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Spirit Fallen
This story started with a dream, like it usually does. I dreamt of a man’s soul trapped in cursed armor, spending a thousand years roaming what was left of a medieval realm. There are remnants of fantasy and life, but all he is really left with are other ghosts. That is until he finds a child.
Tierra Alma
Land Of Ruin
A living darkness has descended upon a barren land, shrouding it in eternal despair. The once occupied region now lay dead, as tortured spirits haunt the desolate landscape. The souls that live here are trapped reincarnating through the birth and death of their ancestors. The capital city, once a symbol of prosperity, now stands as an ominous monument of life before darkness consumed the land. Tierra Alma is a forsaken region. The capital city, Caída Alma, is a decaying husk, its castle helplessly reaching towards the heavens that once flourished above. Long ago filled with life, the streets and buildings below the castle now only whisper a story, as its occupants hide in the shadows. Caída Alma lies in the far southwest of Tierra Alma. It is by far the tallest structure across the continent.
Venturing past the boundaries of the capital city, one would find themselves in Darkvuld, a densely wooded area that exudes an aura of death. Here in the forests of Darkvuld, the trees stand tall and twisted, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers, as if beckoning the unsuspecting to their doom. The air is heavy with foreboding, as if the earth itself mourns the loss of its former vitality. To the east of Darkvuld lies Felditan, a plateau of giants. Towering golems continue to exist under the stoic surveillance of their king.
The vast expanse of the plateau stretches endlessly, its barrenness mirrors the dismal existence that pervades the rest of the cursed world. Here in the wastelands that were once stomping battlegrounds, that connects the world from before the fall. Every corner of this accursed land trembles with a palpable sense of doom. The trees shake, their branches snapping in the blistering wind. The stones on the ground rattle together, their echoes resembling footsteps of travelers. High above, the skies scream for blood, their tumultuous storms unleashing their fury upon the land below.
Empress of Darkvuld
Ravenous Monarch
In the depths of Darkvuld, the Empress of this cursed realm thrives off the souls of the reincarnated. She is a Dramikar—a creature born from the ancient forest in her twisted form. The Empress was one of the first Dramikars. After more of the forest fell, more of her kin spawned. During a cold and lifeless winter, she was attacked by two younger dramikars. During a manic rage she devoured the two husks of former friends. She fed off of their spirit and gained strength and power beyond the others capabilities. It would take a dozen to take her down. She went on a hunt for more, controlling the population of her own species.
After a month of insatiably feeding, she woke up with a defiled conscience. She was no longer a hungry beast, but a creature with a plan. Having the strength and mind to do this she began to slash trees and feed on newborn dramikars. Then she would plant their bodies and her forest would begin to grow rampantly. Her ordinance became undefiable, her existence is a dark echo of nature’s wrath. The Empress tends to the sprawling trees of Darkvuld, not with care, but with malevolence. With each tree that falls, dramikars surrender their essence to her wicked hunger. The forest’s lament is heard in whispers and roars of these vengeful spirits.
Sketches & Concepts
Story Excerpt: Soulbound
Part I: Land of Desolation
1000 years ago, or is it in a 1000 years? I can’t remember, or maybe it’s that I can’t read the future too clearly these days. Nonetheless I have a story for you. Take care, as it’s not for the faint of heart. The journey follows a child and her guardian as they trek across the small continent of Tierra Alma. The land itself is bleak, laid waste by a lack of care, its barren fields choke on an arid sky. The region would seem dead, to an outsider. Though the land itself seems to be made up of outsiders, lost souls, and mindless beasts. It might’ve once been lush, just in need of some braving to be explored. Though according to my notes there’s nothing proving this bountiful frontier, but I can’t document everything can I? Being cursed with immortality and omniscience falls short in the sense of allocating all of this information. Where were we again? Ah yes, Tierra Alma, the forgotten land of spirits. Let me collect all my notes and tell you the story awhile. Where do I begin?
- Signed “The Shaman''
Caída Alma pierced the sky gently. Its towering presence grazed the clouds, its layered structure covered in a shroud of dust and decay. The castle, a relic of a past era, could be seen across the region as far as the eastern edge of Tierra Alma walking along the cliffs of Felditan. Towers stood high from the castle, left as sentinels to the ravages of time. It was a testament to the architectural prowess of an age forgotten, the spires embellishing the stone edifice below with its intricate carvings and stone blocks that reached empyrean heights. The foundation of the massive structure was swallowed by the land beneath it. Twisted roots, as old as the castle itself, burrowed deep into the stone that made up the castle’s bastion. These roots, imbued with rampant growth over centuries, wove a network of life into the very core of the castle.
Its walls, weathered by many seasons and storms, told the stories of bygone monarchs, knights, and village feasts that were many ages gone. The stones bore the marks of battles fought and secrets whispered in its hidden chambers. Each block was a silent witness to the passage of time, the fortress standing as a monument to the enduring spirit of Caída Alma. The castle’s location on the southwest peninsula granted it a commanding view from above, a vantage point that once served great purpose during the reign of Giants. From its lofty towers, one could gaze out over the sweeping landscape of Tierra Alma, where the land fell into the ocean and forests whispered ancient songs. It was a place where past and present intertwined, the heartbeat of history reverberated through its walls, where the land and its story were forever bound.
Climbing up the walls of Caída Alma was Sereph, he held onto the grooves of the stone as he adjusted the corpse of a beast tied to his back. He had returned from a hunt past the outer edge of the castle. The creature lies limp, only bobbing in response to the climbing and adjusting his gear. Like other errantes, Sereph was more than a hunter. Mercenaries, knights, guards, soldiers, and hunters have adopted themselves into a group of errants, collectively named errantes. Sereph gripped the top of the wall, and lifted himself and the dead beast up. He turned back, and looked out at the land whence he just came. The trails around the walls of Caída Alma all led into Darkvuld. That wretched forest.
Sereph turned away, and without looking up at the capital’s indomitable glory, he hitched himself onto a rope and rappeled down into the dreary commune between the castle and its walls. Sereph descended into the shadowy space around the castle’s walls and the outlying buildings. The lifeless beast strapped to his back scraped down against the stone walls.
The area around the castle’s foundation was the home of the errantes, it was composed of buildings interconnected with thin alleyways and roads. Most of the housing abandoned, the wandering spirits gathered at taverns scattered around the old village. Blasphemous conditions for a godless people. It’s been centuries since these spirits have prayed, and it’s unknown if they remember a time they had any faith at all.
In this town, souls are currency. Errantes bartered, gambled, and placed bounties using soulstones. These artifacts are imbued with captured souls, each stone holding memories, knowledge, and the remnants of past lives. For errantes, these soulstones were also a source of power, and a means to survive in the harsh region of Tierra Alma. The dark alleyways and winding roads snaked through this enclave. This place was a refuge of the forsaken, a hidden sanctuary where those who existed sought shelter from the cruel land beyond Caída Alma. In the heart of this decaying commune, Sereph navigated his way, each step a reminder of the thread of existence that bound the inhabitants together.
Decaying timbers framed the entrance to a dimly lit tavern, the door groaning and creaking as Sereph pushed it open. The air inside was thick with the scent of spirits, mixed with the dampness that clung to the stone walls. Errantes gathered around candle lit tables, some sipping on brews that had long lost their taste, while others exchanged whispered tales of their latest bargains and battles.
Sereph couldn’t help but feel the myriad of eyes upon him, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and envy. In this realm, the bounty brought by a skilled hunter could mean the difference between comfort and yearning. Sereph carefully unburdened himself, laying the lifeless beast’s body on the bar. The pulsating soulstone, teeming with the restless energy of the beast, now rested in his hand, the gem pulsed with a primal power. The tavern keeper acknowledged his return. He rasped, “What have you brought us this time?”
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