Continents of Ross
The Capital Continent Elderwood
The capital continent of Elderwood is a vast mass of land, and has always held both the least and the most valuable pieces of real estate on planet Ross. That's not to say there are not plenty of other continents, but Elderwood is more than five times the size of the nearest contender.
Virtually every time an empire had come to grow past its local ambitions the goal was always control of Elderwood. But the races who awaited you on arrival were naturally some of the most hardened known to exist.
Unless you had overwhelming advantages you essentially needed to get lucky and catch an exhausted and isolated civilization who had just spent themselves defeating some other threat.
This state of conflict stretched back further than locally recorded history. The one thing all of the race’s wise ones could agree on was that the constant threat of war had put their development into a hyperactive state, albeit in an incredibly one-tone direction, and that this must be why so many sapient races contended for the same land. You just couldn't push a species too far on this magical planet without risking a magic reaction in turn. The races whose last few elites survived a genocide to develop even further could become a longstanding thorn in the paw of even the mightiest conqueror.
That was not to say that these were widespread truths, how could they be, when the people doing the recording of history were hardly a numerous bunch, nor particularly popular.
When a new nation rose to prominence it was seldom in their best interest to be reminded of their less than glorious past. And it might seem it was rather strange how every major race eventually seemed to get this almost cyclical turn at dominance, but the biggest reason for this was known to all; [Quests].
Certainly some of the strongest, like the Ogre clans, were regular contenders for the belt of biggest and baddest; but they were notoriously poor at maintaining empires above a certain size for any length of time, due to their reliance on the rare great Khan.
But on the other hand; nobody had ever gotten close to wiping all the Ogre clans out. Something that quite a few races, who no longer maintained a presence on Elderwood, could not claim.
The biggest example of a [Quest] driven event in recent memory was the arrival of Humanity from burning ships in the sky.
Every race had gotten the same System notifications, despite all having vastly different Systems of their own, there were still these few characteristics they had in common.
When the strange aliens arrived, wielding magic weapons and sending what seemed like Spells that destroyed and poisoned vast swathes of land, it was the first time in known history that all the native races united in a common goal.
Earn the [Quest] rewards for slaying the interlopers.
When the [Quest] was completed, and no more Humans could be found; things quickly returned to normal.
Although the destruction caused in the ensuing conflicts was greater than usual due to all the high level individuals who had profited from the great genocide and its rewards.
The dust settled and one of the species who came out on top was the Cloven. The reason was unknown, but more than any others the Cloven displayed a greater variety of weaponry and adaptive means than any other race could keep up with, despite all their high levels. It was explained as the Cloven having been able to level an unusually large number of [Primordial Druids], a formerly rare Class. But this did not explain the great number of new plant life that was introduced to Elderwood at this time and never again since.
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Unknown to all for a time, a shard of humanity remained hidden on Elderwood; and the first to find them were the Cloven. However, for some inscrutable reason they received no [Quest] to slay these ones.
On closer inspection that reason seemed to be their complete discarding of the technology that had delivered them here. Now they stood before the mighty Cloven with nary a thread on their bodies, and having built villages in hostile lands where hordes of predators were forced when the Cloven cleaned house.
Their resilience was impressive to the Cloven, and their ability to live without relying on the destruction of nature, rather adding to it with materials from home, made them seem acceptable. An accord was reached.
Then it took many decades for trust to build, but some individuals even earned the right to be taught magic from the greatest [Shamans] and [Druids] of Clovenkind. They were the exception, but eventually the golden era of the Cloven came to an end, and they grew more guarded.
One of the few allies they still trusted was Humanity, but sharing their magic became more taboo than before, the limits you had to overcome as an outsider to the Cloven grew far greater.
One individual by the name of Antonia, who had a streak of lucky encounters, was taught the old magics, but she used this knowledge in service to Humanity in an unexpected way.
Humanity remained vulnerable in this age, and their allies looked to the protection of their own backyards, and so Antonia created a System, something that had never been done locally on Planet Ross before.
The rest of the races all just had theirs, and while some claimed credit for having invented it, there was nobody foolish enough to believe them. The System had always just been, as present as the wind.
But what else they knew was how Humanity was excluded from this natural order. They were not from this place and had never displayed the use of a System before this new age. Now their ingenuity was undeniable, but the home-made System of theirs remained unproven and it took many centuries before humanity earned the respect of being considered a potential threat by the largest empires, without relying on their Cloven allies.
When that day came humans made their mark on history with a vengeance, their whole race entered a golden era and grew across Elderwood like many other races had before them, and they inherited grand cities and learned new magics, improving on both in the process.
But every era comes to an end on planet Ross, and especially if you belong on the capital continent.
Elderwood geopolitics eventually turned against the human empire and new contenders from neighbouring continents, wielding strange weapons and Classes, took their turns carving away at the local giant.
Humans were considered one species among many at this point, who had their turn at dominance and failed to maintain it, only a few species with very long memories even recalled how humanity had first arrived.
The newcomer race started stagnating, and eventually the Humans could all be found in their heartlands in Doc Forrest, dreaming of better days and contentedly remaining in slumber unless provoked.
Interlude II
Races of Elderwood
Ogre Clans
Twenty years before the death of Ronald at the Hare's Retreat.
Clan Snaking Path was new, but that did not mean Marboc considered them weak.
Not for that reason. His own clan was new as well, and the Great Spirit knows him and his brother had been preparing them for the early Crucible for ages.
"We should go now, you are showing hesitation," Marboc's brother-head told him internally.
It was said as advice, but whether it was true advice or not was never certain.
Marboc and his brother had discussed their roles at length when they were still small; and now Marboc needed to stoically remain confident in his own judgement, even in the face of harsh criticism from those closest to him.
Especially then, as his brother’s constant testing taught him. Sometimes he was still truly advising, but Marboc was leader for a reason, the times he did not think of the solution himself were few and far between. And so his brother ended up mostly testing him.
"We look weak. Not your lard ass in front; but your warriors, the tactics still confuse them,"
Marboc snorted at the words before sending his thoughts back. "How can this much confuse them; if we make the enemy charge twice the distance instead of meeting them in the middle they will be more tired… And they know how we have trained to stop a charging enemy,"
Clan Snaking Path were charging still, in a manner that belied their name, and the collision was not far off–Marboc remained calm in the front… Acting just like he had plenty of time.
His brother’s internal critique continued: "This is true, but admitting to needing the advantage, are we not saying we are less prepared and need to conserve energy from the start?"
This was the typical mindset Marboc was trying to cure in his warriors. His brother did not agree they were there yet.
It was true that the clans were all about projecting strength, about proving it seldom but in devastating fashion, then coasting on that display while the memory was fresh. "We embolden them, they charge all the harder," Marboc grinned.
The lines clashed and the reddish dust of the canyon soon limited the view. "All the better that they fall from on high–when the first moments of battle make for a miserable position to be in with us," Marboc swept his left foot far to the side in the sand and pivoted with power– he would have burst right into his own soldiers if it was not for the fact of how the rest of the line had done the exact same move. He grabbed the offending arm of his enemy and disrupted the strike, not forcefully, but using the same momentum as his equally huge opponent. The right leg came up at the pivotal moment, and the blue-skinned Ogre was raised high before smashing hard into the ground, with Marboc happily landing right on top.
The same thing happened all across the line.
When two clans charged each other there was a lot of pride at stake. But the ultimate pride was in victory.
Not every match-up was won, in some cases the strength or size discrepancy was too large, or the opponent realised what was about to happen just in time. But enough of the frontline, the strongest and fastest, were taken out that the rest of the battle was a forgone conclusion.
The opposing commander was forced to admit defeat to avoid the extra wounded warriors that a prolonged fight would ensure.
Then the guttural voices of his warriors raised a cheer to his name. "All hail Marboc! Another victory for Clan Allspirit's Bond!"
“Saffai! You have learned, I have taught. You are winners now, the rainbow will come if we go on!”
They were the first words Marboc had uttered aloud all day. His warriors all cheered and raised their brutal looking Ace-clubs high.
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Following the battle you could see Marboc engaging each and every warrior from the opposing clan who had displayed some glimmer of potential.
Marboc himself was not the one to engage, out of pride, but his brother-head was recruiting for all his worth. "None will go further than our Clan, you have a mind for true combat, why wallow at the bottom of the barrel with this lot?"
The words were not diplomatic, but the victors had no need to be, not among Ogres.
So soon after, the words still stung though; and it was just one loss, no matter how devastating. "I am not interested,"
"Did I mention we have our own brewery in the main camp?" Ogres loved beer.
Clan Allspirit's Bond left with fourteen new warriors who had all defeated the throw despite charging for all their worth as ordered.
There would have been a couple more if Marboc had his way, but not all Ogres could stomach following or representing the Allspirit above the Ogre's own feline Great Spirit, even if it was the recognised head of their Spirit pantheon. They all say it; Monza is still our own.
But Marboc had big plans, not just for the Ogre lands but all the world. He was convinced that was what made him different.
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Ogre children on Elderwood were all born with both their blue heads intact. As they grew up they had few things in common, but outsiders tended to disagree. All the mainland ones were dark-haired with hairlines centred on the crown of their large heads, and bottom heavy torsos but with frighteningly long arms.
They were a hardy people who happily lived and thrived in the most brutal mountain region on Elderwood–Blue Mountain.
Its peak large enough to be the dominant feature for thousands of miles.
In the modern day it was widely known how the trait Ogres lacked the most was intelligence.
There were clear exceptions to the rule. But most Ogres simply did not have it in them to truly analyse; and having to share a body with somebody else when you were both short-tempered and brutally strong, while also knowing each other's every weakness, was not the best combination.
Luckily they were too brawny to ever die easily, but having a stubborn streak meant the conflicts usually escalated over the years. Even a head that had been considered dominant for years could suddenly find themselves fighting for their life if a true grudge remained when the time of true adulthood came; the time to decide once and for all.
At the age of twenty, when the Ogre [System] deigned to grant them their Classes, was when push came to shove.
Every Ogre prepared for the day by truly having it out with their brother-head: Competing, fighting or arguing to decide once and for all who was the true person in control of the body and who was merely along for the ride.
Most of these 'discussions' ended in murder. But the heads who managed to convince their brother that theirs was the leadership-role; well, they were clearly destined for greater things.
A clan of their own was usually the least of what they could expect out of adult life, for as long as their brother remained in tow.
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20 years before the death of Ronald at the Hare's Retreat.
The Foxkin Sects
The White Nun of the Jade Mountain Sect was known across the Autumnal Lands as the most ancient elder, among those who once had been Spirit-companions. Of course that was not saying much, if you asked other species. A Foxkin living above the age of sixty was a rare sight, even among the Awakened who cultivated for longevity.
The White Nun however was a legend, despite being from the looked down upon world of Spirit-bordellos.
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Why such establishments were allowed to exist was because the journey they could take you on was said to allow the ‘oh, so rare’-opportunity for indulging your darker nature and desires without the price of karma incurred.
The practice was a ritual where young Unawakened Foxkin were connected to spiritually; with their every hunt, every impression of the senses, shared across a link. But the experience was doubled, how then could the karma remain the same?
Many a philosopher entered deep meditation pondering this matter, with no conclusive response from the [System] being forthcoming. And so the matter was argued over and different factions arrived at interpretations that differed only in the minutiae but which started sect feuds and devolved into accusations of unorthodoxy and even long-standing Fortresses of Illumination being killed down to the last Awakened.
The one thing everybody was sure of was that the number of potential Saints and Sages who had gone to such a place and indulged, only to later fall to temptation and end their careers in a fit of madness, was significantly larger than those who maintained the disciplined path of orthodoxy, in mind, body and spirit both; Such individuals would very, very seldom suffer such fates.
The result in modern times being how the puritans on the Path of Sutra made their stances known publicly, and with restrictions aplenty to suffocate any prospective sect members or even their dependent clientele.
But some Foxkin have always been drawn towards forbidden fruit. Their many enemies would gladly speak at length of how it is their most fatal flaw.
But some hope remains for those who would reject the abandonment of their nature in the pursuit of [System] approval.
When the self-righteous Sects gathered to discuss how to combat these carnal influences and then inevitably came to shut such places down, the White Nun would often come to challenge their inquisitor’s words and conclusions.
By now her age was such that none could easily dismiss her.
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High in the tropical mountain range of Foxhome Peak swept a wind that was precisely the right temperature for some hard work to get done, if you asked the younger, supervisory Elders of the Iron Tempest Sect.
These predatory-looking humanoids were martial artists to the bone, yet there was no denying the power of their higher level mystic arts either.
Not that this was of any concern to Swipe, as he was ironically sweeping the courtyard outside the Outer Sect buildings that served as the entry point to their mountain home. No concern yet anyway.
Looking up was where you could find the true Iron Tempest Sect dwellings on some of the upper floors that could be seen clinging to the sides of Foxhome Peak.
Not that Swipe was doing the action ironically, but rather the whole situation where they kept giving him this same task every week, claiming they had to because of the irony. With the irony being how they did it to tease him; but he actually loved it. Swipe was pretty sure either him or they had misunderstood what irony really was.
Being an outer disciple was tough work, but being what amounted to an orphan had started feeling far worse as time went on, so Swipe remained grateful.
His mother had been a locally famous singer, who drank until she hacked and vomited for hours, several days a week. Then as Swipe grew up and learned to take care of her, rather than use the support to make herself quit, and maybe give the singing a real go, she used it for an excuse to lean into her habits, taking Swipe for granted in every way in the process.
It had been a childhood with a lot of pain, but which he had also managed to survive and somehow get used to. It might have been fine, in fact.
Except she got worse.
But one day Swipe had a fortuitous encounter with an Awakened in the marketplace, a cultivator who refrained from all hunting, crazy as it seemed.
The strange man had sat in the square meditating for hours, with Swipe running past several times to see the strange phenomenon; then the Foxkin Cultivator had suddenly opened his eyes; proclaiming to have felt a kernel of potential in Swipe: And asking him of his circumstances before quickly offering a place at the sect.
Swipe did not know what came over him at that time, but he lied.
He lied about his entire life, and claimed to be an orphan. In fact he used the same back story he'd heard told with his mother at a campfire one time.
And it worked. Once the words were out there was no taking any of it back, he immediately regretted this and wanted to at least speak to his mother again before going, but it was just not done. He could think of no excuses, and admitting the lie was as good as declining and offering his neck up for punishment instead.
Now here he was, a year in.
He was doing good, as an outer disciple, even fine he would say.
But it was tough work. He hadn't had meat for a year, and constantly felt like he was starving despite his growing muscles telling a different tale. He finished the day's mundane task and went to meet Victor and Climbs at the gatherer's merit exchange.
A burgeoning power was his, but Swipe was already lying awake with his friends some nights to wonder at what cost.
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The Foxkin Sects were an old race, who rose above their nature to reach for deeper meaning through meditation. It was claimed by some of their enemies that they had a hidden realm, one where their ancestors had found fruits that told of a different path than that of the predator, and how even greater power could be theirs precisely by defying their very nature.
The first Awakened was born and started following the Path of Sutra, bringing his entire people onto the path to Awakening and grasping for power in defiance of the heavens.
Many struggled–changing the very nature of a people was not easily done–but those who managed the journey individually gained power that was undeniable across Elderwood.
But as ever more, and more Foxkin learned the ways to Awakening; more of them also began to stray from the true path, with the consequences of doing so at the higher echelons being devastating to Foxkin and their few allies alike.
Nowadays none were foolish enough to trust the Foxkin Sects as a whole, rather alliances were based on individual reputations and accolades.
Even then it was the rare occasion when another of Elderwood’s races got involved in the affairs of the Sects.
For the acolytes, speaking of the issues within with outsiders was a most heinous taboo and could get a Foxkin family marked for generations as unfit for Awakening.
One race who took particular offence at these Sects and their ways were the Cloven.
Each time such a mishap was swept under the rug they took it as ultimate proof how the Foxkin could never be fully trusted; that their predatory nature would always be at risk of overwhelming even the most spiritual and experienced of Cultivators within the Foxkin [System].
Today conflicts bloom like weeds and the individual Cloven and Foxkin who do not attack each other on sight is rare, but less so should they meet outside of their common borderlands.
Humans and Cloven learned early on to bond over these untrustworthy neighbours of theirs, and the Humans once upon a time shared a poem from their home that stuck in the heads of some influential figures and eventually made it into Cloven culture.
To Timothy foxes are nature's delight;
Their furcoats are orange and wonderfully bright.
But one of them bit him and that means goodnight;
For this fox is rabid and no cure's in sight.
In more modern times the Foxkin have not been known to attack Humans in particular however, citing a distinct bad taste; while plenty of Humans have proven to have shorter memories than most other races, leading to a rather accepting stance in many cases.
Something which many Cloven have taken quite personally.
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20 years before the death of Ronald at the Hare's Retreat.
The Cloven Realm
Elderwood was home to the greatest of forests, and the vastest of plains. The Cloven had wandered them for as long as any remembered; even asking the spirits in the Twilight Realms, whose guidance they first received when they learned to eat not just the grasses, the leaves and the flowers, but the mushrooms as well.
Their evolving minds opened the doors to a new world, and the tribes that rose from that shared experience were the start of the Cloven. Bipedal since long, but in many ways still true to their elk ancestry.
They became caretakers of the land, [Druids] and eventually [Shamans] whose leadership guided the spirit-trips of whole tribes partaking in collective vision-inducing rituals.
The spirits gave knowledge of not only the lands but the heavens and the undergrounds as well, the mountaintops and the oceans. They shared all they knew and the Cloven were grateful and grew in the sharing.
Later with expansion they found how conflicts with strangers arose, but the Cloven were always defensive and fought in a way that minimised destruction, often successfully.
Their enemies soon learned that to take them on was to often accept the highest of costs in effort, since that is what it would take to even penetrate their woodland realms.
Despite this, sometimes resources grew that attracted enough attention that no deterrent of the Cloven remained effective, this was when they had to press back the hardest; Since it was a fact of the [System] and its [Quests] how some natural treasures could not be abandoned.
When Humanity first arrived the Cloven were conflicted, but the influx of [Quests] was enough to get them started on the march, albeit reluctantly. All that reluctance was removed when the toxic weaponry that mankind wielded came to light, the Cloven fought as fiercely and even greedily as any other race to prevent further destruction of such a devastating kind.
Later, when the remaining shard of mankind was found, the Cloven were once more split up and conflicted.
Great debates took place where even the lowliest of [Shamans] demanded that their opinion be heard. The majority of Cloven argued for disregarding their needs completely, providing no aid and continuing to send hordes of predators that needed removal their way as needed, despite no [Quests] requesting their deaths.
But what the [Druids] who were sent next eventually learned changed everything for the plant-loving race.
With news of a great benefit to be had, if dealing with the humans fairly, this strange ape-like race on the brink had their first allies on Ross.
And it was all thanks to the Norwegian seed vault.
The following era was quickly overtaken by the Cloven who used their devastating [Primordial Druid]s to dominate not just their opponents but the very land that they defended as well, despite those other races having gained high levels and powerful rewards at the defeat of Humanity as well.
Ultimately it all proved insufficient in the face of the sheer variety and innovation displayed by these powerful Casters with an affinity for nature and overcoming every odds, it was a golden era for plant-life and Cloven alike, and their influence spread all over the Elderwood continent back in those days.
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Nalai'Dormata grew up in a far less golden era for the heartlands of Clovenhood.
She was from an old family and lucky enough to be named a Caster at the [System] ritual induction.
But the influence [Druids] wielded compared to [Shamans] was at an all time low.
It seemed that nowadays large parts of Cloven society preferred the rosy pictures painted by the collective Visions that the [Shamans] loved harping on.
There were never any concrete solutions, ideas, or even principles to stand on to be found.
All of it simply bottomed out with how the Cloven would solve every problem on their own, no matter the lowered chances of success; and thus never needed to consider the ramifications of their dealings with other races– not overly much– as long as they stuck to a few rules.
Do not antagonise the Hivelands.
Do not mess with the wrong Ogre Clan.
And whatever you do; do not ever trust a Foxkin cultivator.
Nalai was far from ignorant when it came to all the reasons for this attitude… But she was still at a loss as to how the Cloven could so easily blame humankind for having short memories; when they were equally quick to forget how much of their recent successes stemmed from some plant or idea that a Human had first introduced–even if they were indeed crap at developing the plant's full potential here in Ross’ ever developing environment.
Most Cloven simply considered Humans a tapped resource, but Nalai was far from convinced of the fact.
She still remembered the overwhelmingly sweet and balanced Apple-Drink she had once been treated to, from the far off southern Human lands; a sweet memory from her early teens.
It had led to an intoxication that was just unadulterated natural cheer. At least for a Cloven, who was naturally immune to hangovers.
Nalai had found no Cloven alcohol that could compete.
Today was the start of another year of schooling in the druidic arts, and Nalai was at the head of not just her class but her Class.
Now she was set to compete at the interstate growing competitions that drew eyeballs from every corner of Elderwood.
Not strictly due to the youth branch, it was true. But the real growing connoisseurs kept an eye to the future, which meant even prodigies could get a minute in the spotlight provided their results merited the attention.
Nalai was finally the official choice and was set to let everybody know how she grew her fruit tree to consistently give twice the yield of her competitors, from the same seeds.
She'd taken the help of a Human.