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Origins of Toraj
Toraj, is an independent nation on the continent of Xalthea, and was founded by an otherworlder, a ruler whose vision shaped the nation into something unlike any other on the continent. The city was not built through conquest or inheritance—it was crafted, its streets and waterways arranged with deliberate precision, its governance structured around logic rather than tradition.
In its early years, Toraj faced near destruction during the Slime Gluttonia Incident, when an uncontrollable slime ravaged the land, consuming everything in its path. The crisis forced the nation to adapt, strengthening its defenses and refining its approach to handling magical creatures.
Toraj Castle stands as the seat of power, a fortress where rulers do not inherit their titles but earn them through skill and leadership. The city thrives on trade and craftsmanship, its markets filled with silks, spices, and artifacts carried by boats that drift beneath arched bridges.
Beneath the capital lies the Great Serpent’s Grotto, a vast cavern connected to the sea, where the Great Serpent dwells. Unlike the myths of benevolent guardians, the Serpent is a known threat, a force that has tested Toraj’s strength time and time again. Adventurers descend into the grotto seeking fortune, power, or glory, but few return unscathed. Some never return at all.
The rulers of Toraj have long struggled against the beast, sending warriors to drive it back, to contain its wrath. Yet the Serpent remains, multiplying, its existence woven into the city’s fate. It is a force that ensures Toraj never grows complacent.
On the Nature of Society and Power
Throughout history, the balance of power has been dictated by strength, knowledge, and divine favor. The world is shaped by those who rise above the common masses—warriors who carve their names into legend, rulers who command through wisdom or force, and scholars who seek the truths hidden beneath centuries of tradition.
The Adventurer’s Guild stands as a pillar of civilization, offering structure to the chaos of ambition. It ranks individuals based on their prowess, granting them access to greater challenges, wealth, and influence. To be recognized by the Guild is to be acknowledged as a force capable of shaping the world.
Magic is not a rarity, but a tool wielded by those who understand its depths. Summoners, knights, and mages hold positions of power, their abilities granting them status beyond mere birthright. Nobility governs the land, yet their rule is often challenged by those who ascend through sheer ability—individuals who defy the constraints of lineage and forge their own destinies.
The gods are not distant figures of myth but active forces, shaping the fates of mortals through blessings, trials, and intervention. Some rise beyond their origins, gaining divine favor, while others fall, their ambitions crushed beneath the weight of forces beyond their control.
It is a world of conflict and ambition, where strength is the currency of survival, and where those who rise above the rest leave their mark upon history.
Those who arrive in this world from beyond often carry fragments of their past—objects that once held meaning, now rendered useless in a land untouched by their original purpose. Phones, watches, and other modern devices accompany them, yet their screens remain dark, their mechanisms lifeless. Without the infrastructure to sustain them, they become little more than curiosities, strange artifacts that hold no power beyond sentiment.
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For the summoned, their transition is immediate. Their summoner provides them with new attire, garments suited to the world they now inhabit. Whatever they wore before—whether uniforms, casual clothing, or ceremonial dress—is stripped away, replaced by fabrics and armor befitting their new role.
The reincarnated, however, experience a different fate. They awaken as part of this world, their past life nothing more than a distant echo. Their clothing is not foreign, nor do they carry the trinkets of their former existence. They are dressed as any native-born would be, indistinguishable from those who have never known another reality.
Yet, despite these differences, the remnants of another world persist. Some hold onto their broken devices, their faded memories, their unspoken truths. Others discard them, embracing the life they have been given. But no matter the path they choose, the past lingers—silent, unseen, but never truly gone.
Remnants of Another Life
On the Nature of Beings
The world is shaped by three primary classifications of sentient life—Humans, Demi-Humans, and Monsters—each distinct in their origins, abilities, and place within the grand order of existence.​​
The Realms
The world is shaped not only by what is seen, but by the unseen realms that press against its edges. These domains—The Bloom, The Mire, The Hollow, and The Emberveil—are not allegories or afterlives, but living forces that shape ancestry, spirit, and fate.
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The Bloom
A realm of wild magic, vibrant emotion, and untamed nature. Its forests, jungles, and plains pulse with seasonal energy and primal instinct. The Bloom is saturated with natural magic—shaping the land, its creatures, and the moods of those who dwell within. Spirits born here often carry fae resonance, animal traits, or emotional affinities, drawn from both beauty and the beast within.
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The Mire
A realm of desolation, betrayal, and wild entropy. Its terrain fractures into bogs, jungles, jagged peaks, and black ice—hostile, shifting, and cruel. The Mire is not a prison by design, but by nature: those cast here are oathbreakers, exiles, and ruin-marked spirits. Chaos reigns, and monstrous lineages often trace their origin to this realm.
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​The Hollow
A realm of shadow, sorrow, and slow unraveling. The Gloom of Namarra, it drains color, joy, and memory until even hope forgets its name. But The Hollow does not merely dim—it consumes. The Hunger of the Hollow erodes emotion, will, and identity, leaving only silence and shade. Creatures such as night hags find comfort here, feeding on grief and forgotten dreams. Spirits marked by this realm carry necromantic resonance, grief-bound ancestry, or the echo of something once cherished and now lost.
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Emberveil
A realm of volcanic peaks, drifting earthbergs, and searing fumes. Its terrain is steep and treacherous, shaped by pact-bound legacy and molten wrath. The Emberveil is the birthplace of yugoloths, and greedy, selfish fiends dwell here in great numbers—alongside devils who carve order from ruin. Spirits born of Emberveil are forged in heat and hardship: precise, wrathful, and bound by oath.
The Shadow of the Abyss: Valthyss
Few beings in recorded history have inspired such fear as Valthyss, the Abyssborn, a force that defies the natural order. Its name is spoken in hushed tones, carried on the wind like a warning to those who would dare to stand against it.
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The first signs of its presence were subtle—villages emptied overnight, their streets undisturbed, their homes untouched, yet their people gone without a trace. Survivors spoke of shadows moving without light, of whispers that carried no voice, of an unseen force that devoured all in its path.
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Then came the fall of Elarion, the city once known as the Ivory Citadel. A bastion of knowledge and power, Elarion stood as a beacon of civilization, its alabaster towers gleaming beneath the sun. But in a single night, it was erased. No siege, no battle—only silence, as its walls crumbled and its people vanished. Those who bore witness described a form shifting between realities, a presence that was neither flesh nor spirit, but something in between.
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Attempts to destroy Valthyss have failed. Blades pass through its form as if striking mist, magic dissipates before reaching its core. Some believe it is a force of nature, an entity beyond mortal comprehension. Others claim it is the remnant of a forgotten god, cast into the abyss and left to fester.
What is known is this—Valthyss does not conquer, it consumes. It does not seek power, wealth, or dominion. It moves with purpose unknown, its motives unreadable, its presence undeniable.
And as history has shown, where Valthyss walks, civilizations fall.
Who will you be?
