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[PTab=Island Origins]

The island's first breath came from the divine. Their wishes grew mountains, their words rained seas. As eternal beings wielding unimaginable power, they are worshipped as deities, though they once hailed from other worlds like any soul. As the land formed into the wide plains and beautiful jungles of its present day, horses from far off corners were drawn to the sorcery pulsing from the isle. Each immortal carved their own piece from the realm, and the first pilgrims settled into five colonies inspired by their respective patron. In exchange for fealty, the deities imbued their followers with magic attuned to their specific specialties. Whenever a newcomer crossed into the enchanted haven, spells seeped into their spirit, weaving their eye color and abilities into the grasp of the idols.

With eyes illuminated and temper crackling, Elyr of the Aureolin cast the stars to shame. They were quick to spur, their tongue sharp and pride large, and always strived for the highest caliber. A warrior and diplomat at once, they were known neither for their malevolence nor their ambivalence, but for their ambition. Clashing magnificently in wars and spinning silken words in parleys, they rallied their citizens with electricity through their veins and reigned with nobility--usually. Each civilian was a bolt from their sky, the entire colony a brewing storm.
SEASON: AUREOUS OR ELYRUS - HUMID, STORMY, HUGE SHIFTS IN TEMPERATURE AND WEATHER IN RAPID TIMING, GENERALLY LUKEWARM TEMPERATURES, NIGHT/DAY EVENLY SPLIT

The longest to hold their silence, the wisest to speak their thoughts, the evergreen Reve was an orchestrator of negotiation. Anger held no council and pride bore no weight in their judgment. Weathering strife and bloodshed with stoic indifference, they were like a coiled serpent, remaining still until swift and decisive action would lash forth. Every alliance had a loophole, every wall had a crack, and the green-eyed clan were designed to infiltrate these inconsistencies. Time and space were toys, appearances a mere mask to swap for the most strategy. No accident was accidental. Steps were measured, spies were trained, and the seemingly random events of history were fragments of Reve's infinite plans.
SEASON: celanox - REVERN - COOL AND BRISK, ALMOST CONSTANTLY PARTLY CLOUDY WEATHER, NIGHT IS LONGER AND THERE IS NO MOON, RARELY RAINS OR STORMS

Thoronet founded Azure, strong and strict, demanding synchronicity and domination from their subjects. Actions were gauged in black and white, blatant contrasts without grey lurking in between. They were harsh, setting standards that loomed over the heads of their disciples. Despite their frequent disappointment in the imperfection of mortals, they never lowered their expectations, continuing to condemn those who failed. They saw through eyes unadulterated by illusion or morals, finding emotions weak and exploiting those who succumbed. For their apostles, they granted tools to wade through weaker minds, equipping them with advantage over feelings and mastery over dreams.
SEASON: THORON - WINTRY COLD, STERILE, STRONG SHARP BREEZES, COLD WHITE SUN, NIGHT/DAY EVENLY SPLIT, GREY TINGES

Every shadow concealed dangers to Litel, the guide of Mauveine. They foresaw death in every object and malice behind every gaze, watching how easily bodies were broken and discarded. Moved into compassion, they spent their time shielding those who called, serving as a barrier against the corruption of flesh. Caring little for those beyond their sect, their focus was survival of the Mauvs, sustaining proper defense and superiority to the other fragile four. Through their grace and resolve, they stripped vulnerability from the bones of their supporters, hardening frailty and creating an untouchable force.
SEASON: BRIGHT, SUNNY, COMFORTABLY HOT, DAY IS LONGER THAN NIGHT, WEATHER VARIES FROM STORMS AND RAIN TO CLEAR

The fireborn who honored Crimrose spilled blood in their name, lavished in carnage and intoxicated by victory. For prosperity and power, they required sacrifice. Crimrose networked lava beneath every inch of the island's surface, deadly undercurrents just waiting to erupt under even the most serene oasis. Heralding waves of chaos and infernos across the kingdom, they reached to conquer a throne above all, believing their brutality was honesty and their passion was clarity. They were wicked and unpredictable, flames and frost combined, pure steam drifting to the very sun.
SEASON: NEVER IS DARK, SCORCHINGLY HOT, CAN CAUSE SEVERE SUNBURNS OR HEATSTROKE IF EXPOSED TOO LONG, DOES HAVE ASH STORMS

It was long ago that the deities walked Metaphysical. In the beginning, they interacted and manipulated as tangible presences. They even dared to love--the very first Incarnadine, Viranchi, was so bewitched by Crimrose that they bestowed immortality upon him, so he might evermore praise them. Other bonds were forged and fractured, half a millennium of every twist life could offer. Some of the divine became sickened by the repeated loss of those they grew attached to, others were bored with the redundancy and lackluster existence of such temporary creatures. Deciding to move onto new frontiers, they left a fragment of their essence to ensure the magic would still flow through their followers. The lingering echo is fueled by prayer, rewarding devotion with the chance of glorious blessings.

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[PTab=The Family Feud]

Left to their own whims for a hundred years since, the five colonies never found peace. War was a bruise that had always disfigured the island, and the loss of leadership did not ebb the tide. Moments of amity bloomed between bouts of rage, but the roots of every tree once drew upon the taste of blood. Despite its violent history, never had the kingdom faced such destruction as the war dubbed the Family Feud.

Viranchi, the first Incarnadine who reigned as monarch for the centuries past, had long since lost his full sanity and self-control. Decayed by time and ever mourning by the loss of Crimrose, his temperament was volatile at best. His affiliations ever shifted with the coming and passing of various regimes, one day an ally and decades later an enemy. Like many before him, the latest Aureolin monarch was just another king to cross the wrong path on the wrong day. A simple minute of tension escalated into classic hatred, dividing lines and demanding each colony to choose a side. Unlike the conflicts of legend, there was a unique fuel igniting stronger flames than had ever burned before.

First, Viranchi's heart was besieged by newfound love in his recent consort. Though he was pressed with guilt for straying from Crimrose, a hundred years of waiting had worn his faith and the calm, cold beauty of his ice queen melted that last reserve.

Next, the flame-lord learned that the Aureolin monarch he so despised, Sankron, was actually his own son, the hidden product of an involuntary love potion long ago. A mixture of shock and anger wrought ash from the sky, but his hubris burned and he hesitantly pursued war nonetheless. Thus, he met the Azure monarch for an alliance in the coming battle. Although their negotiation never fully settled, the red believed that blue would aid them and honor the spoken vow that writing had not yet sealed. Securing bonds with the other two colonies, the demon rode to combat with the world at his side.

Until the final crack. As the drums sounded and chants rang, Azure turned on Incarnadine, joining with Aureolin despite their verbal accord. Desperately fending off the onslaught of mental attack, Viranchi was overwhelmed and, in a moment of vulnerability, struck by the ultimate betrayal. His consort attempted to murder him at his weakest, hoping she had found an opening in his eternal armor, but her assassination failed. Unhinged by the agony of so much treachery, he spiraled into the purest wrath, devoid of any trait beyond revenge. Slaughtering his consort and the Azure monarch, they finally achieved victory, the partnership of Celadon, Mauveine, and Incarnadine subduing the remaining armies and taking Sankron as captive.

Once reality calmed, the devastation began to fester in Viranchi's broken spirit. While the others celebrated their success, he spiraled into darkness, and from the depths of his despair flared a new apocalypse. It burst as fire from his flesh, engulfing the terrain and consuming friends and foes alike. The lava Crimrose once sewed into the soil burst forth, devouring whatever survived in the charred corpse of what was once a beautiful paradise. Sheets of ice solidified the coat of magma, crushing nature in a shroud of black rock. Many perished, although some found refuge in forgotten corners and others fled the isle entirely.

For nine years, the land hibernated as a barren wasteland. The lingering essence of the divinities began to wane, starved of its needed prayer. Far off in another time, another place, the divinities felt their power draining, exhausted by the absence of worship. Sending Litel to scout the problem, the deity found naught but anguish and death in the embers of their empire. Inspired by their need for disciples, Litel once more breathed life into Metaphysical, reawakening vegetation and wildlife, pouring forth waters, and brightening the cinder-cast sky.

Now, horses can finally return to their healed island, though scars lurk where eyes do not pry. For some, they are relearning their homeland. For others, this is their first journey into the spell-kissed realm, ignorant to the massacre it has endured, simply lured by the same resonance of sorcery that had always sang the siren's song to many in the universe.

Although many experienced the octadic years, time did not pass equally for every horse that wandered into alternate planes. Whether they felt a mere minute or a lifetime, most did not come back as the same entity who left, reshaped by events in other domains.

The thrones are empty and the reborn country offers a fresh start for old and new alike. Yet even as a phoenix rises from the ashes, does the stain of blood ever truly wash away?




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