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Lore for Shattered: Tale of The Forgotten King is located on this page.

Lore

The Origin

In the beginning there was the King. Maybe he dreamt himself up, birthed from the first spark, within his own creative consciousness. Maybe something greater breathed him to life. The truth is without a doubt beyond our humble reach and stretches past all philosophical considerations. And it might be better this way.

From a thought he conjured up the Void. From a glance, he made the world. And from a whisper, he created us.

The King long travelled this new world and saw his children, afraid in the darkness of the first days. He ripped out his eyes and threw them into the Void, beyond the circle of the world, so that they could illuminate our lives. From a simple gesture, he initiated the slow rotation of the stars, and could focus on other tasks. We followed his path, always learning, and granting life to our naïve imaginings. Some became important lords, incredible warriors or builders – while others learned to serve, or simply to live.

For his kingdom, the first word came in a whisper. Before knowing what the sky, a mountain or a river was, this word echoed within our souls. From our birth to our last breath, we would serve and protect Hypnos.

Some say that here on Hypnos, not a single being resembles another. There are countless clans, realms, and a few old and dubious bloodlines, but they are as strange as they are short-lived. Our bodies sometimes change at the whim of the kingdom’s shifting, of our emotions, or of some poetic randomness. Only an Hypnosean’s mask remains the same throughout his life, along with his name, if he has one.
The masks are our guardians and protect our essence; they are witnesses to our souls. Their patterns, whether plain or complex, bear witness to our intentions, our personalities, and our ranks. They shelter the inaudible murmurs of our thoughts, which only the whisperers can express with their nebulous voices. Isn’t it so ?

Names, however, are not as common as you would think. To name something means to define its nature, to give an absolute meaning to its existence. Even those who own the Gift of speech do not have such a power, which falls entirely into the hands of the King.

There was Narayâna, the thousand-door palace where his throne stands, the keys of which are forever kept by Choron. There were Durga, Narueh, Siträ and Radamanthe, the four cardinal lords who hold the foundations of the world. The whisperers, Hypnos’ royal guard, of which Yantra is the master. Yem, Rig and Nagä, the guardian rings who meander to the edges of the world. The peaks of Edelweïss, the great forest of Imbolt… The towers of Cordierite and the secrets of Sarkante… Seas, rivers and continents. There were the Three Oracles, who know everything that Was, Is, and Will be. Surrounded be the countless wonders of his creation, we thought we would live and dream forever. And so the eons flowed by.

And then came the twilight.

 

Thousand Years Ago

The stars were obscured.

The kingdom was gradually buried into darkness, while a grey and melancholic atmosphere took hold of it. Maybe we did not see it coming, for days, months or years. Simple spectators, oblivious to the end of an era. Or maybe it only lasted for an instant.

The Whisperers’ incessant murmurs died down; throwing Narayâna, the thousand-door palace, into a state of deep silence. The wind stopped and the tides retreated, while a gnawing anxiety started spreading and eventually seeped into Hypnosean minds, and every corner of the world. Our souls trembled behind our masks as the whole universe seemed to be holding its breath.

And then the calm came back. The elements were again at peace, and the circles of Hypnos resumed their rotation, as if nothing had happened.

But the King was no more.
The Whisperers’ demented cries filled the tall rooms of the palace, while they pressed around a now empty throne. Incomprehension was surpassed by panic and fear, as no trace of the King could be found. Had he disappeared, called to other duties beyond this reality ? Was this some trial aimed at testing our faith, or loyalty ?
Or had he returned to the void, having shun too bright, burning out his divine soul in order to build our Eden ? We cried, unable to understand or accept; hating the cruel fate that had ripped him away from us.

The King was no more.

That day, our dreams and hopes were taken away from us. We prepared ourselves for the rest of our lives, alone, determined to honour his memory and creation, both in act and thought.
But the icy ashes of Hypnos know and remember the vacuity that our ignorance then demonstrated.

Because after the Twilight came the Night.

 

The Demiurges

They came from the void, beyond the mist.

Dark Gods, forgotten demons… Or the living embodiment of our sins, they descended upon Hypnos during a never-ending Eclipse. The stars themselves looked away from the dire fate that had befallen us, and ignored our imploring. Some distant echoes, bits of truths, speak of creatures wielding immense powers and capable of wiping out entire cities with a word. They were bent on conquest. Or destruction. The mountains crumbled. The lakes, rivers and seas dried out or disappeared, buried under torrents of flames and ashes. The people of Hypnos tried to rise up and protect their land and their lives, but it was in vain.

No one knows how long this war lasted. The world gradually became a mass grave, a vast ocean of blood, ash, and silence, shaking under the footsteps of these invincible titans. And so, (and isn’t it ironic?) when nothing and no one was left to stand in their way, they turned on each other, in an insane battle that shook Hypnos to its core, and broke it forever.

Under the weight of all these unrelenting forces the ground broke apart and the balance of our devastated universe was smashed to pieces.
Soon, in the dust of the cataclysm that we called the Great Rift, only scattered fragments of a disfigured world remained. In their madness, the titans had almost completely wiped each other out, or had disappeared, carried away by a relentless wave of destruction.

Twelve remained. These twelve split the ruins of the glorious kingdom of Hypnos, three fragments of creation, adrift within the void.

To the four Debonairs, mocking and lazy, went Myosis, a pale reflection of the radiant heaths, a reminder of everything that we lost…

To the four Divergents, whose madness surpasses their grandeur, went Mydriase, a land of steel where time loses its grip and the mind loses its way.

To the four Hierophants, with their souls darker than the night, went Fuscant, a place of unspeakable darkness and nightmares.

They are the Demiurges. And from then until the end, they will reign.