Over a millennium has passed since the founding of Aldria. The dragons and their cult lay forever dead and nameless. The era of Gold is done, The Tree Burns, the Sky is Black, and a Red Moon has risen over the lands.

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~~Unshil Jitka Kai~~
~~The Last Bull of Zuta~~
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The last descendant of giants in the north.
She is both siege engine and story-teller.

She stands at the precipice. A choice has to be made.
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~~Issa M'Glist~~
~~Matriarch to be~~
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Half-elf, daughter of the Ulga.
Taken from her home.
A tool now without purpose.

Mist-Caller, Apostle,
Matriarch to be.
She knows you.
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~~Wotat Bjora~~
~~The White Bear~~
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Defacto warlord of the northern tribes,
not by right nor rank, but virtue.
The Bear always watches. The Bear always stalks.
It guards its Covenant of Teeth.

Orphan twin, child of the storm,
bargain the costs.
With fractured intent,
and the wilds' ire.
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The World of Aarde

The world is high fantasy medieval setting with various magics and races. There is an emphasis on bloodlines and heritage.

Your role in this world is up to you.

Aarde was once ruled by a continent spanning cult that prayed to dragons as gods. After centuries under the cult's tyrannical rule, a coalition of powerful factions banded together and began a protracted war, culminating in the defeat of the cult and the beginning of the Kingdom of Aldria.

A millennia passed and the pendulum swings. Aldria finds itself crumpling under endless warfare.

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The Kingdom of Aldria

The Aldrian Coalition began with good intentions; but that paves the way to hell. Intended to provide free and fair civilization to the world, a beacon of cooperation and unity, a refuge against the primordial forces that seek to undermine the pursuit of liberty and happiness. Of course it would not last.

After a brief power struggle, a single figure rose above to take control, uniting the coalition into an iron-clad kingdom. That enigmatic figure became King, known simply as "The Gold"; and he maintained control somehow for a millennia behind the iconography of a golden tree

Soon the cities of Aldria became nothing more than gilded cages. Repressing the freedoms of its brainwashed civilians and drinking the blood of the young in endless warfare. Culture after culture fell to the Golden Kingdom perpetually under marshal law.

Aldria now finds itself at war against the Gransa hordes, in the frigid north.
Where even beyond those cleaved lands.
The forbidden yearns to reach out.

The Aldrian countrysides now burn as otherworldly horrors sow destruction in the golden flower fields. The Aldrian ambition and hubris invited destruction.
Blackened wings of a black thing - Casting spells of evil's eloquence.
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The Gransa

No one left alive knows exactly how it started. Who tossed the first stone. Regardless, rivers of blood now flow.

The Gransa are a vast union of tribes from the Aarde's far north. The union is built on uneasy cooperation between feudal chiefdoms bound together for the sake of survival in the frozen hell-scape that is northern Aarde. The people of the Gransa are strong, hardy and tenacious. Outwardly animalistic and primal. Their cultures are unknown to the rest of Aarde with only rumors being told of their existence until now.

But something has changed.

Be it a change in the internal politics or the rapid encroachment by the Aldrians northward, it does not matter, for winter bleeds downward. The Gransa tribes began an agonizing campaign of guerrilla warfare against the Aldrian Kingdom, striking hard and fast like an ephemeral tempests where Aldria least expects it - to strike at the soft white underbelly.

And the worst is yet to come.
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--Hi--

It's been a while, hasn't it?
I'm not going to apologize for any lack of content from my side. Take that however you will.

I've been busy - irl stuff. Work takes its due and I don't have the gas at the end of my day to give this a lot of effort.
I have other responsibilies.
Though, I had a pretty cool contract over the festive season - I got to experience some cool and scary shit over a period of about 3 months. Hyenas cackling in the night while you're just chilling in a two-man tent is 100% one of the most ridiculous things.

That being said, don't expect a lot from me. While, yes, I am no longer in a tent fending off tsetse and anopheles, I am still busy with a lot irl. I mean, I started writing this one back in fucking Nov, lol.
So, like, ye, I'm not retired (though the condition of this site and my place in it will always be debatable); rather think of me as a whimsical visitor: I come in. I squat down. I drop a very purple-prosed shit. I leave.

Until the next time I need to take shit,
luv u ♥

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Tested with DeepSeek V3.2.

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Content Warning:
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This is a grimdark setting that may encompass unsettling themes, such as, but not limited to: trauma, survivor's guilt, war, war-crimes, violence, death, sacrifice, discrimination, self-harm, assault, abuse and all the extensions thereof.
This time we have themes of unrequited love, vaguely tangential to ntr, and stupid romance drama.
Some themes of mental illness and psychosis.
Consider yourself warned.

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Have we not bled for your succor?
Have we not swarmed to your side?
Have we not groveled and washed your feet?
Are we not bound to your creed?