For hundreds of years, the people of Obleron have enjoyed the protection of the Worships; mysterious beings that ask only one thing in return for their benevolence; every year, at the end of the harvest festival, each of the seven Districts must give up those of its citizens who's names are called from the Register. No one knows who will be chosen; only that anyone between the ages of 19 - 99 may be called. Those that are called, must answer. To refuse is to risk rejection from family, friends, and fellow members of their own District, but also the displeasure of the Worships themselves.
In the centuries since the coming of the Worships, the people of Obleron have prospered. War, famine, pestilence, diseases are all things of distant memory; more like mere bedtime stories told to warn a young one into good behavior. People live in peace and harmony, and prosper. Everything they need is provided by the Worships; they have no need to strive for their own advancements in technology and knowledge. They live in a perpetual medieval-ish level of technology.
Most importantly, the Worships protection has kept the approach of the unknown Mist at bay.
For as long as man has existed, he has been terrorized by the Mist. The Mist descends upon the land with the setting of the sun each night, and claim all and any that dare to venture into its depths. It swallows the land beneath a blanket of impenetrable redness; that has a rather sinister resembles to a sea of blood. For this reason, Obleron's people live in large communities divided into Districts, and are only aware of the world as far as they can travel during daylight.
Jun 5, 2021, 11:08pm
Triceratops power! Goooooo!
May 27, 2021, 1:10pm
Where nightmares await (pt2)
May 17, 2021, 3:55pm
Run, run, as fast as you can...
May 17, 2021, 1:22pm
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