The Lore
The Full Story
In the vast, uncharted sea of the cosmos, a solitary island emerged from the ethereal depths. It was not born of earthly origins, nor did it follow the natural laws of the universe. Tatoria, a creation of the divine, a canvas upon which four mighty Gods painted their vision of perfection.
​
Each God brought forth the essence of their season, and together they shaped the land.
​
Lisias, the Goddess of Spring, her eyes an emerald glow with the warmth of new beginnings, coaxed forth blooming fields and towering forests from the dirt. Her touch brought forth a gentle breeze that whispered sweet nothings to the sprouting buds, and her laughter was the sound of babbling brooks. Under her tender care, the land grew lush and green; a sanctuary of life, where every creature, living or undead, could thrive.
​
Zeona, the God of Summer, the vibrant sun, painted the skies with hues of gold, whilst a fiery essence danced upon the waves. His laughter was the crescendo of a thousand instruments as he filled the realm with the joy of endless festivals and the warmth of companionship. The lands grew vibrant with colour, as flaming flowers blossomed and the trees bore fruit that sang with sweetness.
​
Thione, the God of Autumn, strode forth with a crown of flaming leaves. He brought forth the harvest, the bounty of the land, and the thrill of the hunt. Working tirelessly, his eyes, the colour of amber, gleamed with wisdom as he taught the inhabitants of Tatoria to embrace the cycle of life and death. His touch turned the verdant forests into a tapestry of fiery reds, oranges, and yellows, and his whispers brought forth the first frost; a gentle kiss of his beloved companion, Winter.
​
Dhymiath, the Goddess of Winter, cloaked in shadows and ice, watched over the balance of the realm. Her eyes, the icy blue of a frozen wasteland, surveyed the land with a critical gaze. She saw the beauty in the silence of the snowfall and the peace of the frozen lakes. With a flick of her wrist, she coated the land in a blanket of white, bringing a serene calm to the ever-shifting world. Her breath was the wind that whispered secrets through the barren branches, and her voice was the mournful howl of the wolves that roamed her frozen lands.
​
Together, the four deities believed that Tatoria was a bastion of harmony, a shining example of their collective might. However, the Gods were not without their flaws, and as time passed, the cracks in their alliance grew into a yawning chasm. Jealousy and pride began to fester in their hearts, as each deity felt their season's influence was the most vital to the balance of the realm. Arguments turned into skirmishes, and skirmishes grew into battles that ravaged the lands they had so carefully crafted.
​
The once tranquil Tatoria was now a battleground for the divine. The verdant forests of Spring were set aflame by Zeona's fiery wrath, while the golden fields of Summer were frozen solid by Dhymiath's icy touch. The creatures they had brought from across the cosmos, once peaceful inhabitants, were now forced to choose sides, to fight and die in the name of their seasonal rulers. The very fabric of the island began to fray as the power of the Gods clashed.
​
Lisias watched in horror as her beloved creations were torn asunder. Her tears fell like rain, but instead of bringing life, they brought forth monstrous growths that twisted the natural order. The rivers ran with the blood of innocents, and the trees bore rotten fruit that wept with sorrow. Her grief grew into a quiet rage, and she vowed to restore the balance that had been shattered by her brethren's greed.
​
As the battles raged on, Zeona's fiery spirit grew darker. His laughter turned to bitterness, and his festivals grew into gladiatorial games where the strongest of his creatures fought for survival. The skies above Tatoria were stained with the ash of his anger, and the warmth of his touch grew feverish, scorching the ground beneath his feet. His once vibrant lands were now a barren wasteland, a reflection of the war that burned within him.
​
Thione saw the chaos and felt a strange thrill. He revelled in the destruction, for it was the harbinger of his own season. The more the land suffered, the more his power grew. His forests, once a symphony of colour, now stood as skeletal sentinels, bearing witness to the endless cycle of death and rebirth. His creatures, bred for the hunt, became the most feared warriors on the island, fighting not for honour but for the thrill of the kill.
​
The battles grew more intense, the lines between the seasons blurring as each God sought to expand their domain. The skies above Tatoria were a tumultuous mix of storm clouds, fiery auroras, and gentle snowfall, each season fighting for dominance. The once harmonious landscapes were scarred by the clash of divine powers, leaving the island trembling beneath their feet. In the heart of this chaos, Dhymiath grew cold and distant. Her icy gaze fell upon the war-torn lands, and she saw not a realm in need of her gentle touch but a battleground ripe for conquest. Her heart grew as frigid as the lands she ruled, and she called forth her most devoted followers, the undying spirits of the dead, to march against the others. The very air grew colder as her influence spread, and the once lush fields of Spring grew barren, coated in a thick layer of unyielding frost.
​
The creatures of Tatoria, once a diverse tapestry of life, now found themselves ensnared in the web of war. Some embraced their new roles as soldiers with fervour, their forms shifting to reflect the seasons of their patron deities. Others, torn between loyalty and fear, sought refuge in the hidden corners of the island, hoping to ride out the storm of divine conflict. Here, they created settlements to guard themselves against the dangers of the island. The Uniade Caed, forging sanctuary deep in the heart of the forests. Thesspar Gorge, atop a molten volcano with protective obsidian walls. Tir Beoga, thriving with magic and shielded by the Eldar Oak's prickled roots. Finally, Goldcoast Landing; the handcrafted Port filled with gunpower, canon balls and steel as their primary protectors.
​
One by one, the Gods began to pull more beings from across the cosmos to bolster their armies. Dragons from distant lands roared in the skies, their fiery breath now tinged with the colors of the seasons as they took on the aspects of their new masters. Elves, fae, dwarves, and humans a-like were plucked from their worlds, finding themselves on an island that seemed to exist outside of time itself. Each new arrival brought with them a spark of hope, a hope that was quickly extinguished when they realized the eternal prison they had been thrown into. Even the undead found that once they were 'plucked', they could not escape nor bend the barriers which kept them restrained in this realm.
​
Could this be the end of Tatoria's dream of harmony? The once pristine island now scarred by the battles of it's creators? Would the very essence of the seasons destroy the world they had so carefully crafted? What could the kidnapped inhabitants do to restore order to the Gods and their project of perfection...? Or, would they encourage the Gods to continue their ferocious battle-dance...?
​
​
​
​
​
===================
Please use this Lore to create a back story that works with your character. The basic premise; your character can never leave Tatoria. If they are a pirate, when they try to sail away, they end up right back where they started. If they are undead or have a phylactery in their home world, that binding is shattered, or it is lost HERE with them. If they are celestial and can usually teleport to other realms, there is now a barrier that keeps them here; like a seagull flying full pelt into a window. Be creative, you can make it work somehow.