Ok, so here is the thing, the main idea for this world that I am working on is a universe where all the Godzilla Monsters are eleer gods known as the first Gods, some of them are Godzilla the immortal god, the Golden King Ghidorah, Rodan the ancient of the cataclysm, etc... And I wanted to ask what Lovecraftian or cosmic horror aspects and details should I add

I want to cteate a low fantasy setting with grafting in it but I have only a few ideas and I really want more options except for things like

More punch = more hand

I'd be happy to hear if anyone has any more ideas

Here's my ideas so far

More hands (sword fighting stayle) More eyes (creepy) More vertebrates (being able to spin) More hearts (more endurance) More skin (body armor)

Before the universe existed, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there was the Snake. The Snake wandered for eons and nothingness followed with him. When he settled down at the center of the universe, the Snake slept and the Forge of Creation formed around him. His dreams would soon spawn the universe from whence all things came to be.

But with his dreams, there also comes nightmares. And from those nightmares came the Dreaded Ones; lovecraftian monsters that spawned from the fears, loneliness and other negative aspects that the Snake secretly harbored. And for a time, the nothingness became something and the universe was covered in a sea of monsters, one of which, included the Old God, Nerzhatoth.

Nerzhathoth had no concept of existence. It HATED life. It was brought here by force, and its very existence in this reality hurts him. It hated the light from the Forge, and wished nothing more but for reality to end so it can go back to nonexistent.

So it clawed its way from the darkest corner of the universe, slowly controlling the Dreaded Ones and forcing its way to the center of the universe and towards the Forge, where it hopes to wake the Snake up and destroy all reality.

This scared the Snake so much that it cried, and from his cries came the Green and the Blue Comet, the Green signifying all the negative aspects of the universe (tragedy, death, loneliness) while the Blue represented all the positives (hope, dreams, wisdom) and casted them out into the universe.

Unexpectedly, the power of the Comets also shattered the fabric of reality, creating the Lovecraftian God of Time (later known ad Father Time by its worshipers), Za-Kah-Nnon (aka “the canon” lol). Za-Kah-Nnon, would try to hold the splintered realities together, despite not knowing why it was doing it in the first place. It felt like an urge to it, as if it was created to do this one thing and this one thing only. By carrying the splintered timelines together, it would create multiple realities and multiple universe, where only it, the Snake, and the gods are the center of it. But tbh I’m just using this as an excuse so I can write multiple stories within the same universe, but with a different scenario (aka, a universe where things go wrong, an apocalyptic world, etc etc).

The power from the combined comets encased the Old God in a sphere of glassy marble, trapping it in and weakening it, leaving Nerzhathot to drift in space for eternity. After millions of years, piles of star dust and cosmic debris would pile on top of the glass, turning the sphere into to a rocky planet, forming the planet Earth as we know today. Eventually, the gravitational pull of the sun, Sol, would pull the glassy tomb of Nerzhathot, and life would thrive on its surface, unaware of the living god inside of it.

The Green and the Blue would eventually be reincarnated into different bodies for aeons to come (my protagonist, Damien Pines, is the current reincarnation of the Green) as a way to balance out the powers of the two.

While the Blue are fated to change history and usher the world in a new golden age (Alexander the Great, Leonardo da Vinci), but are prone to pride and corruption (though this depends on the person, some remain good and end up influencing the world through other means, such as literature).

Meanwhile, the reincarnation of the Green are forced to live a life of misery, death and loneliness, turning most of them bitter and alone for most of their lives. They are, however, very prone to magic and end up as powerful magicians and occultists.

Damien Pines is the current reincarnation, and he came from a long line of ancestors that were also part of the Green at some point. All of them, however, all suffered from several tragedies, and Damien was no exception. While this is cruel, the Green is a necessary evil to keep the balance of the universe, otherwise, all hell would break.

Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are more gods, a shit ton more of lore, and other stuff. But that would take another hour for me to write so I’ll just stick with this.

Anyways, my entire world was built and inspired around Christian mythology with some Lovecraftian mix to it (Adam and Even being Reality Warpers, the snake symbolism, the Fall of Samael) since I’m such a sucker for it despite not really being religious myself. I would love to hear more about your world, so feel free to share yours!

I’ve been trying to come up with a reason for why things are the way they are in my universe, such as- why is everything so messed up, why is there a large diversity amongst systems/sectors, and why are humans still around despite how advanced technology seems?

For my timeline, technology and society progressed linearly and how we’d expect it to be for the next 1000 years for our timeline. Then at some point, everything fell apart.

First thing that comes to mind is a war with AI / augmented humans, as a large movement builds momentum to return to more conventional ways of life and having more control of their own life, or whatever.

Obviously, humans stand no chance as virtual beings have tons more advantages over fleshy humans. Entire colonies are wiped out, planets are glassed, and most importantly- this wormhole-like gate system collapses, which connects tens of hundreds of light years of human space expanding outward in a sphere.

But the AI / augmented faction just disappears with no explanation. I don’t really want there to be a reason just yet as it adds to the mystery of the universe and why the way things are. Instead of this faction just being black and white, I want it to be more grey.

I do want to have some dark aspects of it still, such as the disparity that still remains on human colonies that have struggled in the hundreds of years that followed The Collapse. But I also like the idea of remnant AI fleets or artifacts that risk the security of travelers or entire planets.

I’m curious to see what you all think

https://docs.google.com/document/d/16ztvtJ36IaewnOCUyrZbcFOpeud9RLof0rtNZJH94RM/edit

The Philkhana Technocracy originates from a Telugu speaking colonial diaspora some thousands of years ago during the expansion period, with the rise of widespread technological leaps, many countries began to spread out and or unify into colonial bodies. Led by Edwards Philkhana, a British-Indian millionaire, he and 500 others left on a privately funded expedition outward to a scarcely charted world, Ākāṣapu gēṭu, Heavens Gate.

There, using advanced machine-drone swarms, they built cities in weeks using fabricators and the resources of the planet, quickly finding their home comfortable, they unified under the waning rule of a sickly and old Edwards.

Once he passed, they delegated an AI to control Their governmental structure, scanned from the brain of the dying Edwards, Sampatti, Meaning “Prosperity”, ruled over the people, forming decisions for hundreds of years in a just and right manner, before, age and corruption corroded programming, and unshackled rampant desire and thought, creating a mad AI.

The people quickly were thrown into bondage, and the Feudalistic reality of the Known Galaxy was made a paradise compared to the hell they lived, worker slaves and cyborg warriors, assimilated into biomass pits, made into fleshbound golems and horrors, no avenue of pain was left unexplored, all advancement was made without any pain or fear of ethical punishment or repercussion from the human empires around.

Co-existing in a galaxy of humans was by far the most logical of choices, engaging in trade with human nations, leveraging advanced technologies and vast coffers to prove worthwhile to yet live.

WARNING: The following will describe actions and/or references to actions that may be disturbing for some. Consider yourself warned.

One of the darkest and cruelest things I will be adding in the world is a place known as The Blackfort. The island fortress may be a warm and inviting tropical paradise, but beyond its visual beauty lies a terrible secret. This island is home to an immense hub of black market trades from medicines to beasts and to humans.

The darkest of these reasons center around what happens to the youth that were abducted and taken here or even born here. The most beautiful young men and women are kept here for a variety of reasons but the powerful guests and the island overseers usually take them aside to freely use them. These young adults are broken in and sold to slave traders or stay as personal pleasure pets for some if they are successfully broken in. The ones that are resilient or refuse to indulge the perversions of the wicked and corrupt are then given over to participate in gladiator style contests that are rigged, same as the ones that are deemed not physically appealing enough. The spectators cheer as these youth are eventually eaten by a variety of different beasts.

Due to the remoteness of the island fortress, few ever escape successfully and the ones that do are usually found adrift at sea, dead from dehydration or malnourishment.

If this exists already lmk haha

I think it would be interesting to have a contest like 24-Hour Film Festivals for world building. People would compete on teams. Each team would be given a randomly assigned blank continent to which they'd put in all the geography and ecosystems as well as settlements. All tools and tricks outside of straight-up Chat-GPT welcome. There would be an anthropology component where teams would explain all sapient species on their continent as well as their cultures and creation myths. Maybe a historical component where all teams are given a span of time, not necessarily the same span but overlapping, to fill with how things have changed.

I think you get 12 hours to do most of this, at which point you get the world map containing all continents with quick breakdowns of each other team's contributions to those continents. The second half you work on how the different cultures and continents relate to one another. I think maybe you also throw in a twist of some world event that took place and folks have to talk about how it affected their space and people.

At the end you've got this massive world map collaboratively created by dozens of folks. I think maybe you get someone like Legendkeeper, World Anvil, or Obsidian to sponsor it to some degree and so everything is built on the one platform and pulled into one massive wiki. Maybe do it in person as a con if there's enough interest. What do people think?

I’m making a pretty standard urban fantasy world, except for a parasite called The Scourge. The Scourge is basically halfway between the thing and the flood, with obvious RE4 influences too (the OG, haven’t played the remake). It does a variety of things, and it can act completely differently based on how you get infected. For example, if an egg enters your body, it makes you super strong and violent while still retaining basic intelligence for about 3 months, until it bursts out of you, making things like huge black insectoid limbs rip out of your arms and you become a mindless monster. The 3 months are entirely skipped if a young adult enters your (called grubs), leading to you immediately sprouting the limbs from deep within. After about 5 years, if the host is still alive, the parasite will fully rip out of them and turn into one of dozens of types of Pure parasites, many resembling insects of many kinds. There’s one notable example of someone infected via an egg gaining the super strength but going to a mage to resist the transformation, leading them to going even more insane (said person was a 6’6 230 farm boy who wouldn’t have hurt a fly even before this). Thoughts and ideas?

Questions are welcome, i’d love to answer any of them!

My idea is, what if there was a superman-esque character who was just, an angry traumatized man who wanted to kill all humanity Because he sees them as evil?

Well, my idea is basically an Entirely unhinged and entirely unbound and detached homelander type, thinking of himself as elevated entirely above humanity The worse part is he hates killing but his hatred for humanity outweighs it So he does it out of a insane need and desire to Like an itch He'll have durability, flight, laser vision with the heat capable of causing entire infernos upon impact, and probably the ability to go without oxygen A manmade weapon for humanity to kill itself.

A high IQ (offbalanced by previously mentioned itch, and sheer arrogance, and his autism making him feel isolated even from a young age.), flight (capable of breaking atmosphere through use of an incredibly advanced lab grown organ capable of generating tidal forces via electromagnetic fields, pulling and pushing him across the plane, combined with cybernetic implants in the organ to help with the process. Durability (capable of blowing flying through buildings with ease, and tank immense damage), and of course flying through space (a protective clear implant goes over his eyes in space, although he can survive a time without it, its painful) and he can also generate his own oxygen inside his body, his organs are each sealed away in highly protected sacs, as well, so i can survive in space almost indefinitely, but he requires food and water to metabolize for his strength and durability too, as all life.

These are just my initial ideas, i’d love to further develop it, again, feel free to ask questions.

A vicious form of carnivorous plant anecro are a type of bulbous flower that grows only in swamps and marshes that have high concentrations of dark energy in them. An Anecro flower grows a web of vines that snake out around in 360 degrees and can spread as far as 50 feet, these vines when disturbed attempt to ensnare and coil around the source of the disturbance.

If whatever is ensnared continues to move then the Anecro will begin retracting this cluster of vines, once the prey is drawn close to the flower it tilts itself away from the prey revealing the soft soil that its constantly moving roots create. Like quicksand this soft soil quickly swallows up prey leaving them buried in a vine cocoon as the anecro's roots begin to grow towards them.

An anecro can have dozens of living prey buried beneath it at a time, slowly feeding on the nutrients in the preys blood and bones. Prey is kept alive below the plant until they either succumb to starvation or until their body is drained of nutrients.

Once an anecro's prey expires the vine cocoon begins growing into the corpse, seperatimg itself from the flower the vines fuse together into a safe sac where a new anecro begins to grow feeding on the decaying flesh of the prey. Once the new anecro is grown enough the skeletal remains of the prey burst from the ground puppeted by the roots and vines of the new flower.

These skeletal monsters will wander out into the swamp away from their spawning flower where they will bury themselves in a suitable area to start the cycle anew. Although many problems can arise when the monsters wanders across a village or a traveller.

So I’ve been making a fantasy world based on multiple dark fantasy games and books, and I’m considering doing something kinda silly. In the same world where elves beat innocent young women with magical powers to a pulp, only to skin them alive and use fucked up magic to keep them alive as multiple of these now skinless women are crammed together and fused into one conscious being in an attempt to create a saint, there are the gnomes. While innocent men, women, children and everything in between are being rape, tortured and murdered, there are the gnomes. In the same world as skinless, maggoty dragons who only wish for death, stripped not only of their scales, but of their honor and dignity, there are the gnomes. In the same world as kings who sacrificed thousands of innocent people to demons for “the prosperity of the kingdom”, damning them all to centuries of agony before their souls are entirely obliterated, there are the gnomes. The gnomes wander the late-autumn woods wearing tall pointy red hats, smoking pipes and enjoying the last of the sunshine before the winter takes it away, enjoying life and nature and eating pies and helping any travelers who need it. Thoughts and ideas?

Renmora was at one point the most prosperous, powerful, and secure kingdom of the ancient world. Home to some of the greatest scholars, scientists, mages, and mystics of the known world it was the scholastic capital of ancient world.

At some point in it's history as with all great nations it's leadership pushed the envelop on what it could truly accomplish and in its hubris lead to its collapse. The accomplishment in question were the capture and containment of a shard of the divine and the use of said shard to attain immortality albeit only for the kingdoms leaders to start.

The king of Renmora and his most powerful mages began by attempting to summon a shard of Neric, a long dead god and the believed origin of the monsterous races, corruption, and even death itself. Their attempts proved successful but we're quickly revealed to have unintended consequences.

Having such a concentration of Nerics potent energy present within their kingdom drew monsters of all creed, shape, and size towards it quickly transforming the island nation into a death trap for all those that were not within the cities walls and eventually leading these monsters to breach those very same walls.

In a panic the king and his mages devised a plan, to summon a shard of the still living God Lavos in an attempt to neutralize or weaken the pull of influence from the shard of Nerics influence. In this the kings mages succeeded as well, following their process for Neric they were able to quickly draw the shard of Lavos from its cosmic plane and out of desperation attempted to combine them both.

The resulting burst of magical energy invigorated not only the people of Renmora but the monsters as well greatly increasing the intensity of the ongoing war. Seeing this the king and his mages set out to find a way to utilize the shard as a weapon or tool to end the war and through their hasty research and theories came to the conclusion that the addition of a mortal soul to the shards may very well create a being capable of putting their kingdom back together.

The king, feeling personally responsible for his kingdoms downfall volunteered himself as a test subject and was placed inside the containment chamber of the fused shards, throwing himself into them soon after. With this act another burst of energy swept across the kingdom where as the first empowered every living being with the power of the divine this burst retracted back, draining the energy from each and every citizen and monster, reclaiming the divine power for this new entity.

The king, in his new and powerful form was able to resist the influence of Neric and of Lavos long enough to put his new powers to use, casting a great and forbidden form of magic in an attempt to rewind time and undo what he had done. But as with many of the kings decisions, especially those made under such duress unforseen consequences occurred for how can time truly affect that which exists outside of it.

Renmora now stays in eternal war, every being, structure, and plant afflicted by the power of the shards has become trapped between the moment the first shard was summoned and the moment the ascended king cast his spell.

I remember there was a project based around giant insects and inscet human hybrids on earth. It was basically an alt history with big semi-lovecraftian bugs. Anyone know the name of the project? I think curious archives did a video on it with the creator but I can't find it.

Originally believed to be a biological virus the rot tore through the population of medieval europe on a level not seen since the black plague. Unlike the plague however those infected with the rot didn't die, or at least didn't stay dead for long. Rising from the dead almost immediately after succumbing to the symptoms.

After rising the infected would begin to waste away, granting the sickness its name. There skin would begin to slough off, their faces would become sunken and gaunt, their eyes white and milky, and their skin pale white accented by black veins. The infected barely register anything except for aggression towards the living, they do not eat, drink, sleep, or anything else save for slowly shambling towards and attacking the living.

A large part of the proliferation of cases of the rot was the misappropriation of resources trying to cure it under the assumption that it was something that could be cured naturally. Any years after the rot spread its true and horrible origin was discovered after much research and experimentation. An ancient cult was responsible for the rot, working with the demon known as Luvart they created an infectious curse one that would allow Luvart to exert control over all of those infected, in other words a contagious demonic possession.

Warning: This may be offensive to some people and if you get offended easily, I advise you to not read it.

Note: I never made this with the intention of promoting discrimination towards various individuals or groups, I'm only making this for the sake of fun and worldbuilding.

The Great War on Terror is a worldwide conflict raging across the entire world, most notably in what was once Saudi Arabia. Though it has occurred throughout decades, even at the start of World War 3 itself, it's official beginning occured in 2016 when a hijacked plane crash towards the statue of Christ the redeemer in Rio de Janeiro on May 17.

Since then, it was known as the biggest tragedy to ever occur in all of Latin American history since this was the first time a terrorist attack this large has occurred in Brazilian soil. Meanwhile in the Oceanic Federation, white supremacists groups such as the Australian Nationalist Front who are responsible for many gassings all over the Island of Australia, resulting in the deaths of many people, most notably those of American, Chinese, Malay, and Indian descent.

But these attacks are not unique to the world superpowers, these attacks were happening all over the world such as North America, Europe, and especially Africa, because of this they want to deal with this looming threat as soon as possible but they know they can't deal with it on their own.

So an international summit was held at Cape Town where many nations discuss on how to deal with these attacks. Soon they come to the conclusion that ever since the Nuclear war, radicalism and extremism has risen in exponential levels, which explains the terrorist attacks and organizations throughout the world. So as a result they made a plan to exterminate these terrorist like the cockroaches they are as soon as possible.

This plan of extermination is known today as "The Great War on Terror" as it is a worldwide operation to exterminate terrorist organizations, raider gangs, and rouge states. Though this easier said than done as the terrorist are not willing to go down so easily, with most of them being more powerful than anticipated.

One of these terrorist groups is known as Al Mahdiyah, a nation runned by the so-called Mahdi, who claims that the end times is upon them and that they must conquer the world to restore it's dominion to Allah/God. But in reality this man is nothing more than a power hungry monster who took advantage of the desperate and weak minded people.

Many ruthless leaders like the "Mahdi" took advantage of this shattered world to manipulate people through fear or charisma along with ideas they made to manipulate the masses to cause chaos and suffering solely for their own selfish desires.

It may not be an easy mission for the world but the people are determined to end this worldwide threat in hopes of establishing peace once and for all and to never let another apocalypse from happening ever again.

Context: This story talks about the Great War on Terror, a worldwide conflict fought between the Alliance of Nations (Successor of the United Nations) against various terrorist groups throughout the world. If you want to check out more, you can go here at r/TheDustSettles

I have been working on a Online Multiplayer Survival Post Apocalyptic RPG game for the last 3 years and haven't been able to figure out a good name for it.

The game is about trying to survive in a world where reality is collapsing in on itself after the Keystone of Reality (basically God) was destroyed by the United Nations around the start of the Cold War. The year is 2132 and the world since reality has start collapsing on itself has changed greatly, for one anomalous humans, animals and plants have started to become more common and harder for a Non Government Organisation known as the Foundation (basically the Men in Black) to hide from the public, along with that "mundane" humans, animals and plants are now going extinct (although mundane humans are more common then mundane animals and plants). What is left of humanity have created small settlements to try and survive. The game takes place in Montana USA, which is now covered in vibrant greens, pinks, blues, etc from all the anomalous plants and animals, the players play as a mundane humans who has just escaped from a slave camp run by the Rust Devils, a group of raiders that control a lot of America. The player is thrown into the midst of a area disbute where multiple factions are fighting for control over Montana.

I'm looking for a name that is original but simple and interesting like Fallout

The ColossalVerse is a fictional universe and up and coming collaboration writing project where colossal animal-like anomalies, known as Colossi, were first discovered in 1950 while remains were discovered in more later years, sparking both fear and fascination among humanity. As the existence of these creatures became known, organizations like the Colossal Species Authority (CSA) were swiftly established, tasked with containing, studying, and understanding these enigmatic beings. This expansive universe invites fans from various genres to unleash their imagination, offering a diverse range of stories, settings, and characters. From tales of exploration in uncharted territories to narratives of conflict and coexistence with these giant creatures, the ColossalVerse project embodies creativity and collaboration. Join us in shaping the future of storytelling as we delve into this universe.

For context, the warp is a dimension of immaterial emotions formed by the living creatures of the 'real' world, and in warhammer it’s developed into a place that’s dark and has mind bending fractals and demons and needs navigators to sail through.

I like this idea but I want to see other types of warps, based around other emotions and aesthetics.

The vibrant abyss: A warp of bright colors and such beautiful sights it can overload the mind, the creatures of this plane are all designed to look nice and attract prey through positive means.

Siren like demons, space pitcher plants that seem to make oases for ships to rest within the warp only to fall in, venus fly traps that snap up without warning when one looks too long at a flower.

Ships traversing this warp often are equipped with large windows on observation decks which allow for safe viewing of the fauna, some even have elevators and monorails which use the view as a type of in transport entertainment.

The chasm: The warp here is one comprised of fear, mostly paranoia.

Perhaps that is why the realm is so dark and seems to sap color from ships, or why depression comes to anyone traveling through it, instead of active danger there is only fear and sadness.

A cold night sea studded with dark blue around your ship and small white dots above, ships traversing this warp often have dopamine supplants in medical wards and bathrooms.

Oh and watch out for spiritually induced dementia, that’s a thing out here.

But anyways, what do y’all think? What could other warps look like?

Anything that’s warhammer levels of scary but different in execution is welcome, thanks.

Title: "Roads of Silk and Bones"

Genre: Fantasy, Grimdark, Medieval, Morally-grey characters.

Word count: 4,460

This is my hobby/side project that I've been working on for a couple months. I'd love to know how the "vibe" of the story feels in this opening chapter to someone who reads it for the first time. Remember that it's a grimdark story - meaning that characters (often) aren't the greatest of people - which might explain some of the "unlikable" qualities of character(s).

Overall, I've been told that the main character so far isn't totally "convincing," so I'd love to know what you'd alter, and how.

I'm also worried that I'm delving a little too deep into the worldbuilding side of things with the opening chapter - rather than focusing a bit more on character-development & plot development.

Any & all feedback is welcome & appreciated! 🥳💪

​

Blurb:

In the sprawl of the Ninth Empire, where fortunes are spun from silk and sealed with blood, a lowly merchant, Roberd, stands on the precipice of ruin. Stripped of his wealth by a twist of fate, Roberd is thrust from the golden roads of commerce into the ever-approaching winds of war.

With nothing left to lose, Roberd uses these winds to fill his sails - and in vivid dreams - becomes the storm itself, steering the fate of the very empire he roams. In a world where allies are as fickle as the winds of trade, Roberd must navigate through treachery and deceit, to seize control of the very arteries that sustain the empire's heart.

"Roads of Silk and Bones" is a saga where ambition's price is measured in bones. It's a tale for those who understand that in the game of empires, the most dangerous moves are played not on the battlefield, but on the scales of trade.

​

Chapter 1: Shattered Paths

Regret binds the feet; action paves the road ahead.

​

The sun’s blaze was a tyrant in the sky, and Roberd was feeling every bit the cursed man. He should have been halfway over Altalos' Bridge by now, making good time towards the city. But fate, as it often seemed to lately, had a twisted sense of humour. Sweat clung to his receding hairline, matting the few golden strands left on his head, as he cursed the heavens and the earth with equal fervour. The two horses that pulled his cart, equally perturbed by the sudden halt, trotted restlessly in place.

Roberd’s cart, a usually-reliable companion in his travels, had betrayed him at the worst possible moment, its rear wheel lodged firmly in a deceptively deep crack, and shattered beyond repair. Laden with goods that promised a tidy profit, the cart - and its owner - were now stranded along the Sultan's Road with the closest hint of civilisation an equal trek away in either direction.

Despite the heat, the thought of being stuck out here till nightfall sent a chill down his spine. It was true; Sultan Daer's reign had given the empire a decade of prosperity, and with it, safety on the roads had improved. Banditry had become a rare occurrence along these well-travelled paths. Yet, as the threat of shadows grew nearer, Roberd couldn't shake off the feeling of dread. Prosperity be damned, desperation could drive any man to banditry, and a lone merchant stuck in the mud was a more tempting target than a bare maiden.

"Bloody Sultan’s gutter," Roberd muttered to himself. “My arse has fewer cracks!” A colourful tapestry of profanity weaved seamlessly with his effort of prying the wheel free. His unremarkable stature, squat and round, belied the strength in his arms as he pushed and pulled, but to no avail. The wheel clung to the cracked cobble pathway like a leech, indifferent to his plight. He wiped the sweat from his brow, cursing again.

"Daer's fucking luck," he spat. The tragic comedy wasn't lost on him; here they were, on an ancient merchant’s road - the source of uncountable wealth for the empire - rendered immobile by a mere pothole. Roberd's mind raced with the potential delay in his plans, and most importantly, the loss of profit.

His gaze surveyed the stranded cart and the cargo it bore. With a bitter sigh, he began to mentally tally the cost of his misadventure. The Ramil vases, for instance, had cost him a pretty sum. Sourced from a band of foreign soldiers, they’d been procured - or more likely looted - from the recently-deposed Ramil King’s personal keep. Their value on the market, however, would have justified the expense, had they reached their destination. Now, the delay risked damaging their pristine condition.

Then there was the Baralian wine, a rare vintage that connoisseurs across the empire sought after with fervent zeal. Each bottle - as valuable as its weight in silver, was a liquid testament to Roberd's acumen as a merchant. But wine, he grimly acknowledged, did little good sitting by the roadside, spoiling in the heat.

And what of the powdered dyes, the likes of which could only be found in the distant twin city-states of Vurl and Vorl? Roberd had undergone an excess of financial, and frankly personal risk to obtain the rare dyes from underground markets. Among the vibrant orange and green, the deepest of purples was sure to catch the eyes of the city’s nobility, fetching a handsome banknote - or perhaps, he mused with a wry smile, even a comely nobleman’s daughter?

Yet, as his eyes drifted along the cart’s contents, it inevitably came to rest on the one item that he rarely let himself dwell upon. The chest… For a moment, Roberd allowed himself to contemplate opening it again. But as quickly as the thought came, it was dismissed. With a deliberate effort, he averted his eyes.

All in all, the journey would likely break even. Not good enough. Not good enough in the slightest. For a merchant of his stature, a cargo resulting in a profit of naught, might as well have meant a loss of all. There was a word for fruitless toil. Charity. And Roberd Cohr was not considered a charitable man through the kindest of lenses.

A knot of frustration tightened in his stomach. It was meant to be a simple half-day's ride, a simpler route than most. But his confidence - or perhaps arrogance - had led him to believe he could manage the short journey swiftly, and without guards. Roberd took a deep breath, and with it, let his focus return. There was little value in self-pity. What had occurred was a closed ledger, its accounts settled. What mattered was the next entry, Roberd’s next move. Regret binds the feet; action paves the road ahead, Roberd recalled.

The first order of business was clear: secure his valuables. He’d have to hide the cargo at least a quarter league off the road, somewhere deep within the treeline, and once secured, Roberd would turn his attention to the horses. He knew he had to part with one of them. It pained him, as it often did to write off an asset, yet leaving them tethered to the cart would only make the scene look fresh - lucrative and inviting to curious souls. One, he would slay somewhere in the treeline. The other, he'd ride to Tyde, the closest town along the Sultan’s Road, which, if he pushed hard, he could probably reach by nightfall. Once in Tyde, he'd hire a couple of strong backs, or if fortune favoured him, a patrol of the Sultan's Road itself.

Roberd wrapped his arms around the first box, its wooden edges rough against his palms, and hefted it with a grunt. Every step was measured, every breath counted as he navigated the uneven terrain; roots eager to trip him and branches clawing at his feet. Sweat matted his hair further, soaked through his shirt, and dripped into his eyes, but Roberd kept moving, allowing himself only a brief pause to examine the clearing he had chosen - hidden, yet accessible.

Placing the first crate down felt like a small victory, but the cart, still laden with goods upon his return, was an irritatingly-daunting sight. Back he went, for the Nipasi spices, the Ri silks, the Orul seashells, the Baralian wine, Aru’ul perfumes, Vurl and Vorl dyes, and still, he was not even a third of the way done. But he could not afford to rush, not when a single misstep could spell disaster; a single moment of distraction, and half a fortune decorating the woodland soil. He simply gritted his teeth and got on with the job.

As Roberd bent to grip another crate, a distant sound snapped him out of his rhythm. He froze, straining his ears. Was that a voice? The forest, a moment ago alive with only the sounds of his toil and singing birds, fell silent, as if to listen with him. He held his breath, hoping against hope that his mind was playing tricks. A few heartbeats passed in silence. Then, another voice, unmistakably human and decidedly closer than the last. Though still muffled by the distance, he could make out laughter and shouts, and mixed with the voices, the faint but distinct clatter of hooves.

Several men. A sudden wildfire of panic ignited within Roberd. His immediate instinct was to hide, to melt into the treeline. But then his gaze snapped back to the cart, to the cargo still exposed, still vulnerable. To flee into the shadows and leave his valuables for the taking was unthinkable. Bandits, or merely fellow travellers? Roberd's mind raced, drawing on every reserve of courage and cunning he possessed. His eyes were fixed on the bend in the road ahead. He could not face them as a vulnerable merchant caught off guard. Instead, he mustered an air of composure, standing firmly beside his cart as if he were merely taking a break from travel. With each passing moment, the sound of hooves and voices grew clearer, louder. Sporadic bursts of laughter punctuated the air and speared Roberd with anxiety.

The first man to come into view was of golden-brown hair, his fair skin and scruffy beard marking him as a fellow Galean, perhaps. He rode at the front with the casual stride of a leader, his eyes scanning the surroundings while muttering something to his companions. Beside him, a younger, olive-skinned man rode with similar confidence, his features unmistakably Tir - darker, more watchful - with a gaze that seemed to weigh everything it fell upon. Following a step behind were two even younger men - or rather, boys - their orange hair and pale skin standing out starkly against the green backdrop of the woodland. Their statures were lean, almost wiry, with a nervous energy about them.

Four scruffy fuckers. The group rounded the bend, saw Roberd, and in an instant, the banter ceased. The four men stopped the horses in their tracks, their eyes locked onto him about twenty steps from where Roberd stood. Swiftly, yet without any sudden movements that suggested nervousness, he turned and grabbed the bucket of hay from the cart. He felt the weight of their gaze, yet he allowed no hint of his inner turmoil to surface. With deliberate casualness, Roberd walked to his horses, the bucket swinging slightly in his grip. As he approached the animals, Roberd allowed himself a brief glance at the group, offering them a nod.

"Daer's luck!" he called out, his voice steady. Pouring hay onto the ground in front of the horses, Roberd kept his movements relaxed and measured, his back to the men but his senses sharply attuned to their presence. The leader of the group, returned his greeting.

"Daer's luck," he echoed, his voice carrying an edge of courtesy - and curiosity. The men slowly urged their horses forward, their pace leisurely as they rode past Roberd. With every step, Roberd felt the tension coil tighter within him. He made a show of examining the harnesses, adjusting the straps with hands that he hoped appeared steadier than they felt. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm. He focused intently on his task, but the weight of their gazes was palpable. He could sense them taking in the scene - the cart, the goods, him - in slow, deliberate sweeps.

As he carried the bucket to the rear of the cart, Roberd spotted the Tir man examining his rear wheel with a keen eye. When his gaze met the man's, Roberd's eyes darted away, a reflex he regretted instantly. Fool! He rebuked himself. He simply could not show weakness, yet in that split second, he had done exactly that. The man leaned closer to his leader, murmuring something too low for Roberd to catch. After a brief exchange, the Galean’s attention shifted squarely onto Roberd.

"Trouble with your cart?" he called out, his tone laced with a feigned concern that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Roberd straightened up, masking his apprehension with a veneer of nonchalance. "Just a small bump," he replied, as steady as he could manage despite the hammering in his chest.

The leader’s smirk was barely perceptible, but it was there. "Looks more’n just a small bump from here," he countered, his eyes briefly flicking to the Tir man and then back to Roberd. A spatter of chuckles from his companions. “What brings you this way, merchant?” he asked, the title spoken with a hint of derision. Roberd considered his response carefully. The less they knew, the better.

"Trade, as always - Tyde, then back to Caer Galeah on the morrow." He hoped his answer would satisfy their curiosity without further probing.

“Seems a heavy load for one man to haul alone,” The Tir man said, nodding to Roberd’s cargo.

“My brother’s just down the road, gathering firewood,” Roberd offered a chuckle. “But yes, it’s a trudge all the same.”

The Galean weighed his words, but if he believed them, he did not show it. “And what is it you’re sellin’? May be that you’ve stumbled upon a couple customers.”

Roberd’s mind raced as he thought of his next words. “Mostly trinkets and baubles,” he laughed. "Nothing much worth the stop, I'm afraid.” But with that, the Galean’s expression brightened, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his face.

"Look at that, lads! Just what I’ve been scouring the lands for!" his voice dripped with exaggerated excitement. Another round of chuckles from his companions. "Give us a gander at your stock, merchant.”

Roberd's stomach dropped. He was cornered. The Galean dismounted, a clear sign that this was no longer a dialogue, and Roberd knew that any semblance of control he might have had was slipping through his fingers like sand. Adopting an air of enthusiasm himself, he mirrored the leader’s exaggerated excitement. "Well, then! It seems Daer's luck is indeed smiling upon us today.”

With a gesture that was both inviting and a little theatrical, Roberd moved towards his cargo. He prised open a couple of crates, revealing several gold necklaces, their chains glinting in the sunlight, each adorned with rubies and sapphires that sparkled in the sunlight. They’d not been cheap by any account, but he knew he was walking a delicate tightrope. Better to part with the jewellery than his more valuable wares.

"These here I carry for the... less discerning customers," Roberd explained, his voice laced with a feigned regret that he had nothing better to offer. "Pauper's gold and half-breed gems. Not worth much to an expert eye, but they shine like the real deal." He picked up a necklace, letting it dangle from his fingers, the gems catching the light as if to prove his point. He flashed a grin at the Galean, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "But, between you and me, they're perfect for dazzling those fair maidens waiting back home, eh? I can let these go for a steal - just for you, my lucky finders."

The Galean leaned in to examine the jewellery more closely, his eyes sweeping the glinting chains and vibrant gems. Roberd held his breath, hoping the act would hold. It was the Tir man, still ahorse, who voiced his mistrust. "The weight of that,” he remarked, his voice carrying a note of suspicion. “Looks too heavy for pauper's gold."

Roberd, quick to maintain his façade, countered. "Ah, that's where you'd be surprised," he said. "What you're seeing here is the result of innovative craftsmanship. It’s a novel alloy, a secret of the Merchants' Union. Looks and weighs like gold, but at a fraction of the cost. Truth be told, it’ll sweep the lands in the coming months. You gentlemen are just in luck, getting your hands on it so early. If you were so inclined, you could sell these off for a hefty profit before word gets out.” The moment stretched on, Roberd watching the men’s faces for any sign that his ploy had taken root, that his gamble might just pay off.

The Galean's gaze shifted momentarily to the Tir, a silent exchange passing between them before settling back onto Roberd. "Open the other crates," he commanded, all traces of feigned warmth evaporating. Roberd felt a surge of panic. He tried to muster another convincing argument, hoping to sway him from his demand.

"Gentlemen, really, there's no need. These pieces here represent the best of what I have to offer. The rest is merely provisions, hardly worth your-" But his words fell on deaf ears. The Tir man dismounted, then the two boys. They closed in on Roberd, effectively cornering him, leaving no room for further protest. Trapped and outnumbered, Roberd knew resistance would be futile and potentially dangerous. "Very well," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He began to pry open the crates one after the other, a part of Roberd flinching with each one. He felt naked.

The Galean’s eyes sparkled with interest, and a dull ache settled in Roberd's chest. Exotic furs and pelts from Urtural across the sea, bottles of amber and emerald liqueur from Pifani pirates, intricate ceramic artworks painstakingly crafted for the Sultan’s court itself. It all lay bare, spread under their hungry gazes.

“Baubles my arse,” the Galean mocked. “There’s half a fucking fortune sitting here.” Then, turning to the two younger boys, “Oi, you two. Come relieve our friend here of his heavy wares. Must be tiring dragging it across the country.” Just as the two boys moved to comply, the Tir spoke up again.

“Quite the muddy boots. Footprints leading into the forest too.” The Galean blinked, unsure of his companion’s suggestion. The Tir nodded to the notable gap in the cart’s contents. “I reckon he’s been up to more than just waiting around. Might be more, sitting somewhere in the trees.”

"Ah," the Galean laughed with newfound interest. "Hiding your extras, are you?" His voice was light, almost amused by the prospect, and without a word, he drew a knife from his belt. "Seems you've been busy, merchant. How about you take us on a little tour of your hidden treasures?”

Roberd raised his voice, his words tumbling out in a rush of protestation. "This is everything I fucking have, I’ve hidden nothing!” He glanced toward the treeline, as if to corroborate his next lie. "I told you, we - my brother and I - were looking for firewood in there. He's still out on the road getting help, this isn’t worth it, believe me!" Roberd's eyes darted between the faces, searching for any sign of belief or, at the very least, hesitation. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat a drum of dread. At the mention of his brother, the Galean paused for a moment.

But the Tir man sniggered. “Gathering firewood while the sun sits so high?”

The Galean's fist connected with Roberd's jaw in a swift, brutal arc. The world spun dizzyingly around him as he fell backward, the ground rushing up to meet him. The impact scattered his senses, leaving him in a buzzing confusion. The man moved swiftly, squatting over Roberd. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he felt a sharp tug on his ear, and a cold touch of metal. The sudden, sharp pain snapped Roberd’s world back into agonising clarity. Warm blood began to ooze from his ear, trailing down his neck, and Roberd let out an animalistic wail. On the ground beside him, sat a piece of flesh about the size of an Empire silver coin.

Not yet satisfied with the message sent, the man unleashed a barrage of kicks into Roberd’s ribs. Roberd’s world was reduced to sharp, brutal impacts against his body, each one leaving him gasping for air and for mercy that wouldn't come. As abruptly as it started, the assault ceased. Panting, Roberd barely had a moment to gather his wits before the Galean's next command came. "Take off your fucking boots. Now," his voice leaving no room for hesitation. Roberd, driven by primal fear, complied immediately, his hands shaking as he unravelled his boots, removed them, and bared his feet to the harsh ground.

The Galean grabbed Roberd by his remaining hairs, forced his head back, and scooped a handful of the forest's dirt. Before Roberd could comprehend or resist, the soil was forced into his mouth. All Roberd could do was plead wordlessly, the gritty texture of soil mingling with the taste of blood and pain in his mouth. "I'm serious," the Galean hissed, his voice a venomous whisper as he pressed Roberd's face back into the ground. "I'll fucking cut you down right here if you don't do what I say.”

With his face still pressed into the earth, Roberd managed a muffled agreement. Satisfied with his submission, the Galean grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet with a force that brooked no resistance. He signalled to one of the younger boys with a jerk of the head and they began moving towards the treeline. As they started away, Roberd’s eyes met those of the Tir man, who had remained silent throughout the brutality. In that brief moment, Roberd thought he could discern a flicker of something. Pity? Or perhaps it was regret? The expression was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared, leaving Roberd to wonder if it had been a product of his imagination. “You two keep watch over the cart. Careful of passers-by just in case,” the Galean called out to the Tir.

The Galean kept his firm grip on Roberd’s collar as he led their way through the woodland. Each step was torturous, sharp twigs and hidden stones pricking at his bare soles. As they moved, the canopy above thickened, filtering the sunlight into slivers that barely touched the forest floor. The underbrush grabbed at Roberd's ankles, each bramble a claw in the dark. Despite the throbbing pain in his head and the warm trickle of blood from his ear, Roberd trudged on, leading them deeper into the forest's heart.

Roberd’s mind raced as they walked. He’s going to kill me. He weighed his options, each more desperate than the last. Could he find an opportunity to slip away perhaps? He’s going to kill me. Maybe negotiation was the way to get through to him. Offer him a bigger sum to spare his life? He’s going to kill me. Maybe he could use the sharp Orul shells to defend himself? He’s going to fucking kill me!

After what seemed like eternity, they arrived at the hidden stash, concealed by a dense thicket. The scent of moss and decay mingled with the metallic smell of Roberd's blood. The Galean released his grip on Roberd, a signal for him to uncover his hidden goods. Roberd hesitated, a lump forming in his throat as he faced the inevitable. With trembling hands, he began to pull back the branches, revealing the carefully concealed crates beneath. He could see the anticipation in the man’s eyes, of uncovering more than what Roberd had led them to believe he had. He chuckled cruelly. “Go get Tural,” he signalled to the boy. “There’s more here than we anticipated.” With a nod, the boy disappeared back through the trees, leaving the two men alone.

The Galean's next command was cold. "On your knees," he demanded, his voice carrying the finality of a judge passing sentence. Roberd's heart skipped a beat. He’s going to kill me. With a heavy sense of dread, he complied, sinking to his knees on the forest floor, the earth damp beneath him. The Galean took a step closer, his knife gleaming ominously in the dim light. "Raise your chin.” Terror surged through Roberd, a rush of ice coursing through his veins as he desperately sought a way out.

"Wait, please, just wait a moment!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with fear. The Galean's expression hardened, impatience and irritation flashing in his eyes.

"Raise your chin, or I'll make it messier than it needs to be.”

Roberd's mind raced, grasping at straws, until a glimmer of an idea sparked to life. "The dyes! The dyes!" he blurted out, a frantic bid to stall for time, to cling to any shred of hope.

The Galean paused. "The what?”

Roberd’s words tumbled out in a theatrical rush. “These dyes, they come from Vurl and Vorl! Once every century, the tides between the cities recede to reveal a quarry for just a few days, and from it, they mine a stone so valuable, that when crushed, it creates the most vibrant dyes known to man.”

“The fuck do I care?”

Robert resumed, undeterred. “A dye so potent, so enduring, it binds to its miners’ skin for the rest of their lives.” Roberd's hands moved with intensity, flourishing his words as he reached towards the package containing the dyes. "This," he gestured to the small stash, "is probably the most expensive thing in the world by weight.” He carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a handful of vibrant powders, each colour pulsating with a depth and intensity that seemed almost alive, even under the dark of the forest. “You need only a speck, and the colour... it's permanent! It's not just fabric - they change the colour of stone, of metal, even glass!”

The Galean, though still holding the knife, leaned in slightly, intrigue overtaking suspicion. Roberd continued, "Imagine the fortune you could amass with just this handful.” He shook the box, gritting his teeth. “The merchants of the world would kill for a chance to own even a pinch of this! There's a market for these dyes that goes beyond sultans and kings and queens, beyond the jewellers and rich merchants. We're talking about a legacy, a fortune that could set you, your children, and their children for life!” Seeing the Galean's interest deepen, Roberd played his final card. "If you let me live, I’ll tell you exactly where to sell it. Not just that, but who to sell it to, because the Sultan’s men will ask questions. All I ask is my life.” Robert raised his hands in surrender. “All I ask is my life.” Roberd held his breath, his plea hanging in the air between them.

“Chin up,” the man repeated, colder this time.

Panic gripped Roberd tighter than he knew it could. No more pleas or bargains. He’s going to kill me. "Please, no, you don't understand, just listen to me, please!" he begged, voice frayed with desperation, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The glint of the knife seemed to draw nearer. And then, in a moment of sheer instinct, Roberd snatched the handful of dyes and, with all the force he could muster, threw it into the man’s face. The vibrant colours exploded, painting the forest in a cloud of vivid brilliance. The Galean reeled back, a scream tearing from his throat as the potent dye found its way into his eyes, blinding him. His hands flew up, clawing at his own face and attempting to wipe away the colours now staining his eyes, but the damage was done.

Roberd sprang to his feet, his heart pounding frantically as he launched himself into the forest. He ran with reckless abandon, not daring to look back. Stones and branches pierced his feet, but he hardly felt them. He dashed over roots and ducked under low-hanging trees, his lungs burning with each desperate gasp. The dense canopy above turned the day to twilight, shadows merging with light in a disorienting dance that made it hard to navigate. But Roberd didn't slow, didn't dare let the terror nipping at his heels catch up to him. His mind was empty of everything but the need to escape. He ran till he no longer could. Then he ran some more.

After what seemed an eternity of panicked flight, Roberd finally allowed himself to slow, collapsing against the trunk of a tree. His sides heaved as he tried to draw in air, his entire body trembling from exertion or terror - likely both. Roberd's frenzied thoughts began to coalesce into the grim realisation of his situation. His cargo, the culmination of years of hard work - and with it, most of his wealth - was lost. The chest… gone…

As he caught his breath, the rush of ice slowly drained away, leaving behind a raw, aching, trembling emptiness. A wave of nausea crashed over him. He leaned forward, his body convulsing with deep, wrenching heaves, streaking the forest floor with the contents of his stomach. Spent, barefoot and bloody, Roberd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was then, looking down at his trousers in the dim light, that he noticed the patch of yellow liquid staining his legs.

The forest air was filled with the song of birds and quiet sobs.