or Bon's age has much affect on her health or appearance. In fact, few would estimate Bon over twenty-five.

SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:

In combat, Bon is feral. Literally. Her magic enables her to shapeshift into wild animals while maintaining her rational mind. This makes her a powerful and versatile opponent. However, Bon cannot transform seamlessly from one animal to another; she always needs to revert to her original form first. She can only transform so many times per day and needs to stay in that form for at least twenty minutes, including the form of her half-dwarven self.

This same magic enhances Bon's instincts. Like a wild animal, she senses fear and can predict storms or even earthquakes. Rot and decay occur much slower when Bon is around. Even she herself doesn't age as much as one would expect.

Bon is skilled at navigation and survival. She is self-sufficient, hunting her own food and crafting her own clothes. Bon has pockets of knowledge on all kinds of environments and the benefits and dangers they produce. For example, she might be able to tell whether a mushroom in a given environment is edible or poisonous. That said, because of Bon her migratory nature, her knowledge is nowhere near absolute. Specific details or deeper complexities about that one particular mushroom's reaction to a summer rain may escape her “Did it mimic direwolf pheromones, did release flammable spores... I'm not sure, but I remember it is delicious. Try it.” Bon can often share rudimentary knowledge about settlements based on her travels. For example, she may deduce what kind of stone the masons used to build a church, or tell where a market stall got their fish (and if it really is as fresh as they'd have you believe.)

Though reaching an understanding with Bon can be... Trying, she is rather sociable. Bon finds it easy to talk to most people regardless of their background or disposition. Her honest and upfront (if somewhat blunt) nature makes Bon an easy to trust woman. Entertaining others is something Bon quite enjoys and with a wealth of stories and knowledge at her disposal, she can hold quite the conversation.

WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:

Because Bon transforms into wild animals in order to fight, she rarely if ever benefits from what is quite possible humanity's greatest asset; the ability to use weapons and tools in combat. Certainly she might transform into a wolf, but a thick hide is no substitute for plate armour and fangs are not warhammers. If an enemy mounts a horse in order to escape, she cannot fire a bow at their backs or grab a horse of her own to pursue without forgoing her transformation.

Bon is not very respectful of the 'fledgling' gods and their associated religions. She cares little for others their religious rituals and sensibilities. Bon is equally concerned with people's opinions on her expressing said views. This makes her appear antagonistic (if not heretic) towards the more devout followers. Similar to her disregard for modern religion, Bon considers many social structures foolish or childish. That doesn't sit well with those who feel they or others are entitled to her respect, such as lords or particularly prideful humans.

As Bon her outlook on morality often shapes itself as (and I quote;) “It just is.” many consider her brand of philosophy alienating. Likewise, she has no attachment to the concept of home, so is unlikely to lend herself to territorial disputes. Bon considers vengeance foolhardy because she does not believe in retribution. Whether this perspective is the fruit of divine wisdom or utter madness, I'll leave up to the individual, but it can certainly make her difficult to work or reason with.

On the other hand, something that does actively bother Bon is the unnatural, such as curses and magic that needlessly corrupts nature. She particularly distrusts Nosferytes to the point of outright prejudice and racism. Likewise, she objects to exhaustion of farmland and considers many cities disgraceful. Being in the presence of any of the aforementioned elements disturbs her on a spiritual level.


✶ B E L O N G I N G S

ATTIRE:
Bon wears a cloak and mishmash garments made of various animal skins. Her clothes and hair are interwoven with pieces of bone, bark and stone; though more for sentimental reasons than practical purpose. Her self-made leather boots and gloves which, though far from fashionable – much less matching, are perfectly functional.

WEAPONS:
Though preferring weaponry of the claw and teeth variance, Bon is capable of handling the axe and javelin. She carries an old, somewhat rusty, dwarven-made battle-axe as well as ten handmade javelins.

TOOLS:
Bon carries with her small leather bags filled of tools to make her life in the wilderness easier. Tools such as rope, flint and a waterskin go without saying, but Bon also carries the means to fix clothing or carve wood and leather. The most unusual of her items is perhaps a mortar to crush leaves and herbs with. After all, there's many things lying around just waiting to made into tea.

PERSONAL ITEMS:
Aforementioned ornaments and trinkets interwoven with her clothing or hair. Other notable items include a drinking horn cut out of a grey bone, a hairbrush you'd be hard-pressed to believe to be of much use, and a tiny pair of reading glasses to which Bon is strangely attached.


✶ H I S T O R Y

”The clan, the clan. Always about the clan. You'd think my father would shut up about family or forges sometime, but nay. To dwarves, you see, family is everything. Oppressed by shackles of the past, they make sure they stick together – and with a half for a daughter in a town like Gard, old man Copperhelm doubled down on those teachings.

My mother was human, you see. Lovely woman, and as tall as a tree. Father's nose would be about the same height as her waist when they stood next to one another. I didn't know any better as a lass, but I was often told it was a hilarious sight. Still don't get the joke myself, even after all these years.

Either way, not many dwarves take human brides. Most don't trust humans, you see, so my father did all he could so my mother and I were accepted by the clan. He'd shout at everyone who'd try to claim otherwise, brothers, neighbours, even our elders. Hell, the moment anyone even looked at me funny, his hand would be on his axe. To me, father would always drone on about the importance of the clan and how it was my heritage. Yes, yes, I was a dwarven lass. Bit tall for one - and not as pretty as far as my cousins were concerned, but to my father and his side of the family, I was a Copperhelm all the same.

My mother's side of the family on the other hand? Never seen 'em. Was told not to worry about it, that should tell you enough. My human side however, came up when I was twelve. I believe the word mother used for it was puberty. Strange word for a strange thing. I remember I just wanted out. Out of my home, out of Gard, and that desire lead to the best and worst decision I made my entire my life.

One day, I jumped on the back of a merchant's carriage, knowing it'd take me south. Hid between his wares, I did, but I wasn't a smart lass. I hadn't packed any food. The third day on the road I knew for sure my stomach would rat me out, so when the merchant stopped to feed the horses, I sneaked out of hiding, hoping to find myself something to bite on. Didn't go as well as I'd hoped, I'll tell you that. The merchant took me for a thief and drew his axe. Chased me all the way up the hills, taught me a slew of obscenities, he did. But at the end of the day, he had a job to get back to. Me? I was lost and alone in the hills with nothing but the clothes on my back. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse; it started to rain.

So there I am, drenched down to my knickers and sneezing my lungs out in the middle of nowhere. I dragged my feet to a cave. Little did I know that by the next dawn I'd feel so sick I'd be spending the rest of the week on that rocky floor. It would have made for a short adventure weren't it for the next morning, where I hit it off with a bear.

Now to a half like me, reckon I'm at least a feet and a half shorter than your everyday human lass, bears are giants! Imagine waking up and staring in the eyes of a beast so large; it could swallow you whole! Chewing optional. I was scared shitless. Would've screamed if I could, but my cries for couldn't make their way up my sore throat; I just wheezed and squeaked. I could swear I saw that bear laughing, it did. A laughing bear. I thought I'd seen it all, but the next second that bear shifted into the shape of a snickering, elderly woman. It's a miracle I didn't faint on the spot.

Varaan, the woman called herself. After she had her fill of laughter, Varaan brewed me tea. It tasted like piss, sure, but she saved my life with that bitter stuff, she did. Varaan told me she was a druid – a simple servant of the First Child. I told her I wanted to go back home, but we both knew I was in no condition to. So Varaan took care of me. She brewed more teas, the one even more pungent than the other. She brought me roots and meat to chow down. She kept watch while I slept, perhaps bit down a troll or two at night – truth be told I was too scared to ask what the noise was about. Still. We spent a lot more time than either of us had bargained for, such is life.

By the time I got back on my feet, Varaan decided she enjoyed my company enough to see me home. Aye, a gentle woman, powerful magician and wise soul she might have been; a pathfinder she was not. Two years. It took us two years to return to Gard. But the times, the adventures that we had in those hills... I'll speak of them another time, perhaps.

Alas, I found my way back to Gard. To my father, my mother... To the Copperhelm clan. My time with Varaan had changed me. I'd never seen eye to eye with my father when I was a lass, but then and there, as a slightly taller lass, the distance between us was wider than the road I'd travelled. I'd taken after Varaan, you see. In those two years she had shown me wonders and horrors both I'd never dreamt of. It was good to sleep in my old bunk for a night or two... But I started longing back to the adventures I had. It was as if I'd forgotten the comfort of home. Even mother's stove was nauseating. I longed for the wilderness.

And so I wandered – back to nature and back to the teachings of Varaan. I found her quite easily and she took her under her wing. We travelled without destination as I learned of her art, then I travelled and learned some more. I haven't been back to Gard since. It is not a home, it is not a clan, that brings me happiness. It is these... How many... Thirty-odd years that have gifted me the joy of life. To serve the First Child and to have become keen to a world most this day and age have forgotten... It is a bliss unlike any other.”
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