Post cataclysm world
Part IV: The Age of Darkness and Rebirth
The Cataclysm left Valeria a broken world. The very land groaned with the weight of its wounds, and the skies often wept ash and dust where once light had shone. The brief, interconnected splendor of the Golden Age, a time when humanity and other races had reached to all corners of the world, had been violently ripped apart. Where once the population had been allowed to expand and flourish across vast continents, pushing boundaries and forging distant settlements, now there was only contraction and retreat.
The intricate networks of trade and communication that had once spanned continents withered and died in the cataclysm's wake. Roads, once bustling with merchants, pilgrims, and travelers, became death traps. They were choked with rubble from splintered mountains, swallowed by newly formed chasms that bled raw magic, or simply overgrown by a wild, twisted nature that reclaimed what humanity had tried to tame. With the roads closed, communication severed, and safe passage a forgotten dream, communities became isolated, islands unto themselves in a sea of encroaching wilderness and unpredictable danger. Whispers of distant kinsfolk might reach a village on rare occasion, but direct contact was a perilous undertaking.
Travel, once a routine part of expansion, became an act of sheer, desperate survival. It was undertaken only when absolutely necessary, and then, only with grim resolve and heavy armament. The routes were no longer safe passages but gauntlets, each mile a test of courage and skill. The few surviving roads were filled not only with common bandits, ruthless men and women preying on the weak and desperate, but also with monstrous, primordial threats. Orc tribes, their numbers having exploded in the chaos, roamed freely, their guttural war chants echoing through ruins where once great cities stood. Giants, driven south from their ancestral lairs in the Bitterfrost Mountains by the unleashed energies of the Cataclysm, now lumbered across former farmlands, their shadow a harbinger of instant death. And countless other unspeakable monsters, birthed from the broken earth itself and the wild magic of the Sundering, stalked the shattered lands, each a hungry predator in a world devoid of its former order. To step beyond one's village walls was to invite peril, and for many, isolation became the only form of peace.
The Snake Cults
The Cataclysm had left not only physical scars on Valeria, but deep, festering wounds in the very soul of its peoples. As established orders crumbled and the distant gods seemed to fall silent once more, a profound spiritual vacuum opened. The worship of the Valar, already distant, receded further into the realm of forgotten myths, while the Clerics of the One True God, once beacons of hope, often succumbed to despair, or worse, to the insidious allure of corruption, their promises of divine protection ringing hollow against the backdrop of world-shattering ruin. In this fertile ground of despair and disillusionment, a chilling new power ascended: the Snake Cults.
What had once been a secretive, feared fringe movement, whispered about in hushed tones, now expanded into the last great religion of the age, though it was largely seen as a sinister cult by those who desperately clung to remnants of their former faiths. Their rise was chillingly effective, offering a direct, tangible power where traditional gods seemed to offer only silence. These cults followed the ancient, venomous philosophy of Faenor, the Man on the Mountain, who, even in this era of darkness, exerted his influence from unseen lairs. He promised not salvation, but control; not divine grace, but self-mastery through forbidden knowledge; not redemption, but vengeance against the chaotic forces that had broken the world.
Their distinctive, serpent-emblazoned towers, dark and foreboding, began to pierce the shattered skylines across the broken world. These were not cathedrals of light, but grim fortresses of faith, their architecture often resembling coiled serpents or predatory fangs. Within their shadowed walls, acolytes practiced dark rites, arcane rituals focused on power, influence, and the subtle manipulation of others. The cult's ideology, a blend of nihilism and a chilling pursuit of personal power, resonated deeply with those who felt abandoned by the gods and betrayed by the world. They offered a path to strength in a time of weakness, a cruel order in a time of chaos.
The Snake Cults were particularly prominent in Ninevah, the former crossroads city, now a bastion struggling to maintain its trade amidst the dangers. Here, the city’s inherent diversity of beliefs allowed the cult to take root, blending its tenets with older traditions, offering a stark alternative to the fractured faith of the One True God. Even more so, their influence spread throughout the East, where ancient philosophies often blended with the cult's teachings, and where the brutality of the Golden Horde and the rigid discipline of the Jade Empire, though vastly different, found a perverse echo in the cult's pursuit of power. Faenor's chilling vision of a world dominated by raw, unbridled will found fertile ground in the desperation of the Age of Darkness, promising a dark form of solace and brutal dominion to the broken and the ruthless.
The Sundering of Kinship
The Cataclysm had shattered more than just landmasses and trade routes; it had fractured the very bonds between the races of Valeria. The delicate tapestry of alliances and burgeoning understanding, woven so carefully during the Golden Age, unraveled under the immense weight of fear, scarcity, and a pervasive, lingering suspicion. Racial isolation became the grim norm, replacing the hopeful interconnectedness that had once promised a new era of unity.
The humans to the south, particularly those clinging to the tattered remnants of the Knights of the Rose's ideals, increasingly looked upon the Elves with profound suspicion. The memory of the First Kinslaying, though distant, resurfaced as a bitter historical wound. The arrogance of Faenor's line, now embodied by the chilling betrayal of the Neon Knight, cemented a deep-seated distrust. How could such a beautiful and ancient people produce such monstrous acts? The human perception of Elves shifted from awe to wary resentment, seeing them not as noble guardians but as enigmatic, dangerous beings whose magic had led directly to their world's ruin. The once celebrated inter-racial marriages between humans and elves, a testament to the brief Golden Age, became exceedingly rare, a painful reminder of a lost dream. Children of such unions, if they existed, were often viewed with a wary eye by both sides, symbols of a failed hope.
The proud Dwarves, for their part, retreated even further into their mountain strongholds. The vast, echoing halls of Khaz'Abar became impenetrable fortresses, their gates sealed against a world gone mad. They had always valued solitude and the steadfast strength of stone, but now, this became absolute. Dwarven caravans, once common sights on mountain roads, vanished entirely. Their hammers still rang deep within the earth, their forges still glowed with a hidden fire, but their interactions with surface-dwellers dwindled to almost nothing. Their renowned stoicism curdled into a grim determination to survive alone, their loyalty reserved solely for their kin within the unyielding rock.
Only in Seahaven, the coastal city nestled near Avondale, did a different path prevail. Despite the widespread fear and isolation, Seahaven, with its unique origins and its strong, intergenerational ties to the ancient Elven island and the Half-Elven royalty, actively embraced its Half-Elven heritage. It became a rare bastion of racial blending, a place where Elven wisdom, human pragmatism, and the fluid nature of Half-Elven identity still managed to coexist, albeit surrounded by a world that had forgotten such harmony. Its docks, though dangerous to reach, remained a fragile lifeline to Avondale and a testament to the enduring power of kinship over the forces of division.
The Fading Light of Old Orders
As the world spiraled into this prolonged Age of Darkness, the institutions that had once represented hope and protection began to corrode from within. The very pillars of the Golden Age, those orders dedicated to justice and divine will, found themselves ill-equipped to withstand the pervasive despair and the brutal realities of a shattered world. The honor they once embodied began to fray, replaced by pragmatism, desperation, and ultimately, corruption.
The Knights of the Rose, once the shining paragons of chivalry emerging from Azure and Vespera, found their ranks decimated by endless war and their ideals tarnished by a world that no longer recognized their code. Where once they had pursued justice with unwavering conviction, now survival became their paramount concern. Their once-pristine armor, now often grimy and scarred, reflected not only the physical toll of battle but the moral compromises forced upon them. Some knights turned to ruthless banditry, preying on the very populace they once swore to protect. Others became glorified mercenaries, their loyalty bought rather than earned. The purity of their oath to the One True God fractured under the weight of a silent heaven and a bloody earth, leaving many to question the very purpose of their sacrifice. Their deeds, once sung in ballads, became grim tales of desperate men clinging to power by any means.
Equally, if not more, devastating was the slow, insidious corruption that gnawed at the heart of the Clerics of the One True God. Their magnificent cathedrals now stood as crumbling testaments to a lost faith, often plundered or used as makeshift fortresses against the encroaching darkness. The Cataclysm had been a profound theological shock; if there was a One True God, why had He allowed such devastation? This question, unanswered and gnawing, led many to despair. Some clerics, desperate for answers or a return to power, turned to darker, more pragmatic pacts, twisting sacred rites into means of control or personal gain. Others became aloof, hoarding ancient knowledge and relics rather than spreading hope. The very light they were meant to carry became dim, obscured by self-interest and a chilling indifference to the suffering of their flock. Their spiritual guidance became a tool of manipulation, their sermons less about salvation and more about obedience, their once-sacred institutions now hollowed out by the relentless pressures of a fallen world. The faith of the One True God, though still nominally present, lost much of its moral authority, becoming another fractured fragment in the age of despair.
A Golden Age for the Wild
While the Cataclysm plunged the once-gleaming civilizations into a profound and harrowing darkness, twisting their aspirations into a desperate struggle for mere survival, for the untamed forces of Valeria, this era was a brutal, glorious renaissance. For creatures of raw power and primal instinct, the very chaos that unmade kingdoms forged a new world tailored to their strengths. What was a Dark Age for humanity, Elves, and the other settled races, was undeniably a Golden Age for monsters and barbarians.
The collapse of Arcania’s wards, the scattering of the Knights of the Rose, and the dwindling, corrupted authority of the old faiths meant that the wilderness now stretched unchecked, reclaiming what had once been ordered domains. The vast, ruined landscapes became hunting grounds, free from the constant fear of organized resistance. Giants, once contained by wizardly might, now lumbered across former farmlands, their shadows falling over broken villages, unchallenged. Packs of monstrous beasts, mutated by the raw magic unleashed by the Sundering, stalked the new forests and desolate plains, their roars carrying unchallenged for miles. For these creatures, the world was a banquet of shattered settlements and weakened prey.
It was the Orcs, however, who truly flourished in this brutal new world. Their numbers, once confined to scattered tribes on the fringes of civilization, exploded. The Cataclysm had been a great sifting, allowing the most resilient and adaptable to thrive. With few walls left standing to contain them, and fewer swords sworn to their extermination, they swarmed across the mainland. Their guttural war cries echoed through the ruins of human cities, their rough-hewn banners flapping defiantly over broken spires. They established sprawling, fierce tribes all over the continent, each a self-sustaining engine of conquest and brutal survival. Their raids became legendary, their territorial claims vast and undisputed, carving out a new, bloody dominion in the heart of the shattered world. For the orcs, the Age of Darkness was not a time of suffering, but of unparalleled opportunity, a chance to assert their savage dominance over the broken remnants of the old order.
The Shadow of Magic's Blame
Amidst the ruins and the pervasive fear of the Age of Darkness, a deep-seated, corrosive suspicion settled upon the very concept of magic. The Cataclysm had not been a natural disaster, nor an act of a vengeful, distant god. It had been caused by the arrogant reach of mortal hands, by minds that had delved into forbidden knowledge and wielded powers they could not control. It was the mages of Arcania, after all, whose insatiable ambition had torn the rift between worlds, whose ritual had awakened the Abyss and caused the world's breaking. The memory, raw and agonizing, was burned into the collective consciousness of the survivors.
For centuries, magic was viewed not as a gift or a tool, but as a dangerous, corrupting force, a weapon that had nearly unmade existence itself. Its practice became clandestine, driven deep underground or into the most remote, forgotten corners of the world. Its wielders, those who still possessed the arcane spark, were viewed with a wary eye, at best tolerated for some immediate, desperate need, at worst hunted down as dangerous blasphemers. The proud traditions of Arcania were remembered as a chilling cautionary tale, their once-gleaming tower now a symbol of hubris and ruin. Magical artifacts, if found, were often destroyed or left untouched, their latent power feared more than desired.
The very air of Valeria seemed to hum with the lingering taint of the Cataclysm, a pervasive sense that raw magic was now unpredictable, dangerous, and inherently tied to the forces of chaos and destruction. Healing spells were viewed with apprehension, battle enchantments with dread. The intricate theories and elegant formulae of the Golden Age mages were discarded as dangerous folly, replaced by a deep-seated distrust that permeated every corner of daily life. Even in desperate times, communities would often turn to brute strength or mundane ingenuity before risking the subtle, unseen forces that had, once before, brought their world to its knees.
The Unlikely Spark of Artifice
Yet, even in the deepest shadows of the Age of Darkness, the persistent, chittering hum of innovation refused to be silenced. From the unlikely corners of the world, a new, peculiar light began to glimmer, one born not of ancient magic or divine grace, but of ingenuity and a chaotic, mechanical curiosity. Oddly enough, it was the Goblins who instigated this strange, vital renaissance, a force utterly alien to the despair that gripped the world. Despite the pervasive suspicion of magic and the constant struggle for survival, the Goblins’ inherent amusement with technology and science became a driving force, their peculiar minds untroubled by the Cataclysm's philosophical baggage.
Their ramshackle settlements, filled with the clang of metal and the hiss of steam, became workshops of chaotic brilliance. They reveled in their talent for artifice, their nimble fingers constantly tinkering with gears, springs, and volatile concoctions. They delighted in constructing intricate, often bizarre, mechanical gadgets – from crude, clanking steam-powered conveyances that belched smoke and fire, to ingenious but notoriously unstable clockwork devices that whirred and ticked with a precarious life of their own. For these eccentric engineers, creation was a constant, joyous experiment, and the world's brokenness merely presented new challenges to overcome with a wrench and a spark. Their profound, almost childlike, fascination with explosions remained a defining trait; a goblin might spend weeks meticulously crafting a device, only to detonate it with gleeful abandon just to witness the ensuing chaos and fire, their laughter echoing through the shattered landscape.
This peculiar love for gadgetry and the scientific method, coupled with their innate chaotic genius, eventually found a most unexpected, yet profound, avenue of influence. It was passed on to the Gnomes (Noldir), Reoryx's magically gifted children. The Gnomes, with their inherent magical affinity to the earth and their ancient wisdom, quickly recognized the potential in the Goblins' raw mechanical brilliance. While the Gnomes possessed magic in their very blood, a gentle, shaping force, the Goblins offered a practical, often explosive, way to manipulate the physical world with gears and levers. This led to a revolutionary collaboration between the two races, both descendants of Reoryx's fervent creations, bridging the gap between subtle magic and overt mechanism.
Together, the Goblins and Gnomes began to bring about a new era of technology. Their combined efforts birthed wonders that had been unimaginable even in the Golden Age: enchanted automatons that moved with clockwork precision, devices that could purify water with a whir and a glow, and even ingenious airships that defied the monster-haunted roads below. This convergence of raw magical understanding and mechanical ingenuity led to the rise of a revolutionary new school of thought: the Artificer. These were individuals who blended technology and magic in unprecedented ways, crafting enchanted devices, steam-powered marvels infused with arcane energy, and wondrous clockwork constructs that slowly but inexorably began to reshape society. This blend created a wholly new type of society, one where magical energy was harnessed through intricate gears and precise mechanisms, and where practical invention became the key to overcoming the endless challenges of a broken world, offering solutions where traditional magic had failed or been feared.
Threads of Connection in a Broken World
Against the backdrop of the Artificer renaissance, a cautious hope began to stir across Valeria. The innovations of Gnomes and Goblins, born from necessity and a love for practical creation, gradually chipped away at the isolation imposed by the Cataclysm. Over the course of the 1000 years of darkness, the desperate scramble for survival slowly morphed into a calculated effort to rebuild, not always grandly, but with a persistent ingenuity. Trade, almost entirely annihilated by the Sundering, gradually resumed, though cautiously at first, like tentative tendrils reaching across a vast, dangerous chasm.
Brave merchants, often escorted by Gnome-crafted mechanical guardians or Goblin-designed explosive deterrents, ventured across perilous routes that were still fraught with danger. The roads, though no longer impassable, remained treacherous. They were still filled with lingering monstrous spawn of the Cataclysm, desperate bandits, and the formidable threats of orc tribes or giants who claimed the wildlands. Yet, new, more defensible routes were slowly charted and re-established, often protected by Artificer-engineered strongholds or patrolled by newly organized, though smaller, militias. Society, driven by the sheer will to survive and the ingenious solutions offered by the artificers, began to rebuild itself from the ashes of the Cataclysm, brick by painful brick.
While deep division and tribalism still persisted, etched into the very identity of communities and races by centuries of isolation and fear, a fragile sense of interconnectedness began to re-emerge. Small caravans, once rare anomalies, became more frequent. Whispers of news, of new technologies, of the strange contraptions of the Gnomes and Goblins, began to travel further afield. This fostered new, often pragmatic, forms of cooperation and communication across the broken lands. The necessity of trade, of exchanging vital resources and precious innovations, slowly compelled disparate groups to interact, even if warily. The Age of Darkness remained a harsh reality, but the threads of a new, albeit hard-won, web of society were being carefully, painfully rewoven.
Coinciding with this resurgence of trade and the practical benefits it brought, the widespread suspicion of magic also began to slowly recede. For centuries, magic had been viewed as the ultimate betrayer, the force that had shattered the world through Arcania's hubris. However, the Artificer renaissance had presented magic in a new, far more palatable light. It was no longer the esoteric, often destructive, realm of distant Arch-Wizards, but a tangible, integrated component of everyday innovation.
Magic was now seen as far too practical and interwoven into daily life to be simply cast aside. The healing salves produced by gnome-infused alchemical processes, the enchanted light sources that replaced flickering candles in isolated outposts, the magically reinforced tools that allowed for faster rebuilding, even the protective wards on newly fortified settlements – all demonstrated magic's tangible benefits. It had returned to being a fundamental part of daily life, particularly through the blend of technology and arcana championed by the artificers. The memory of the Cataclysm's magical horror remained, a deep scar, but the undeniable utility of magic, now expressed through gears and steam and carefully constructed devices, gradually overcame the fear, making it an indispensable, accepted element of the burgeoning new era.
The Deepest Magic of Bloodlines: The Rise of Kozzmo
Even as the world grappled with rebuilding and the cautious re-acceptance of practical magic, a secret, painstaking effort unfolded within the hidden enclaves of the Gnomes. During the initial, brutal centuries of the Dark Ages, when all other magical traditions were scorned or lost, the Gnome high families embarked on a meticulous, generations-long endeavor: the precise tracking and preservation of their bloodlines. This was not born of mere aristocratic pride, but from a profound, ancestral understanding of magic.
It had long been a foundational, if often forgotten, tenet of ancient Gnome lore that the closer one was to the very source of magic, the more potent and pure their own arcane abilities would be. For the Noldir, the Gnomes, their source was Reoryx, their creator, who had imbued them with inherent magic at the dawn of the world. Through painstaking genealogical records, arcane rituals passed down in hushed tones, and a collective determination to preserve their people's unique magical inheritance, the 12 original Gnome families engaged in a centuries-long strategy of strategic intermarriage. They wove their distinct bloodlines together, crossing familial boundaries to ensure that the inherent magical potency of their ancestors was not diluted by the chaos of the broken world, but rather concentrated and refined.
From this careful, almost obsessive, continuation of their heritage, a figure of unprecedented magical potential was eventually born: Kozzmo. He was the ultimate product of this meticulous genetic continuation, a convergence of all twelve original Gnome family bloodlines within a single being. In an era where magic was either practical Artifice or feared arcane chaos, Kozzmo represented something entirely different. His very presence hummed with the raw, ancient power of the Firstborn, the pure essence of Reoryx’s earliest creation flowing through his veins. He possessed a command over magic that transcended the practical gadgets of the Artificers and the whispered spells of corrupted mages. Kozzmo was a being of immense, inherent magical potential, a living testament to the Gnomes' foresight, destined to play a role in Valeria's future that perhaps even they could not yet foresee. His birth signaled, in a quiet, subtle way, the potential for a new kind of power to emerge from the lingering shadows of the Age of Darkness.
Conclusion: The Enduring Echoes of Valeria
And so, the grand tapestry of Valeria continued to unfurl, its threads forever stained by primordial light and abyssal shadow, its patterns forever altered by the cataclysmic forces that had shaped its very existence. From the serene, deliberate hand of King Elysian and the vibrant, often impulsive creations of Reoryx, the world had burst forth, populated by the magically potent Elves and Gnomes, and the hardy Dwarves. It had seen the rise of Faenor's genius and his tragic, rage-fueled fall, marked by the Kinslaying and the sundering of the Elfstones. It had witnessed the insidious cunning of Nyxara, the Spider Queen, whose jealousy birthed the first Vampires and whose tormented manipulations brought forth the endless agony of Threnos in the Netherworld, forging it into a realm of eternal suffering.
The first age was a crucible of burgeoning life and profound conflict, where heroes like Valerous fought with desperate courage, sealing away primeval evil and sacrificing his very being to light the Morning Star in the heavens, while his legacy branched into the graceful Wood Elves and the ambitious Half-Elven Kings of humanity. A fragile Golden Age followed, a time of expansion where cities like Ninevah, Azure, Vespera, Seahaven, Silverwood Glen, Khaz'Abar, and Atlantis flourished. New faiths like the One True God rose, empires like the Jade Empire clashed with the Golden Horde, and wilder tribes like the Barbarians roamed. Even the distant, eccentric Goblins carved out their own niche, while the hidden Masquerade simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of unresolved shadows.
But this fragile peace was shattered by the monumental hubris of Arcania's Arch-Wizards, whose overconfidence tore open the Abyss and unleashed Nyxara and her demonic legions once more. The ensuing Cataclysm was a rending of worlds, a multi-front war where gods and titans, dragons and demons, mortals and monsters clashed in a final, devastating crescendo. It was a time of ultimate betrayal, as Lord Valerius, the once-noble Knight of the Rose, twisted by grief and Faenor's dark whispers, became the spectral Neon Knight, leading his corrupted forces in an unholy alliance with the Moquendi Elves of Narazthul. The world itself could not withstand the strain, breaking and sundering, its landscapes irrevocably scarred, its civilizations crumbling into ruin, and the final Elfstone lost to shadow.
For 1000 Years of Darkness, Valeria struggled to breathe. Roads became perilous, communities isolated, and suspicion bred deep between the fractured races, with Orcs and other monsters now reigning supreme in the untamed wilds. The very concept of magic was feared, blamed for the world's ruin. Yet, even in this bleakest hour, the tenacious spark of resilience endured. It was in the unlikely alliance of Goblins and Gnomes, their shared love for artifice and explosive invention, that a new renaissance bloomed. They forged a practical magic, a blend of technology and arcana, creating the Artificers and a new society that gradually, painstakingly, began to rebuild. Trade cautiously resumed, fragile threads of connection were rewoven across the broken lands, and magic, now tamed and practical, slowly found its way back into daily life.
Valeria now stands at the precipice of a new, undefined age. The scars of the Cataclysm run deep, visible in the fractured continents and the haunted ruins that dot the landscape. The shadows of the past persist: the enduring threat of scattered demons, the dark influence of the Snake Cults, the hidden machinations of the Masquerade, and the unseen hand of Faenor. But there is also the stubborn hope of new growth, of Artificer ingenuity, of renewed, if wary, cooperation between races. The power of the Gnomes' bloodlines, culminating in figures like Kozzmo, hints at untapped arcane potential. The Morning Star still shines a distant hope, while Atlantis guards its secret light beneath the waves. The story of Valeria is one of creation and destruction, of hope and despair, of magic and might. It is a world forever shaped by its past, yet forever striving towards an uncertain future, its fate waiting to be forged by the echoes of its history.
