In the beginning, there was only the Star, Astranoma. One of countless others in the aether of creation. It lived in ineffable tranquility in the manner of most higher beings, until one day it was joined by a second Star, called Anima.

Astranoma and Anima became lovers, who danced with each other for untold centuries. Across the aether however, a nearby Star called Baleous saw the two and was driven to hatred by its jealousy. Taking a greatbow, it aimed true and struck at the heart of Anima, slaying her. Astranoma was stricken with untold grief and anguish. Knowing that Baleous would try to shoot out their heart and knowing that in their grief they would not be able to fight them, Astranoma tore out their own heart and turned it to stone before casting it into the darkness of the aether, becoming imperishable and unfeeling.

Baleous saw this and knew their arrows would not be able to pierce Astranoma's petrified heart, so they instead dipped them in the poison of its hatred. Even as it did so, Astranoma wrought a great spear, wreathed in flame, and cast it across the void. Baleous loosed their shot moments before being struck by Astranoma's lance.

The great spear of flame ruptured Baleous, causing the star to break and scatter across the aether. Baleous' arrow broke and shattered upon the stone of Astranoma's heart, but the poison seeped into its surface and began to writhe its way into the vessel's core, and where the poison burned through the stone a great mire arose. The seething poison of hatred corrupted the flesh of Astranoma, causing all of of its essence to sublimate in response. The amalgamated substances of Astranoma's life coalesced into plantlife, arising as shoots from the stone, and then as animals and all the peoples of the new world that would come to be known as Murex.

Yet as the essence of Murex rose from its core to manifest upon its shell, some rose beneath the welling poison and mixed with it, creating all the evils, horrors, and anguishes of the world and giving rise to demons who would plague and torment all who dwelt upon Murex.

The first of the demons to arise, Rancor, saw the sublimation of Murex's core and knew it could twist the rise so as to choke all life from the world. The demon burrowed and twisted through the underside of Murex's shell, hardening and petrifying the gaps and openings in it and blocking the passage of the sublimating essence - which then condensed and swelled within Murex until the heart was fit to burst. The great deluge surged and burst forth from beneath the well of hatred, spreading a choking pall of death across the whole of Murex, and all that were encompassed by that flood of dark perished.

Atop a great mountainside untouched by the swell of darkness, a mortal watched as Rancor flooded the world, but was wise and perceived the failing of the demon's scheme. The flood was a great condensation of the conceit of Murex's core, and so all things and potential dwelt locked within the ravenous shadows of Rancor's hatred. Upon the refuge of the mountainside, the stargazer toiled to harness what little life and materials had survived the flood, gathering flint and tinder in order to conjure the essence of Astranoma's Empyrean flame. The mortal then took a chisel and cut an orb of amber in the visage of vanquished Anima, before setting the sphere above the fire. The icon began to glow with an inner light as lines of flame and heat ran through the worked channels of its surface and its core, until it shone as a perfect mirror of Anima's corse in the aether above. The stargazer fed the fiery icon to a bird, which flew over the great flood and itself caught flame from the heat of the stone within it. It fell into the shadows, wreathed with flame and banishing the darkness about it. Its body turned to ash as it landed upon the surface, and from its ashes grew the first Gloaming Tree. Its radiance burned at the dark and from it dissolved the essence it held captive, causing the whole of the sea of vile darkness to ripple and quake until the last of the trapped essence was freed. Life once again flourish across the surface of the world, even amidst the lingering, hungering dark of Rancor.

Thus are the ancient stories of our ancestors, spoken and passed on by almost every culture and every peoples across all of Murex. These stories explain the many facets and traits of the world we dwell upon. The great expanse of iridescent ichor that crisscrosses the equatorial sky once a day, far off in the distance of the aether. The great billowing trails of flame visibly streaking away from the star Astranoma, pointing towards the epicenter of the distant web. The large, fractured and rapturous celestial body close in orbit to Astronoma itself. The existence of the Dark Brier and the demons that dwell within it, the pervasiveness of Rancor's ocean and the gloaming plant and wildlife within it. Perhaps it is the case that these stories, although omnipresent and in unexpected harmony across the peoples of the world, are not the whole of the story. These stories are not uniform across even culture, as the figures described therein frequently bear different names. At times the story is told with a different order of events. At others, the details of a given event will vary drastically. In aggregate, most stories told of the first times upon Murex would closely resemble or be recognized as variations of the one above. Perhaps these stories, and this one, are untrue, or capture but parts and pieces of what truly transpired at the dawn of our world. The opinion of this scholar is that such stories, even if not wholly accurate, are far too pervasive and far too similar as a whole for them to not contain at least glimmerings of the truth...

The Sea of Rancor is a pervasive atmosphere of ravenous darkness that covers 90% of Murex's surface. Its surface extends a full 3000 meters above sea level. It flows and behaves akin to a fluid, and will rush to fill in empty spaces that are downhill from it. It also behaves as if pressurized, so will fill any vertical chamber up to 3000 meters above sea level. Airtight seals are required to deter it. If banished by completely saturating an area with light, the darkness does not recur unless the area is flooded by it again.

This darkness is not so ephemeral as its mundane form. This darkness swallows light. Light sources, while still capable of illumination, will light smaller areas, and their light will not be visible from without the area they illuminate. Beacons of light, such as from lighthouses, are not visible from a distance. The same is true of other lights, up to and including light from Astranoma, Murex's star. This darkness cannot be acclimatized to, having better low light vision does not allow one to see further with what little light they have since the darkness here.

The surface of the Sea of Rancor practically seethes with terrible and dark, roiling power - almost like a thunderhead accumulating charge. This surface layer is much more aggressive and will swallow and snuff out any and all light sources that enter it, and acts as a barrier to starlight. Unlike the Dark beneath it, this surface layer does not flow, and instead propagates and drifts like a stormfront.

When the worlds converge, the Sea of Rancor's storm cells will not propagate across boundaries. Darkness from the Sea of Rancor will flow into other worlds limitlessly, but only during the night, and any darkness exposed to primary starlight will be banished. Only darkness under cover during the daytime will remain and retain its supernatural properties from the Sea of Rancor.

Every 24 days, Anima orbits behind Astranoma and things get bad. The effective range of illumination for lights halves again, and the dark abruptly becomes a barrier to all forms of perception. It will swallow sound during this time. You will not be able to scream for help. If one is caught without any light and is completely submerged in the dark, it will completely numb their entire body and kill all methods of perceiving the world, such as scent, taste, and so on. Only by warding away the Dark with some small measure of light is one able to retain what little sensation remains effective in the darkness. This period lasts three days, after which Astranoma completes the short tail-end of its elliptical orbit around Astranoma and returns, and the Sea of Rancor settles back to its normal intensity.

This process occur within the other worlds, where applicable, as long as an open channel exists where the effect can propagate from Murex to the other worlds. Distant patches of darkness from the Sea of Rancor, isolated in other worlds, will not react this way if there is no connecting channel between them and the Sea of Rancor.

...the 'Gloaming' wilderness, as it is so called, is the only sort of plantlife that can exist in the Median of the Sea of Rancor. As observed both from highlands ecologies as well as ancient manuscripts, ordinary plantline cannot persist without exposure to starlight, of which there is none in the Median. If ancient myth and lore are to be believed, Gloaming plantlife arose from the freeing of essential conceit from the ravenous shadows of the Sea of Rancor, and as such it is uniquely suited - some would say evocatively designed, even - to survive in complete darkness and, in certain religious fields of philosophy, to combat it.

Gloaming plantlife has skin and bark riven with lines of sidereal illumination which casts a faint, passable glow that is just enough to keep the darkness at bay except during Passage Days. For reasons unknown to secular natural philosophy, Gloamwoods do not grow regularly wherever there happens to be fertile soil. Religious screed would have it that Gloaming woods obtain sustenance from welling essence from the Heart of Murex that seeps through the cracks and gaps in the shell, though this is naturally impossible to prove or disprove either way. Such screed also conveniently explains the abundance of scrub and brushin certain areas where absent in others; Gloaming grasses and plains shrubs are of course by no means omnipresent despite their mundane analogues dominating the Highlands even in colder climes, distant from the equatorial band.

Wildlife in the Median is a mixture of the extraordinary and the mundane; clearly our ancestors saw fit to bring with them down from the Highlands of yore many of the surviving cattle and domesticated beasts, or else were followed into the void by feral wildlife that learned not to fear the Supernal dark. What is clear is that the Gloaming Wilderness has a natural complement of wildlife uniquely suited to it, such as the Gracious Lanterns of An, the brightly luminous and ephemeral wisps that dwell amongst Gloaming Groves and feed upon Gloaming Sap. A common survival tactic when lost in the dark is to lay out a spread of molten sap over an open flame so as to spread its scent and attract these Lanterns, which possess an unusual and unexplained kinship with man and will accompany the lost traveler in dark places, as well as warn of the presence of the servants of Rancor.

There are many ongoing debates within the field of natural philosophy as to the true nature of Supernal Predators, otherwise known colloquially and in religious doctrine as the servants of demons. The current prevalent theory is that they are mundane ambush predators adapted to the wilderness of the Sea of Rancor, lacking the same luminous qualities of other forms of Gloaming wildlife (and even other gloaming predators!) as a means of facilitating stealth and elusive stalking behavior. This is supported by most Supernal Predators lacking eyes or other photo-sensitive organs (although this is not always the case), even though many possess vestigial ocular sockets. While it is commonly claimed that Supernal Predators are drawn to fear and panic, this has not born through in intensive field observation - many Supernal Predators, in fact, are capable of becoming acclimatized to the presence of Humans without identifying them as potential prey...

Most of the ecosystem within the Sea of Rancor is bioluminescent to one degree or another, giving off faint amounts of light that, in mass aggregate, creates luminous oasis of activity amidst the dark. The religious speculation as to how these species survive absent light is not too far off the mark, wild plantlife in the Median grows in abundance over gaps and cracks in Murex's crust, which is half the reason why major settlements tend to be so particularized in location within the Median - they tend to exist in spots where cultivation of Gloaming Plants that can illuminate the settlement is possible. Elsewhere, constant burning of fuel and Evocation magic is necessary to keep settlements illuminated. Gloaming plantlife fares perfectly well in daylight as long as the local conditions are otherwise suitable (acceptable temperature range, soil quality, groundwater, etcetera).

Gloaming plants and wildlife are no safer than anything else during Passage Days and tend to enter torpor states to outlast the ravenous darkness. All illumination from them subsides during this period, there is no escape, etcetera.

The natural philosophers are half-right about their theories as to the Servants of Rancor. The truth of the matter is that while there do exist numerous nonluminous Gloaming species, there are also actual creatures of nightmare who act as the servants of demons. Absolutely none of them are drawn to fear per se, but it is much more likely that they will be able to find you if you are panicking in the dark for most of the normal reasons you can likely imagine. There is no easy means of distinguishing between an ordinary Gloaming Predator and a Servant of Rancor; the latter are occasionally made to be indistinguishable from the former.

...Though they are most distant and at times remote from life even in the Median, the highlands are in a very real way, the cultural epicenters of all civilization upon Murex. Cultural historians will cite the highlands as the birthplace of Humanity writ large, while religious historians will cite the mythical occurence of Rancor's Flood as a cataclysmic event that consigned all of Humanity to these territories before then proceeding to migrate back out into the Sea of Rancor afterwards. The highlands are home to the oldest settlements and structures in all of Murex, and the highlands are where the most influential and powerful institutions in the world - including the disparate highland nobility, the institution of the Cynosure, the Sevenfold Union of Sects, the Brier Questors, and even the contentious Creed of Nu-Anima - keep their bastions and centers of power. Everything in the highlands is oft-described as being simpler and easier in many respects, a common supposition put forward by those Median denizens who have ventured upon the surface at times. Wildlife and roaming game are much more abundant in the highlands, they are warmer and generally more hospitable, much more difficult to get lost in, and cattle and crop are much more readily reared and grown. In a very real sense, the highlands are the center of Murex political and religious culture - though not exclusively so in the modern era as used to be the case, with more and more large-scale settlements and independent states starting to focalize influence and wealth in the Median. The primary distinction between the cultures of the Median and the Highlands is one of class and wealth. Predominantly, most permanent residents of the highlands outside of hermitages are wealthy enough to afford the rent for modest townhouses in any Median settlement of note. As the Cynosure centralizes its facilities and personnel in the highlands, they are consequently home to the greatest number of individuals capable of Evocation...

...since time immemorial, there have existed seemingly innumerable formal lines of highland Nobility, all with unique traditions, arrangements, and authority. The highlands, though disparate and far-flung, are but small lots in the grander scheme of Murex and with time and the inevitability of the diplomacy and intrigue between them all, a number of common trends have emerged between the majority of them. In particular, the vast majority or noble lineages are defined by a select pedigree of rulers and heirs capable of Evocation. The purpose of this specificity is unclear, although many historians theorize that the aspect of Evocation makes for greater certainty in the assurance and tracking of direct lineage. It remains debated whether Evocation is an inherited aspect, but regardless of the truth of the matter the combination of golden-eyed Evocation and freedom from seizure by the Cynosure make for a powerful public image.

Many Nobles hail from ancestral families of peerless repute, typically wealthy beyond any practical measure, and free of the nominally restrictive regime of the Cynosure, the Nobility control massive domiciles and empires of territory by wit of wealth, political capital, land title, and force of arms. Part of what defines a Noble lineage is not just their ability to perform Evocation, but to conjure unique phenomenon that cannot be easily or readily reproduced even with formal training from the Cynsosure - such as the famed ability of a certain Noble family to Evoke an Echo, or even outright Manifestation, of Lightning.

Noble families are subject to a number of semi-religious and traditional rites of descent and succession. These vary depending on region and culture but, as stated previously, a few notable convergent methods have arisen between most. Most Noble families have a head who holds ultimate authority, who must be capable of Evocation. For various reasons, they are forbidden to marry or produce offspring with other Evokers, either from other Noble lines or otherwise. Traditionally, rulers will take on harems of concubines - male and female alike - from the common masses, occasionally producing offspring capable of Evocation from birth. One might think would settle the matter as to its heritable nature, but people love to argue, and in particular the irregularity of such offspring and the irregular combination of whether the sire or bearer of the child was golden eyed has spawned much contention, further fueled by conflicting assurances, denials, and arguments amongst the Nobility itself.

Regardless of such disagreements and disputes, it is usually the case that the eldest Evoker in the chain of succession is considered the heir of lineage. According to the commonly espoused sentiment of the highland nobility, one of the most important reasons for the practice of pairing with mundane commoners with each generation is in order to keep the practical needs and perspective of the common people alive and relevant amongst the ruling class who govern the lands...

...mainstream gathering of the seven most prominent religions upon the face of Murex would thereafter be known as the Sevenfold Union of Sects. It is the task of this body to monitor and influence the spread of contemporaneous beliefs and unique religious practices. Independently the Seven Sects continue to preach, proselytize, and spread their faith, zealously and opportunistically. It is the separate and more secular task of the Union to document, record, and formally archive modern shifts and trends in common religious beliefs, practices, and doctrine across all Seven Sects and their various members. Within the last several centuries, a shift in political expediency has also seen the Union transform to become the official bank and bookkeeper of all seven faiths, beholden to all of them whilst clutching the purse-strings for the purposes of deterring religious war and massed crusades. The Union thus has broad public appeal even where particular denominations of the seven faiths are reviled and outright banned in distinct regions, as the surface-level secular management of the seven faiths creates an impression of honestly and good faith and the vision that they are custodians of the peace and common welfare of the masses. Thus the modern motto of the Union, 'To attain a more perfect peace.'

There are many critics of the current state of the Sevenfold Union, namely of its grossly agnostic practices and approach to doctrine alongside common allegations of usury and profit-driven motive...

Editor's Note: Sadly, the most learned and esteemed author of this planned Treatise was found to have taken his own life via strangulation one evening. A drastic and tragic capstone to a noted escalation in temperament and a preponderance for confrontation and heated contention in his final weeks.

The wound in the world. The birthplace of all anguish. The pit of Demons. I am not a particularly religious man, but having visited and witnessed the passage of days in Rancor's Brier personally, I can affirm the truth to these assignations.

The first thing to realize is the sheer scope and scale of the Dark Brier. The site is easily its own little subcontinent. Its structure is, as many will know from simple reference, a large indentation or bowl-like shape, very much like an impact crater. The bowl itself borders a highland realm, and itself pervades across every height of the Median, and deeper still around its heart - some might speculate as deep as the core of Murex itself.

From without the heart of Rancor's Brier grows a vicious mass of a substance, like some twisted mixture of tree oceanic coral, with mineralized skin that rusts as iron does, giving the whole of the twisted mass a ruddy and sickly hue in the light. Even in the highland areas of Rancor's Brier, these structures choke out the light with great, yawning canopies of material that form an insidious web across the sky, catching all of the light that falls. The Dark Brier does not burn, does not yield readily to bladework, and its points and edges are notoriously caustic and toxic to the touch. I myself have witnessed a man pricked by a nettle, and days later seen writhing in inhuman pain, their entire body twisted, contorted, and covered with alien growths that defy dignified description, centered around the point of injury.

Most die from such injuries. The singularly unfortunate few who survive become changed. According to soldiery, the deeper areas of Rancor's Brier, particularly in the highlands, are filled with whole settlements of victims who have been transformed by its poisonous kiss, who have forsworn their humanity and become servants and disciples of demons. Scouts and expeditions who survey Rancor's Brier regularly skirmish with their numbers frequently, and the whole of the Brier is filled with monstrous, deformed, and ill-minded wildlife that has been afflicted similarly. Due to the irregular measures of containment, it is not uncommon for groups of afflicted individuals and creatures to escape the confines of the crater and flee into the wider world, where they plague all those who dwell in the light...

...several confirmed demonic lairs where the malign beasts dwell, shaping and reshaping the whole of the surrounding area to fit their twisted and capricious whimsy, taking unfortunate victims as both prisoners and playthings to adorn their territory, equal parts warning and entertainment...

...rivers, streams, and bodies of a caustic, tar-like substance which seemingly moves and flows, occasionally even uphill, with a will of its own. The Brier seems to dran and sup on it as most benevolent flora does with water. Though I am uncertain how to credit such tales, some number of the soldier claim the stuff can even animate to seek out victims, to do battle, or to fulfill an unseen darker purpose...

...gradually spreads in every direction, impeded by no condition and liable to spread rapidly even across highland territories.

Without any exaggeration, I say with great conviction that these tumorous and pestilent structures could readily and easily infest the whole of the world, if the Sevenfold Sects and the Brier Questors did not work to constrain its growth and work to push the corruption back. An entire industry and culture of deterrence and taking battle to the evils of this place has sprung up in the surrounding regions and the highland.

Many religious scholars I had the chance to query as to the topic were in disagreement, but most conformed on one thing: The outbreak of Rancor's Brier, where uncontained, would prove calamitous to the whole of civilization - though most then hastily rushed to assure me, that no extremity of the Dark Brier can survive independently if severed from its root. Breaches and extensions of the Brier into the reaches bordering the crater have happened historically, but been successfully curtailed at later dates simply by successfully severing the line of growth between the heart of the Brier and its intruding extremity...

...the most secretive of arts, only capable of being performed with those who possess golden eyes. The secret to obtaining such gifts is a well-kept secret and beyond the purview of this treaty, and the only purpose of mention being that Evocation cannot be taught to simply anybody as you would a trade skill.

Evocation is the ability to reshape and mold the potential of the essence of Murex, arisen from its core, the conceit of Astranoma itself. As an artist working with clay, one can reshape the world into almost anything they desire. Unlike with clay, it is not possible to create something new by accident. Anything made with Evocation must be cast from the memory and impressed upon the world. If you have not witnessed it personally, you cannot cast it. The truth to effective Evocation is more nuanced of course, as merely having witnessed something will typically make for only the weakest of Evocations. True Evocation requires comprehension and familiarity with whatever is being Evoked. This is why most initial efforts to conjure flame, for example, produce patently false and ethereal illusions rather than actual fire. In order to truly Evoke flame, one must be more personally familiar with it, have seen other natural flames, understand the circumstances of its occurrence, have some basic knowledge of why it occurs, and be wholly familiar with its qualities. This is why certain tradesmen who work with flame habitually are better able to Evoke flame when introduced to the art. Familiarity makes for superior Evocation. Academic knowledge of a subject to be evoked will only carry one so far of course. As many of those same Evokers will likely tell you, the best way to become familiar with flame in a way that makes for effective Evocation is to be burnt by it. This is true not only of flame, but of many other possible subjects of Evocation - direct exposure is the best and most effective way of rapidly improving the quality and grade of subsequent Evocations.

Evocation has four grades of casting. The first three are wholly arbitrary and subjective and exist simply as a guideline for identification and gauge. The fourth is an objective grade recognized only when an Evocation meets a number of critical conditions. These grades, using an Evoked flame as the subject are as follows:

Hints - The weakest form of Evocation, which may be as simple as a singular Evoked sensation or quality. A colorless illusion of flame, or perhaps simply the sensation of heat or the production of light. These usually are cast as static and unmoving images, or else what motion they do have will be drastically retarded. Most hints are also largely translucent and easy to miss from a distance.

Seemings - Any form of Evocation with multiple facets and effects. Any Evoked Flame which emits both heat and light would qualify. A more stable or convincing illusory flame, perhaps accompanied by other facets such as scent. A Seeming of flame, unlike a Hint, can actually be somewhat dangerous, as a Seeming of flame can occasionally actually burn. This, however, will usually cause only minor amounts of pain and leave no visible injury. Most Seemings of Flame which burn in this manner are the product of an academic and personal awareness that fire hurts, without personal experience or analogous experiences by which to gauge or understand how or why a burning flame is injurious. Seemings remain somewhat translucent although are readily perceived at a distance, and whatever color they have tends to be faded as though with age.

Echos - A powerful and complex Evocation with a complete range of sensory and physical effects. Even Echos are muted and evidently fabricated however. The Echo of a flame will not burn as hot or as fiercely as the original - but it will burn, and what it burns will be consumed as if by flame. The Echo of a flame will, ideally, burn with a quarter of the efficacy of the original ideal used to Evoke it - and as such there are many practical limitations to the use of Echos and why you do not often see Evoked flame employed in smithing. In order to overcome the inherit muting of the Echo when compared to the real thing, you would need to evoke a flame four times as fierce, and few Evokers will have personal experience with such things. Most Echos are completely coherent at close and long range, but their coloration and range of motion will tend to be imperfect, betraying their true nature.

Manifestations - Manifestations are the apex of Evocation, and rarely achieved. Manifestations are such closely detailed and complex recreations of the original subject that they cross a certain 'crux' of potentia and will perform a full leap directly from the pale replica of an Echo directly to complete fidelity. A Manifestation of flame is all but identical in quality to the original article used to Evoke it and will behave exactly and perfectly as a normal flame of its nature. Attaining Manifestations is not something that can be reliably taught, with individuals only becoming capable of Manifesting a particular subject with potentially years of private experimentation and practice. Understandably, those Evokers capable of manifestation keep many of the details of their methods as closely guarded secrets.

While Manifestation seems outwardly impressive on its own merits, in practice Evokers who are capable of Manifestation often elect not to. This is due to the nature of Evocation below the grade of Manifestation. Hints, Seemings, and Echos all require ongoing attention and concentration to maintain, as they do not have the potentia necessary to exist on their own. A practiced Evoker however, can cast and maintain many different Evocations of this nature simultaneously, potentially even at longer distances and whilst performing other tasks. A Manifestation, however, cannot be maintained in this way. A Manifestation, possessing complete fidelity, is indistinguishable from the genuine article and will not respond to the will of the Evoker. A Manifestation of flame will burn for as long as a flame of its nature can burn in its given conditions, and save manually snuffing the flame out or feeding it fuel there is nothing the Evoker can do to impact its longevity, which is why one is less likely to observe Manifested flames in a smithee than the Echo of flame - a perfectly Manifested flame would still require fuel in order to continue to exist, unlike an Echo.

. . .

...the Evocation of living and animate beings is possible, and the art is distinct enough that the practice has its own assignment of four unique grades. What is important to understand is that even the lowest grade of this nature is, implicitly, of a higher standard and quality of Evocation than a Hint of standard evocation. As a reminder, the first three Grades are effectively arbitrary and implemented solely for the purposes practical identification and use. Given the inherent complexity of evoking living and animate beings, it should come as no surprise that even the most basic Evocation thereof would be inherently more complex and coherent than the Evocation of an inert or even a reactive object.

Semblance - A motionless assembly of sensory information pertaining to the evoked entity. What they look like, scent, and texture are present, but the Semblance is wraithlike and cannot be touched, evidently translucent, and all associated sensory information is heavily muted.

Vestige - Similar to a Semblance, but possessing basic animation and coherency. Can manipulate light objects and bear a faint amount of weight. Solid but frail and prone to dissolution if impressed by undue external force. Capable of muted speech, but can retain unique intonation and inflection used by the Evoked individual. They can only speak what the Evoker has heard the individual say before, and only with specific prompting by the caster. Capable of basic, particularly described tasks - Vestiges are renowned for being extraordinarily dim, and cannot accomplish most basic tasks unless every individual requisite step required is tasked of them.

Shade - A Shade can be mistaken for an actual person from afar or in poor lighting. They are entirely solid and resilient to moderate external forces; they can be shoved or even pushed onto the ground without losing coherency. Capable of labor and complex activities; they can haul cargo up to a certain threshold, write or copy letters, and even hold rudimentary conversations (although they, as with Vestiges, still cannot say anything the Evoker has not heard the original speak). They will mimic the voice, speech patterns, gesticulations and general mannerisms of the original. Shades are capable of following complex instructions and can perform most activities without direct intervention or elaboration from the Evoker so long as the Evoked individual could have feasibly done so.

Eidolon - Eidolons are a hypothetical grade equivalent to Manifestations. In this context, an Eidolon would be a perfect, indistinguishable duplicate of a given individual. Most readers familiar with folklore will likely have heard any number of outlandish tales of dubious authenticity as to the Evocation of a whole person of this nature. Be assured: Insofar as I personally am aware at the time of this writing, an Eidolon has never been successfully Evoked by any Human. They have been, and remain, wholly hypothetical achievements of the art of Evocation. There is a solitary qualification to my assurance here, which shall be discussed at a later point in this treatise...

. . .

...is now my sad and solemn duty to discuss, in detail, the existence and nature of Demons and their use of the art of Evocation.

Demons, according to myth and religious texts, arise from the poison of Baleous' Hate, and are thus made from the very same material used to Evoke all the essence and things from the core of Murex and that which is ultimately responsible for all life and civilization upon our world.

It thus follows that Demons are uniquely and singularly capable of Evocation to a degree and range which would beggar even the most peerless of Human Evokers. Most Demons, with few exceptions, are capable of perfectly Manifesting anything they have ever seen. The only comfort to take from this bleak prospect is that even they seem to have unknown and hidden rules by which they must abide. One such rule which is reliably known is that they cannot manifest wholecloth constructs out of the aether instantly - they must do so piece by piece. An example of this is seen in the popular folklore tale of the Demonic being Tyrytys, who was able to Evoke an entire palatial estate complete with servants, guards, and both a full stable and kennel in some retellings. In practice, a Demon could in fact accomplish such a feat, but not with the ease and in the single instant Tyrytys does in the stories. In order to do Evoke such a palace, the demon would have had to individually manifest each brick as well as the layers of mortar comprising its structure, and every individual piece of furniture, and every individual animate being within it, and so forth. Even given the peerless talent and ability of most Demons in the art, such a task would be inordinately time consuming and prone to unexpected error and interruption. A brick falling out of place mid-construction and causing a wall to collapse would drastically set the Demon back, as it would have no means to immediately move away or dispose of the debris save by conjuring Evoked laborers.

It thus follows that even Demons, fully capable of regular Manifestation, themselves prefer frequent use of Echos and other grades of Evocation. Although some heart can be taken of this, know that unlike mere mortals, Demons have no known threshold of effective cognizance and focus of will. They may maintain any number of Evocations, at any range, indefinitely, even while distracted or grievously injured.

The attentive reader who has read of Eidolons and of the ability of Demons to Evoke animate laborers will likely question whether Demons can evoke Eidolons, to which the answer would appear to be in the affirmative. There are many historical instances, formally recorded, of Demons 'returning' an individual from death. Rest assured, Demons do not possess the capacity to cheat death, and almost assuredly, the individuals brought forth by those Demons were Eidolons and effectively entirely different people. Identical in every meaningful way, but still a copy and not the original subject.

The reader can also be put at ease with the assurance that Demons do not commonly create Eidolons simply because of their expedient ability to do so. As illustrated with the example of trying to Manifest an entire palace brick by brick, an Eidolon would be a wholly self-sustaining entity beyond the direct control of the Demon in question, and so in most cases of little practical use to them. All evidence indicates that Demons prefer lesser Evocations which they can directly maintain, direct, and dismiss as necessary.

If the reader should still be fearful of a possible Demonic catspaw or imposter come to defraud or deceive them, be at ease. Any Evoked Eidolon would then doubtlessly observe the very Demon that had evoked them, or else question their surroundings and the discontinuity of their memories with what they are currently experiencing. If anything, most Eidolons Evoked by a Demon would make haste to warn the original article of the Demon's attention and schemes - a contributing factor to the rarity with which a Demon will Evoke an Eidolon.

Having said all of this, the reader is encouraged to assume that a Demon, left to its own devices, will not willfully conjure an Eidolon unless specifically prompted to do so as part of some dark and inadvisable bargain...

The 'treatise' above does an adequate job of explaining the functionality of Evocation, so I will mostly be discussing its limits and 'unknown' rules here, starting with the very first and then immediately abandoned topic of what enables a person to perform Evocation.

The Treatise specifically indicates only those with 'Golden Eyes.' can perform Evocation. This is because the capability of performing Evocation is essentially a disease with multiple vectors of transmission. It has nothing to do with the manipulation of essence of Murex's core, case in point: Evocation is functional in all three worlds.

In particular, those who have ingested the flesh or matter derived from the body of a Demon will become Evokers. After doing so, the individual is overtaken by abrupt fatigue and will fall into a deep sleep within thirty minutes, either voluntarily or abruptly. They will be plagued by strange and foreboding dreams, and when they awaken their eyes will have shifted to a golden coloration and Evocation may then be performed at will.

Evocation as a trait is also partially hereditary and sexually transmissible. Men can transmit Evocation to a woman if a viable pregnancy ensues (the important moment is implantation, for our purposes), and a Woman with Evocation can potentially pass it on to her children.

Despite this, the highland nobility of Murex make a point of making their family lines always pair with outsiders and non-Evokers. This is because Evocation, when passed onto offspring from both parents, always results in the birth of a Demon. A pairing between a Male and Female Evoker will produce Demonic offspring 100% of the time. A pairing between a Male Evoker and a normal woman will never result in Demonic offspring and will produce normal offspring capable of Evoking roughly half the time, since the disease does not grip the woman's physiology and genetics until after successful implantation. Any subsequent coupling between the same two individuals will then assuredly produce only Demonic offspring (since thereafter the Woman will have become an Evoker).

Evocation can also be transmitted via cannibalism of Evokers, although it has be particular. Unlike with Demons, where devouring any amount of their flesh or humors is effective, with Humans and other species one must devour the Thymus specifically in order to acquire Evocation.

Moving on the the practical applications and usage of evocation - as described in the treatise, even the most potent Echo-grade Evocation will, under ideal circumstance, only have a quarter of the efficacy of the Evoked principal. An Echo of flame will only burn with a quarter of the original's potency. Hence, a battlefield Evoker can conjure the Echo of a sawdust explosion, but it would only have a quarter of the force and thus would be significantly less likely to be life-threatening. Similarly, the Echo of a falling or flung boulder would not be anywhere as dangerous as the original, since it would only have a quarter of the mass and force of the original projectile - and due to how force scales with mass, the efficacy of an Echoed projectile will usually drop off geometrically.

Evocation is dangerous and effective on the battlefield and elsewhere, but the obvious applications are usually not the most effective.

One useful and practical application of Evocation is lighting. Even a Hint of a memory of daylight can be used to illuminate massive swaths of open space, for as long as the Evokers maintain the Hint. This is why cities, particularly in the regions of Murex less conducive to Gloaming wildlife, commonly employ multiple Evokers to maintain redundant and overlapping Hints of daylight above the settlement at particular points in order to provide regular illumination and backup in the event that one or two of the Evokers should lose concentration while going about their day.

The inverse application is also useful - the Evocation of darkness, and also of supernal darkness. Unlike with illumination however, it usually takes a stronger grade of Evocation in order to obscure well-lit environs, since any Evoked darkness will be more akin to applying a dark-shaded translucency filter over everything. With light, it is easier even where the light is faded and illusory, because native darkness is responsive to even low emanations of light. That said, an Evoker can easily almost wholly darken even a well-lit room with a fine-tuned Echo of darkness. As discussed in the treatise above, a Manifestation of darkness would be next to useless, since it would operate identically to actual darkness and so would instantly abate in the presence of light. A Manifestation of supernal darkness would have more permanence, but few mortal Evokers have the requisite knowledge and ability to comprehend supernal darkness necessary to Manifest it.

You will have noted that it is possible to Evoke the Echos of flame with a quarter the potency of the original. Multiple Evocations of this nature cannot be readily combined to enhance them, even as Echos. In practice you will just have two overlapping flames of identical heat that do not meaningfully interact with each other, as a reflection of their imperfectly realized nature. Whether or not combining Evocations together actually works or not depends more on the context than on the Evocations themselves, since they generally speaking will not meaningfully interact unless they are both solid constructs. Multiple Hints of daylight, referred to above, will not combine to create greater than normal illumination. Similarly, multiple Echos of darkness cannot be combined to make an area even darker. In both cases, the brightest Hint or the darkest Echo will define the upper threshold of what is perceived.

Also as commented on by the treatise above, it is possible to Evoke Vestiges and Shades to perform labor. The rules here are similar to the suggested rule of thumb for Echos. A shade will have perhaps a quarter of the strength and resilience of the original person. A Vestige will have, at best, only a tenth their strength and resilience. Under most circumstances, any amount of force which would cause any sort of break or disruption of the Vestige or Shade will cause them to vanish. A particularly skilled Evoker who specializes in Shade Evocation might be able to create Shades that can 'survive' injury and even obtain wounds and bleed like ordinary people, but this would represent one of the uppermost boundaries of what is capable with an Evoked Shade. Any additional fidelity would likely come at the cost of something else, and the only thing left to attain would be the Evocation of an Eidolon - which is comparatively almost impossible by most non-Demons.

As with the rest of Evocation, to create the equivalent of a Manifestation of a Live or Animate person, the Evoker would have to possess a close to perfect comprehension of them. Not only of their anatomy and the functionality of the body, but also of their personality and mind. Most Shade Evokers could qualify as textbook surgeons due to the knowledge of standard anatomy they require in order to be able to Evoke a shade (and a good number of them do, in fact, have full or part time job as physicians). All of their knowledge and more would be needed to even have a faint chance of Evoking an Eidolon.

The hypothetical degree of knowledge necessary to make an Eidolon would require more than mere familiarity with academic knowledge of anatomy. An individual will have to have, optimally, witnessed multiple vivisection in order to observe, feel, and probe at how most of the body looks, feels, and functions. They should have specific knowledge of the quirks and features unique to the person such as moles, irregular growths, the arrangement of their teeth, chronic bodily conditions (such as their digestion), etcetera. They then require an almost perfect realization and encompassment of the self of that individual. How and why they think, their mannerisms, habits, tics, and even their unconscious thoughts.

Despite the steep level of insight required, creating an Eidolon is somewhat easier than one might be led to believe after immediately having been told all of this. One does not need perfect awareness of every facet, physical and mental and otherwise, of another being in order to Evoke an Eidolon of them. They just need to know enough of both to pass a particular, arbitrary threshold of complexity and fidelity to the principal being evoked. Past a certain unknowable limit, the Evocation will automagically fill in all the gaps while Manifesting the Eidolon, allowing for its creation even though the Evoker might have incomplete knowledge of the subject - which even allows the Eidolon to have memories and thoughts the Evoker knows nothing about. The Eidolon is, after all, a perfect duplicate of the original.

Any attempt to Evoke an Eidolon below the requisite threshold will always result in a Shade. Attempting to 'alter' traits of the Eidolon, consciously or otherwise, will always produce a Shade. What is important is the memory/the abstracted principal being used for the Evocation. If what you want departs from what you have perceived and are aware of, what you produce will be imperfect as a result. This applies to all forms of evocation as well. Attempting to evoke Green flames, for example, will not work unless you have actually seen Green flames before. You cannot recolor the abstraction of the principal flame you are using for your Evocation.

Which neatly ties into the closing point: Evocation draws upon the abstraction of what an individual has perceived and experienced, not upon what they want or what they desire. An Evoker does not create, they recreate.

...a nearly worldwide institution which acts as the predominant custodian and guardian of all Evokers external to the nobility of the highlands. They are not universally accepted or tolerated; numerous cultures view the Cynosure as an insufferable and intrusive subversive agency of saboteurs and blackguards. What is true is that the Cynosure operates without license or regulation save broad public appeal by a majority of the civilized world and the express approval of the mainstream Seven Sects.

The Cynosure makes its business identifying, tracking, and apprehending Evokers external to the nobility who crop up (by unclear means) and cloistering them, subject to 'rehabilitation,' surgical treatments, and potentially training, or else to execution, or even other less pleasant alternatives. They are known to do this anywhere, everywhere, and to anybody who is not of noble descent, and have flagrantly violated the sovereign authority of several territories and even empires in order to do so. The Cynosure is funded by a number of anonymous patrons, although the Union of Seven Sects is usually pleased to admit its contributions, what they themselves contribute surely cannot account for the vast resources, manpower, and influence the Cynosure has at its disposal. Its internal hierarchy is largely a mystery to the layman, and even its ordinary agents know very little of its inner workings beyond what gleamings they gain from instruction and training by Cynosure officials. They openly own and hold land in numerous realms where they operate asylums, barracks, prisons, and other facilities pertaining to their line of work.

Publicly, the Cynosure holds themselves out as the only legitimate protector and guardian of Evokers in the wider world, especially those who are unfamiliar to the art and incapable of practicing it without being imperiled or else exploited by others. The Cynosure publicly advertises that it offers safe, effective, and reliable training to Evokers that enables them to function and thrive in modern society. Though it is true there are notable, prominent individuals in every society capable of Evocation who were inevitably cloistered, educated, and then subsequently released by the Cynosure - for every success story, there is an unseen mound of corpses.

This world, known to the mages as Qor, is no agrarian sprawl. The pangean caldera of which the Qorite people settle lays no claim to be the site for which empires large and wide, rich and prosperous, could lay dominion over. It is a hostile landscape, littered with inhospitable weathers clashing under the influence of thunderous arcane winds most ferocious. Even so, it is a landscape where human beings could manifest their own designs. So long as they remain reasonably realistic.

Much of Qor remains for none to see but the ferocious beasts and hellspawn which the winds of magic birthe as they influence life and the world itself like an unseen hand. And those who deem it fit, perhaps through wrongly placed ambition, to colonize the land beyond those small crevaces and islands which humanity was birthed will soon find their dreams quashed under the roiling currents of an ever-shifting evil which lacks neither aim nor guidance.

It is by chance that those of the Qorite peoples who could eventually manipulate these phantasmal winds were granted their gifts, and it is by chance that their cities prospered or collapsed. The master of Qor is circumstance, a circumstance beyond the knowing of any mortal or immortal mind which has decided to survey it during their flickering existence.

The arcane wind, the by-product of the world's inception, the immaterial force which lead to the dimension's birth, and the last remaining proof that its longevity was never infinite as some philosophizing minds would have lead their followers to believe during the world's many spiraling cycles.

Even so, there were some who decided to persist. A kind of people born and bred by chance, allied their kindred soul, and banded together to form something which even the mountain-shattering, forest-clearing, and desert-spewing nature of this world could not displace. These would be the same people who came to call the world by its first, and last, lasting name.

Whilst the Qorites were originally one people of many others, they were granted the circumstantial ability to harness the winds, and redirect their amorphous and ever-changing properties towards shifting the landscape, and fertilizing their fields. Whilst few, their impact was great, and their kind were originally a selfless nobility who quickly came to power and authority.

The first cities were built under their wise council, and the teachings they acquired from their interaction with this chaotic cosmic force they called magic was shared amongst each community for the sake of unified prosperity.

During times where pestilence was birthed under the guiding hand of arcane circumstance they united, and when their cities were besieged by their reborn dead, they fought back these newfound invaders as a united caste.

Though as the times passed, and as their nations developed, division was merely another eventuality to be faced. The Qorite people, now claiming dominion over vaste swathes of interconnected settlements, outposts, communities, and peoples, became too powerful for their selfless ideals to remain.

Nations which had historically only just emerged now battled for territory, under no other grander objective than to rule all that was civilization. The grand cities of the Qorites became castles and capitals for which the mage-caste may rule their domain, and through their magical expertise, they morphed their own humanity into something which no longer could resemble it under scrutiny.

At present, the pangean caldera which had birthed both horror and joy was now only the back-drop for which these grand rulers vie for dominion, disregarding much of the chaos which the force that their power heralds from spawns in order to overpower one another.

It is a performance beyond the comprehension of the people which they rule over, the waste which their armies leave behind attributed to little else but another random act of the 'celestial wind' which their 'gods' claim hegemony of.

Though their quest for unobscured mastery of the cosmic forces which their world had always been embroiled within has cost them greatly. The peoples of Qor now limited to the nobility which their few cities govern through, and oppose eachother with. Three cities, with three dynasties of Mage-Kings, lorded over by a suspicion great enough for them to ruin their own natural genetics through sterility, prolonging their destinies through the haphazard force of magic with which they mold their offspring.

The potential masters of Qor, considered as such only due to the ancient heritage with which they support their rule, are the Acakan mages. Born in the purple since the time of the first cities, they are the only presently-standing lineage of 'immortals' with a right to rule and a city with which to manifest it. Their master, referred to within the mages' archaic and needlessly ceremonial traditions as the Many-Winged One. Having ruled for two centuries, the regular humans with which his wingspan encompass and his influence extends to known him only as a deity of impeccable stature and power, the arcane winds a result of his celestial flight across all creation.

Though in truth, he is merely another Mage-King amongst three who share an equal division of power through the nature by which their magic does not use, but instead directs, the forces which truly rule towards their own desire. Even so, whilst the Many-Winged One, referred to as Acakan as if he was the only one of their family that mattered, is one who is far more capable of truly ruling a nation than others of his kind. A hobby builder, the man finding solace in the expansion of his own ordained culture and divinely-censored aesthetic styling across the shattered continent.

The Acakan nation is no massive entity, no nation across Qor maintaining such status, but it is one which is stunning in its appearance and projection. Cities placed onto the flattened peaks of former heaven-touching mountain ranges, bridges spanning the vast distance of great rivers, and buildings ornate enough to be considered treasures in their own right litter his egotistic projection across the world which he allows the habitation of humans as if little else but dolls to accentuate the beauty of his sense of architectural genius.

Acakan is however threatened, not personally, but nationally, by the second dynasty of arcane rulers which consider the world of Qor to be their home. The Arkon, a dynasty of one maddened ruler who holds sway over a land entangled within the shattered coast which divide the northwestern and southwestern end of the pangean caldera. Arkon, another immortal, seen by Acakan as an imbecilic lunatic, wishes little else but for himself to be the only sovereign to hold sway upon the 'fabric-firmament,' or magic, which supposedly stands as the last veil between creation and uncreation. He wishes to control Qor's entirety of magic so as to create a better creation under his ever-wise guiding hand. Arkon, whilst being the only mage of his dynasty, having massacred the rest in a deicidal struggle which resulted in the shattering of the lands which his lineage had previously lorded and the sinking of their cities, still carries the arcane moniker of 'the greatest destiny.'

Though mage culture practically demands of its subjects to derogatorily refer to them simply as Arkon in defiance of their previously acquired titles. Arkon, once being a bright mind, is seen as having fallen under the influence of the fabric-firmament which the mages direct and channel, which is why his once impressive moniker is reserved for few others but the fishermen which line the shattered coast regard as an ocean deity. Arkon's city, lying on the ocean floor, given respite thanks to the efforts of a mighty whirlwind produced around the city's expanse which keeps its streets dry.

The last of the great triad is the 'Landless Sun,' the self-designated shepherd of the nomadic Hoka'oi people who once lived at the expanse of the canyon-kingdom which Arkon's ancestors ruled before the land's decimation. An enigmatic figure amongst their own kind, and a mortal deity to their chosen people, the Landless Sun, and their Ramonkahud dynasty now wander the lands in a purposeless exodus, perhaps in vain hope that by its end, their equals would have destroyed eachother, and seeded the land for which the Hoka'oi to cultivate.

The Landless Sun is unidentified, and its dynasty seemingly appearing from the aether according to all attempts to dust up an origin from which they could originate. Not even the endless pages of Acakan's greatest libraries containing any clues with which to guide their quest for explanations.

Though to the two rivalling cities' benefit, the roaming city of the Ramonkahud steers clear of any would be confrontations between the world's definitive powers, seeking instead to bolster its own growth with the displaced peoples which their imbecilic masters displace due to their pointless conflicts.

All this, however, is not for mortal minds to know. These are the puppeteers which direct and instill purpose and vision into the minds of the easily afflicted.

Acakan's dominion surrounds the entirety of Arkon's influence limit and claims sovereignty over the two ruling kingdoms which both dominate their given side of their newly formed peninsulas.

The Aoideoi Kingdom, birthed a century into the past during the 'enlightened conquest' of former mountain-peoples' holdings and steads, is the northern master of the lands which center around the shattered passage, is a kingdom divided in two functional halfs. Connected through an intricate highway known as the Acamoidean road which crosses the spine of the mountain range with runs through the realm's borders, the nation is ruled by two monarchs who individually govern each half of the nation, and during times of external danger, meet upon a flattened plane on the Acamoidean road's center to decide on the entire nation's direction.

Whilst divided, the Aoideoi Kingdom shares one language, and largely one culture amongst its dominant population, though the governance of each half could vary extraordinarily. It is said that during times of the greatest need, the Many-Winged One shall whisper words of wisdom to the rulers of the Aoideoi, and usher in a prosperous reign.

The Aoideoi face two large threats, aside from the ever-potentiality of national collapse should tradition be ignored. The first, is the northern mountain-peoples under Ramonkahud's lordship. Their raiding, in combination with the beasts and monstrocities of the uncharted territories beyond them, lead to its northern regions facing strain. This was dealt with in two ways, the eastern monarch decided to bolster the border and militarize. The western decided to cede territory to the mountain-peoples, so that they have to deal with the wild beasts as oppose to the Aoideoi.

The second threat is the seafaring peoples of the submerged one, which would be Arkon. They are a scattered people without much for central rule, but an ever-thirst for ways to enrich their own meager existences and claim ever greater reward from whatever authority they bow before. Though good fishers, and capable of traversing the whirling sea between the two peninsulas thanks to Arkon's aid, they lack much of what makes Acakan's realms powerful and potent, but because they do not abide by his illogical restrictions, they can equalize through different means beyond simple battlefield engagements.

On the other side of the whirling sea, and the other side of Arkon's reach, lies Ean. Unlike the Aoideoi, the Ean Empire's foundations was built along the mutual protection afforded between seperate villages during the age of the first cities. These villages would come to grow under the divine guidance of the Acakan dynastic vision, and its history would grow ever richer, and more mythic by the passing centuries.

It now culminates into an electoral empire lodged into its soil to the point of immobility, producing a powerful bulwark for which Arkon's ambition is poised. Whilst the mage-cities of the three dynasties are locationally unknown, it is whispered that this is where Acakan's golden city resides, and these whispers are also the reason for which Arkon's southern realms carry the torch against its northern regions.

The territory is held stable, if only through the fact that its national components, the city states, are immensely entrenched within a landscape seemingly molded to its benefit. Its cities, farms, and fortresses covered behind strange formations of earth, and strategically located lakes to make any would-be invader grind their teeth.

Northern Seafarers are the lesser of two evils in the eyes of Acakan's chosen people, their holdings protected by deep fjords and intermittent islands. Whilst it serves as capable defenses, it also isolates them from an offensive directed towards the northern realms, instead demanding them to utilize their seafaring to raid along the peninsula's northern coasts. The northern seafarers share no other distinction, beyond their location, their faith, and their skills of navigation, with which to distinguish themselves from each other. Instead, the shattered coasts consist of small territories, typically lorded by a village head, or the owner of the largest farmstead.

Their culture artificially warlike as a result of Arkon's guidance, they conduct raids to stock their supplies and fill whatever goal their seers place upon their righteous mission to oppose Acakan's realms.

The Northern Seafarers congeal, additionally, into the southern seafarers due to many villages and small cities along the northern coast deeming the south to be the more righteous target. Perhaps because it is easier to gather larger armies across the southern peninsula's northern terrain.

The southern seafarers are a breed all to their own, the land of the southern shattered coast settled with an altogether different intent to the fishing cities of the northern seafarers. Blistering with logging camps, magically ripened soil for which to feed large hordes, and plentiful supply of freshwater lakes, the land belongs to the warring clans of the seafarers who see on the death of the untrue god as their ultimate objective.

The terrain is flat and open, opportunistically hilly only for a stronghold to be strategically located, and interconnected by a web of systems ultimately geared towards conquest and ruination, the southern seafarers were told stories of great conquests from birth, led into the path of warriors by religious dogma, and ultimately sent towards the great southern realm of Ean to pillage every generation.

It is a land with great grudges, albeit self-imposed by their way of living, towards the south, and a people with ever-expanding ambition and god-given destinies.

Whilst not truly united, the seperate tribes of the south follow the banner of faith into battle, their pagan crusades shepherded by the Warteller, a god-given identity placed on the most devout warrior, so that they way walk the lands of the southern shattered coast and unite its seperate clansmen under the great banner of the One Submerged.

The Hoka'oi peoples were the former lower-caste of the kingdom which once littered the now submerged lands which once unified the Qor's spherical encumberance. Though since the disaster, they migrated northward, and southward, under the guidance of the Landless Sun of the Ramonkahud. Those who went north became known to those who dwelled there as the mountain-peoples, never given asylum by the realms of the Acakan, instead forced to live amongst the wilderness, and the manifest chaos which the 'Fibric-Firmament' delivers upon the world.

Forced to hunt the beasts that lie beyond the known world, their bodies were altered, and their natures were changed. Mutations became rampant, as their guiding light did not prove competent enough, or willing, to shepherd over the land as the other Pantheons did with theirs. Thus, the mountain-peoples grew indistinct from beasts and horrors, differentiated only by their vague baseline humanity, now considered indistinguishable from the beasts they hunt in the eyes of the Aoideoi.

The Hoka'oi who ventured south, beyond Ean, and into the Tallest Desert, perched upon the shoulders of great mountains, were scorched by the arcane winds which permeated the strange wasteland. Their skin was blackened beyond colour, and became aetheric and formless.

They became shadows, and their entire civilization was removed from the material, instead left to roam inbetween forms. All recollection of their existence concludes thus, making the assumption that they still inhabit the region southwards of civilization, though the extent by which they do so unknown to mortal minds.

Some believe it was a deliberate act, on the part of the Landless Sun, so as to ensure they could exist without others' interference.

Once, centuries ago, Vneth was a resplendent jewel in the astral crown of Ysheggai, where it stood in the empyreal spaces alongside six other spheres of being, warm and populous with life. Formed, or perhaps ordained, in aeons immemorial, the worlds in the circle of Ysheggai were well-suited to be the habitation of various terrene beings in many shapes and forms. Manifold were their origins; some filtered down from the astral and took on material form, others sprang to life from earth and rock, others yet emerged from the churning primeval oceans. These entities were of primal and inchoate spirit, all but incapable of thought, and though it happened at length that some of them grew more crafty, it was through chance that any of them at last became more than beasts. After a brush with the veined green nolakh, the Ague-stone of wondrous properties found in certain caverns, a breed of ape-like beings was imbued with alchymical mutation, and found in itself the skill to learn to walk upright, to bind wood and bone into tools, to utter speech and live in accord.

The sons of flesh and earth grew and thrived, and the crafts of civilization blossomed from their minds. Vneth was a fertile ground for their endeavours, suffused by day with sunless light from the heavens, rich with strong and precious earths from the depths of mines and quarries, teeming with plants, beasts and other things to be harvested, hunted or tamed. Many were the perils of the primordial world, but the cunning of the novphes, the people of the green nolakh, overcame the hunger, fangs and venoms of the wilds as well as the furious storms and quakes of the elements. Towns grew, then mighty cities, with spires, temples and palaces that defied the clouds and mountains. Roads of paved stone stretched across the land, trodden at all hours of day by caravans laden with goods from far realms. Realms, kingdoms and empires rose and fell, some standing for generations, others for mere days. Their armies were like fields where stalks were spears and forests where leaves were swords, with hordes of beast-riders whose steps shook the earth and sages who brewed plagues of alchymy to smite their foes. Their kings sat on thrones of ivory and pale gold, of nolakh and gemstone.

It was so that the seven worlds of the crown of Ysheggai were bound with ethereal paths, so that by certain means occult and arcane one could travel from one to the other, though there was no bodily bridge one could cross. The wisemen of Vneth were not the first to discover the craft, but learned it from wanderers of yonder spheres. Turmoil followed, for a time, and war and conquest. The tide shifted many times, but no one held the upper hand, for the peoples of Ysheggai were alike in strength and craft, and as wars are wont to do at length it faded, only stirring now and again across the decades. Through struggle, trade and learning of far places, the crown of the seven worlds became much akin to one great sphere, the astral roads its highways, the skies the boundaries of its many kingdoms. For a long time it prospered and shone, fulcrum of legends and secret lore across the empyreal, repository of riches innumerable, pride and envy of countless peoples.

Yet all things have their end, and doom comes ineluctable for the humble and the proud alike. Drawn by the haughty light that radiated from Ysheggai and driven to ravenous hunger by its opulent warmth, a terrible being of the abyss emerged from the depths of the starless cosmos. So vast was it as to be almost divine in might. What became of the crown of Ysheggai in its clutches is unknown, but Vneth was seized and hurled away, into the sightless void beyond.

Severed from the astral ways of the spheres and beset on all sides by the consuming absence, Vneth grew cold and withered. Its skies lost their lustre, and became eternally grey, heavy and overcast. Its oceans stagnated, and became slow and dark as lead, save in rare places wracked by everlasting storms. Mountains of dead ice now drift over its waves, bearing within them waking entities from ages forgotten. The forests shrivelled, and became thin and spectral, haunted by forlornly howling and chittering things. The fields drained away, and became wastes of grey dust, silent and untrodden. The many beasts and living things of Vneth either became bone and rot or hid away in secluded places. Some withdrew under the earth, and there, touched by the nolakh and other stones of alchemical puissance, they met strange fates, such that no one dares venture after them.

What was worst, things that were not of Vneth seeped down from the folds of the dark void and spread over its carcass like flies. Now the voices of horrid sky-shriekers resound from cliffs and towers, the claws of dusk dwellers rend bark and tapestries, and valleys writhe under the tide of uncountable monstrosities.

The novphes, once uncontested masters of the sphere, are but a ghost of their former selves. Their empires are graveyards, fields and roads littered with the bones of those who tilled, travelled and fought over them in the thousands. Their great cities stand crumbling and deserted, empty and haunted by memory or desecrated by the lairs of unnameable creatures. Slowly and stubbornly, but with no hope, they have withdrawn into lost valleys and mountainous refuges, to lonely islands and expanses of cooling ash. Of their kingdoms, only one still stands, in a land once too hot and scathing to settle, but now the last to hold an ephemeral warmth. Yet even that is a reign of ruins, held in a ring of encroaching death. Its lords, who recklessly consume the last of the nolakh in great quantities to prolong their lives, have been tainted by an excess of the Ague-stone, and though ancient and wise in forgotten arts are sickly and disfigured. The tales of grandeur from the past are all but forgotten myths, and though some beings from other worlds of Ysheggai still live among the people of ash, few of them could say where their forebears once came from.

Vneth is a world of death and oblivion, and desolation and decay hold illimitable dominion over all.

The only indigenous sapients of the world are the novphes, hairy ape-like beings that distantly resemble upright baboons with grey-greenish fur, albeit with shorter, more compact and less prehensile hind legs, no tails and developed facial muscles allowing for a range of visible expression and vocal articulation. They are, however, all but incapable of producing velar, palatal and most alveolar sounds. Fur hue and thickness may slightly vary depending on geographical, and by extension ethnic, origin. As a whole, novphes have difficulty learning to swim, and are instinctively afraid of large bodies of water.

Novphes are hermaphrodites, barring rare anomalous cases, and reproduce through the consumption of a subcutaneous inseminating organ extracted from another individual. While historically this led to the development of cannibalistic traditional practices, later developments in surgery allowing for relatively painless extraction of the organ have spread almost worldwide, and are now the most stubbornly guarded vestige of old world knowledge.

The novphe peoples were born from the nolakh stone, which can grant longevity at the cost of health. As they age, they take on the hungering nature of the green Ague-stone that exchanges life for affliction, and become capable of feeding on the vitality of living creatures by consuming their blood and flesh. The victim will be stricken with enervation and weakness disproportionate to the wounds, while the ape-folk are reinforced and even rejuvenated if they devour enough. The novphes can also, through an arduous process, alchymically refine nolakh into a concoction that renders their kind all but immortal, but also sickly and deformed.

Sapient beings from other worlds of Ysheggai remain on Vneth, but are extremely rare, and mostly dying out faster than the locals.

Most void creatures do not possess any observable higher intellect. Those that appear to invariably ignore all attempts to communicate with them, although some mad ritualists claim to be able to temporarily appease them with offerings and other artifices.

Magical practice is presently nonexistent in Vneth. The aethereal framework for manipulations of space allowing for intermundane translocation has been lost to the void, and the knowledge to work it is forgotten. The closest to continuing magical practices is the ancestral science of alchymy, which uses rare mineral substances to achieve sometimes preternatural effects. Those may include curing or inducing diseases, aiding the healing of wounds, reinforcing other materials, causing mutation and transformations in living beings, lighting inextinguishable fires and more, though much lore has been lost since the golden age of Ysheggai.