This is a new “feature” on this blog. I want to write more, but
sometimes it's hard to decide how to iron out details of a fantasy
world without any sort of guide or rules. So instead, we're making
something new. This is going to be a fantasy world built in 40
minutes. I'm starting a timer before I start writing the setting
proper after I've generated some stuff to get started.
I don't really do a lot of “worldbuilding”. However, I want to
try it sometimes. Instead of making it just about my pet fantasy
setting, instead I decided to do something different and force myself
to write using random generation. This is going to feature a lot of
randomly generated stuff for inspiration along with a strict time
limit.
Themes
Darkness, nature, swamps, eldritch through a natural lens.
Musical Accompaniment
Some
music from Skyrim. Nature/Ambient.
Magic Card Inspiration
Cycled through random cards until a monoBlack, monoGreen card, and
then Sorcery were found.
-Bog Elemental
-Daybreak Ranger/Nightfall Predator
-Portent of Betrayal
Generated Invocations
By Xeipi!
By The Celestial Swamps Of Grmaurme!
By The One-thousand Flock Of Visodaeo!
I Call Upon Hidden Hacrotha!
I Evoke The Necropolis Of Phedenim!
Generated Realm Names
Empire
of the Windy Bull's Amulet
High Earl's Realm
Knee Province
Living Earldom of the Pipes
Titan's Kingdom
Randomly Generated Fantasy World
Name
Etturhia
Randomly Generated Death Worm
Names
(Took 2)
Urghirun
Urnur
Random Number between 1 and 1000
817
That
should be enough to get us started. Original generators in order are
done by MtG Gatherer, Seventh Sanctum, and fantasynamegenerators.com
Etthurhia
This
is a sunken land. It's cracked ground goes from the black swamps to
the tall white mountain peaks; those far away places known as the
Titan's Kingdom. Only the most cunning or brave of men dare venture
in those places, where the ancient ones so built the world.
The
only race here is the race of men. Men are made of mud and mud they
shall return. The “Gods” are long gone, they are the names for
the old Titans who are now finished with their creation, uncaring if
all but their mountain fall into black swamps. It seems every year
the water is rising, or just getting more clouded and hard to swim.
Men built, once, using the tools left behind by the ancient Titans.
They could know all 817 of their names, and speak them to make the
land go up, then dry, then press it flat, then dot it with trees and
shrubs, then make the animals come and birds roost. But these
sanctuaries are few and far between now. “Roads” are swinging,
precarious bridges made of sticks and bones, the last bits of
relatively safe travel between encampments.
Of course, one
could brave the swamps. The mud is poison to you. You were made of
mud, once, and by touching mud you are losing yourself. The longer
one spends in the water, the more they forget. Forget their lives and
forget their morals. They wish to betray their fellows, and the
signs are all their clearly beforehand; they stop caring for the
suffering of others at all, and speak ill of their family when not in
earshot. These men are doomed. One day, they will be nothing but the
bog itself, sludge rising to swallow and crush others who dare enter.
But
not everything is so evil and dark. The Incantations are not wholly
forgotten. By speaking to Xeipi, you can know the direction and make
the moss grow that way. By calling upon the Celestial Swamps of
Grmaurme, you can force away the foul swamp creatures for good ones.
The crocodiles and giant dragonflies will leave you alone if you know
to call the One-thousand Flock Of Visodaeo; the spawn of all things
that fly and swim. Of course, these invocations don't work against
the death worms. They were once the predators of the titans, or so it
seemed. The most infamous one is Urghirun, black, with a hunger and
sadism that strikes fear into the hearts of rulers. He stalks Knee
Province, and is the reason none visit, not even to buy their
black-salt lanterns.
In
the Empire of Windy Bull, the worlds greatest spot of dry land
exists. It is two valleys, strung together with a tiny 'wall' of
mountains that keep the bog away. The Amulet of the Windy Bull is what
is keeping the muck and swamp from tearing these stone walls down.
Within the Empire, the men train and fight to search the swamp, both
for worthwhile survivors to bring back to join them, as well as
plunder. One of the most common invocations is to say “I Evoke The
Necropolis Of Phedenim!” to open the doorways to sunken temples. It
keeps the basements cleared of muck for a few hours at most. Just
enough time to get in, get treasure, and leave before the swamp
leeches sift back down through the stonework. The greatest treasure
here are names; names of the Titanous Gods, names of debters. Debts
are bought and sold as a currency themselves, as sometimes a favor is
worth more then gold. No one knows this better then the High Earl.
The
High Earl is an oddity amongst the race of men. He is immortal,
forever kept alive by the names he has accrued. His true name is so
long and his personas so numerous that “High Earl” is the only
name of which is useful and convenient to call him by. Within his
chest are holes that lead to the Living Earldom of the Pipes- his
living body is its own Kingdom. Within it are shades, shadowy figures
in the suggestion of a form, with masks. These are the names he has
taken as favors. The Earl is a powerful sorcerer as well, possibly
the greatest, due to his names and collection of power he had so
gained.
The
trees near the swamps are bolstered, stakes pushed into soil and
twine strung around the saplings, pulled towards the land so their
fronds do not hang in the water. This is because of Hidden Hacrotha.
One calls his name to sees what is the dark shape hidden under the
swamp water. In this place, it is Urnur the death worm, gray in tone,
who stalks the waters. He waits for those to get close to the water's
edge, hanging over it on a bowed tree, and then he will bite the
leaves. So carefully he will pull them into the water; first a toe,
then a foot, then a leg, and snap! Bite whatever is just under the
surface. The more patient he gets, the more he can eat. He is getting
very patient, and very smart for a death worm. This does not bode
well for the people of High Earl's Realm.
People
trade with dry linens. The air here is damp, everywhere, except Windy
Bull of course. The first time a shirt or sock touches swamp water it
is like a maiden losing her virginity- it can never quite go back to
how it was, regardless of how much you clean and scrub it pure again.
A good pair of socks is like a horse here. The mud in your boots is
endlessly compacted and squished against your skin; trenchfoot is a
common aliment. If only someone knew the invocation to cure it, if
there even is one. Trade your nickname to the Earl's men, they may
teach you. All names are valuable to his immortal self; when you were
called Skipper as a child, or Drunkard as an adult, these are names.
Names for names is a trade that all are willing to make, especially
for a clean wool coat.
Blue-black
mushrooms grow on the trees at shoulder height. They can only be
collected when they 'bloom', which is when the water is just below
their water level. Water rises and falls like the seasons in other
worlds. Black sludge collects at the bottom in summer, the ground
almost feels solid for a while, but the further down the endless
hills, further away from the Titans' mountain, the deeper the water
will get during the flood season. Water doesn't come down from the
sky very often here, it comes up from the lowlands, and then up
higher still. The small pools left over from the retreat of the water
sometimes hold horrible lungfish, or sometimes delicious urchins,
whose poison is bought and sold for use in the tanglewood cities in
the treetops. Assassins are very valuable up there. And anyone who is
a good climber is a good assassin. Most of them refuse to look their
victims in the eye; spider climb under the floorboards and stick a
needle in your target's foot. It's that easy. They may even speak the
wrong invocation because they think it was a simple climbing-snake
bite. Foolish tree dwellers. They think they are so safe just because
they sleep up there.
Of
course, the most dangerous men are the opposite of the tree dwellers.
The mud men. Those who live near or in the mire proper and enjoy it.
When the water retreats and the ground is dark, moist, and squishy
for months on end, the mud men dig up things that fell in the swamp
long, long centuries ago. Ancient things. Names of Titans who didn't
build with the other Titans. Titans that went down hill, towards the
black mud sea. Towards the sinkhole at the end of the world. Their
names are striken from all the tablets and records- and if you see
one, you should do the same. Even uttering their name is forbidden.
Too much rides at stake for you to bring their attention to our
little pocket of earth that does not consume us as greedily as
crocodiles. The mud men are not dangerous for this reason though.
They are dangerous because they are changing. They grow fur and
claws, they become dumb and impulsive, they learn how to swim. They
are becoming beasts; mucks and ooze is the breeding grounds for a
return to the mud from whence you came.
Weapons
in Etthurhia are simple. Everyone who wishes to live carries a
sculptor's knife to mark the mud or tree branches, as well as to help
shape and carve into clay. Everyone who wishes to not only live, but
actually stand a chance against the foes in the mire carry a
sickle-sword. The sword can curve through bog elementals and other
creatures; a nice square shield is carried by mercenary companies.
Especially those hired by the Earl. The shields are held flat against
the ground and their corners interlock for when a rainmaking beast
accidentally starts another flood.
People
eat muscles. The tiny stuck-on creatures that live on the trees and
rocks around the dry and wet seasonal areas- they do best when left
alone and in return produce a huge, but nearly impossible to reverse,
symbiotic relationship with their humans. Humans get a nearly
unlimited food source, and in return, the muscles get several new
places to attach. Like human skin. Lovely. The
islands that men have built range from tiny foundations on which to
build a single tower, to large shelves cutting out a negative space
in the trees and mangroves above. Humans must fight to survive in
this world, there is no “competition” with the ecosystem. Man
will have what man wants.
This
was a fun experiment. I'm finishing with less then two minutes left,
because I can't write anything useful or substantial since it's too
hard to think of stuff! Anyway, this ended up being very one-trick,
but I think it's a pretty cool dark fantasy/OSR-styled fantasy
setting. I love swamps in games and wish the “classic” wasn't
just evil place with a monster. Though that's probably one of the
reasons I like it.
Anyway,
next time I do this, (if I do it at all) I might generate more stuff. I tried very hard
to not write too specific here in both detail and ideas; want to keep
this pretty reasonable. And there you have it- a fantasy setting
built in under 40 minutes!
PS- I can't take total credit for the Mudman. They were at least partially inspired by this post by WWCD, which is one of my all time favorites.
