Lore
Explore the rich lore and stories of the Judgement universe. Discover the history, legends, and tales that shape the world of Between.
THE NECROPOLIS: BENEATH THE GODS' SHADOW
There are corners of Mideon where even the gods tread with care. Some say these dark places were formed by the dying breaths of gods long forgotten, the remnants of their minds sinking into the Between to become caverns of fear and memory. Others believe they are born from the subconscious of the new gods themselves. Dreams and nightmares are given form without their conscious knowledge. Perhaps in shaping the plane of Mideon, they have shaped its horrors, and those horrors, in turn, shape them. A vicious spiral leading towards damnation.
The Necropolis is one such place, the source of its creation a mystery. The air carries the taste of rust and remembrance, and the stones whisper in tongues long buried beneath time. Beneath the battlefields of the living sprawls a city of silence and bone. It is a place no mortal hand could have crafted, seemingly shaped from every death, or every memory of death, that the champions of the gods carry within their scarred psyches. In its endless cathedrals of shadow and ruin, the gods' war for Mideon finds its darkest reflection.
I. The Discovery
For ages, Tomas, god of law and order, ruled with deliberate stillness. Where the goddess Grul's wild fury brought life from chaos, and Krognar's cunning bent fate to shadow, Tomas forged structure and restraint. His Effigies rose like pillars of eternity, sanctuaries of silence unmarred by passion. He made his realms in the image of the physical world he once knew; sprawling cities populated with all manner of citizens, from noble scholars to violent thugs. He could have shaped a paradise for them, but instead, his realms were as brutal and unforgiving as the physical world that had inspired them. His imagination could conceive only of a population that struggled and suffered, bound by harsh laws and punished without mercy. In time, he invited the undead of Mideon to help him rule over the subjects he had created. His lands were a fortress and he steadily grew his influence, pushing against the lands of the other gods.
Then came the staircase.
It was found by accident. Beneath one modest cathedral, masons repairing the crypt uncovered a narrow stair descending into darkness. The first expedition carried torches and prayers, and when they returned, their eyes gleamed with fear and awe. They spoke of corridors that stretched beyond measure, of pale light bleeding from the stone, of walls that murmured like mourners at a wake. Some refused to speak at all. Others never returned.
It is a rare and perilous thing for a god to manifest in physical form. Their consciousness is bound to the Effigy Network (a web of divine essence woven through Mideon) and to draw it forth into flesh risks unraveling the very threads of their power. Seldom would one of the new gods dare such an act, for it demands the surrender of omnipresence for the fragile confinement of a body. Yet Tomas saw an opportunity in this danger. His need for control even stronger than his caution.
With deliberate will, he tore himself from the network and descended the staircase in the form of a man, his priests trailing behind, their faith trembling. None dared step past the point where warmth faded and the breath of the living ceased. Yet Tomas would not allow a mystery to exist within his realm and beyond his reach. The descent was an assertion of dominance; a need to understand, to subdue, and to claim what dared to lie hidden in the dark. And what he found below had the potential to alter the course of the divine war forever.
The Necropolis lay before him: a city vast beyond comprehension, a labyrinth of vaulted cathedrals without sky. Stairs led deeper and deeper, each level a city unto itself. Shrines aligned in impossible geometry; arches twisted in defiance of natural law. Through the dark pulsed the rhythm of countless souls, a heartbeat echoing across eternity. As Tomas ventured deeper, unlocking passage after passage, new Effigies began to form. Each one bearing his likeness, yet darker in form than those above ground. They depicted not merely a king, but a ruler of the dead, its eyes hollow and wearing a crown wrought of bone and shadow. Tomas looked upon that city and saw order and power as it could only be when shaped by death's perfection.
II. The City of Endless Cathedrals
The Necropolis is no mere tomb. It is a kingdom of reverent finality, a world beneath the world above. From the Ossuary Gates, where fog coils among statues of forgotten saints, to the fathomless depths of the Lake of Last Tears, where even divine light risks being snuffed out. Every tier appears as though wrought by the hands of unparalleled craftsmen and artists. Yet no living creature remembers its creation.
In its echoing vaults, souls drift like dying embers, gathering in pools of liquid color; red, blue, and violet light mingling like stained glass melted by time. The glow paints carvings of prayers too ancient to read, outlining statues whose faces have been worn to smooth anonymity. Statues of the Reaper, faceless and tall, stand sentinel across every corridor; mourners, wardens, or judges... perhaps all three at once.
The air is still, perfumed with dust and despair. There is no growth, no decay, only the endless pause between the final breath and the one that never comes. Travelers swear the walls shift as they pass, the echo of their steps repeating in alien rhythm. The Necropolis listens, remembers, and judges.
It remembers everything, especially the moment of mortal death, and it craves for more.
III. The War Below
The other gods mistook Tomas' patient and slow advance for weakness. Grul's wild jungles spread with rampant abandon, Krognar's shadows slithered across the plains, Ista bathed her creations in divine light, Bruelin's armies carved monuments to conquest, and Torin shaped palaces out of clouds and dreams. Yet Tomas built in reserved silence, one fortress, one Effigy at a time. Each one a foundation of stability driving deep into the heart of Mideon.
His dominion did not expand outwards; it sank. Overlooked by the other gods, who were more focused on one another than on their apparently cautious and unambitious brother. They forgot that Tomas once commanded armies; a merciless general whose mastery of strategy was without equal. His strength grew unnoticed, and in the secret depths of the Necropolis, he discovered a power that could shift the divine war in his favor.
It was only thanks to Carva, the chameleon-chimera scout of Grul, that the truth of Tomas' empire was uncovered. Driven by curiosity and hunger for discovery, he infiltrated Tomas' temples, shadowed the priests, and vanished into the depths.
When he returned, his scales had paled, and his eyes burned with the reflection of a thousand flickering lights. He had seen the Necropolis, a hidden realm vast enough to house legions. The Necropolis was so great that even Carva, after weeks of exploration, had barely scratched its surface. There were corridors and chambers beyond reach, places uncharted and untouched. In one such hidden corner, he discovered an Effigy, yet unconsecrated, and bound it to Grul's network. Using its power, he returned to the goddess' stronghold. Grul, shocked at the hidden strength of her brother and his unnatural empire, alerted all the gods to the existence of the Necropolis.
The revelation set Mideon aflame. Grul's champions surged through the upper caverns, life bursting through stone. Ista's radiant host descended like a burning sun to scour away the blight of undeath. Krognar's assassins crept unseen, blades tasting the blood of Tomas' champions. Bruelin's warbands — led by Asbrand, a King of Dwarves — tunneled with brute strength, while Torin's mystics lingered at the edges, enthralled by the hum of ancient power.
The Necropolis became a crucible of ruin. Effigies shattered and reformed beneath shifting banners. Pools of souls boiled with the blood of champions. The silence of the tomb became filled with screams.
Yet Tomas did not falter. His armies moved like the gears of a great machine, precise and unyielding, withdrawing only to ensnare their foes in shifting corridors of death. Each loss was measured and intentional, each victory costly but inevitable. He did not fight to defend land or walls, he fought to preserve what he had found below. He fought to protect the secrets he had uncovered in the depths.
The other gods now witnessed the true strength of Tomas, as alone he held back their united might. But one god could not stand against five, and slowly Tomas was forced to give ground. His only reprieve came from the fragile nature of divine alliance, for each god's ambition was too great to allow for sharing the spoils. As the siege dragged on, the coalition fractured, and they turned upon one another, their war for the Necropolis descending into chaos once more.
IV. The City That Hungers
The Necropolis moves. Its walls are not stone but the memory of stone. Statues shift when unobserved, corridors close like clenched fists, arches twist in new geometries between heartbeats. Whole cathedrals vanish, only to reappear elsewhere, changed and greater than before. Pools of soul-light pulse like lungs, inhaling power and exhaling despair.
The gods feel its hunger. Each invocation, each act of creation or destruction, echoes through the city's bones and returns diminished. Their power seeps away, devoured by something older than faith itself.
Whispers spread through Tomas' followers. Their god, they say, did not build the Necropolis, perhaps he did not even find it. Maybe it was the one that had found him. In binding it to his will, he chained himself to something vast and alien. It grows stronger with every champion that spills their blood upon its stones.
Perhaps the Necropolis was never meant to be ruled.
Perhaps it was meant to feed.
In the lowest corridors, voices chant in tongues unknown even to the gods. Shadows twist as if recoiling from some greater darkness. Tomas alone understands what stirs below, and he is determined to break it to his will, to rule over it, as he plans to rule over all creation.
V. The Keeper of the Depths
At the heart of the Necropolis, beyond light and mercy, dwells Lyra. She is Tomas' chosen avatar, a Minotaur of great strength and greater silence. She is the Warden of the Depths, a warlock whose body is etched with burning sigils that glow like veins of molten gold. For centuries, she has stood vigil, sustained by the soul energy contained in the Necropolis.
When her power flares, the city shudders as though in pain. When it wanes, the darkness thickens, and whole districts vanish into shadow. Some say she commands demonic attendants who glide through the dark, repairing the wards she has set. Others whisper of her formidable strength, and the cruel lengths with which she will go to preserve the stability of Tomas' empire.
Lyra is the only one in Tomas' court who truly knows what lies in the depths of the Necropolis, and she labors ceaselessly to harness its power for her patron. As Tomas expanded his control over the Necropolis, each Effigy discovered or constructed bound more souls to his network. They feed Lyra's grand ritual, a work years in the making. The great Effigy at the base of the Necropolis thrums with energy, the wards and sigils of binding have grown so strong that they could break even a god.
But all this planning was shattered when the other new gods invaded. Now it is all Lyra can do to stop it from coming apart. She fights desperate battles on behalf of Tomas, not to reclaim the Necropolis but to preserve the ley lines, lode stones, and Effigies that sustain her wards and prevent her ritual from collapsing.
VI. The Folly of Gods
The Necropolis stands on the edge of disaster. The upper halls echo with war; the middle layers crumble as the champions of the gods struggle to claim the shattered Effigies of their enemies. Deep below, beneath tombs where bones float in rivers of souls, the sealed chambers hum and crackle as wards threaten to overload.
The gods fight convinced of their righteousness, blind to what they risk. Grul sees defilement, Ista sees heresy, Krognar senses power buried beneath the centuries. Even Bruelin hears whispers in the marble, promises of conquest eternal. Torin, despite her wisdom, participates in the destruction pursuing answers to questions best left unasked. Each god believes victory will bring mastery of this place.
Each is wrong.
The Necropolis is not just something to claim. Their violence feeds it and weakens all who seek to control it. Its voice murmurs through cracks in stone and echoes through the prayers of the dying. It speaks of fate, of death, of terror... the kind of terror that humbles even gods.
As war grinds on in the depths of Mideon, the line between divine and damned blurs. Souls linger, their rest unbound. Effigies dim and collapse, becoming misshapen things that throb with malice, like cocoons waiting to birth something horrible. They refuse the shaping of the gods, becoming dead points in the Effigy network.
Still the gods fight, their violence changing them even as they bend the metaphysical substrate of Mideon to their will.
Epilogue: The Whispering Stone
In the silent heart of the Necropolis, Tomas stands before the greatest Effigy he has ever claimed, its surface pulsing with a faint, sickly glow. He enjoys the feel of the body he has manifested. Solid, practical, and strong. Heat emanates from the structure before him, nearly enough to burn the flesh.
The whispers that rise from the stone before him are a chorus of madness. Voices layered upon voices, promising power, offering subservience, bargaining for release. They claw at his mind, but Tomas endures, his will ironbound. He will not yield to such chaos. The Necropolis is his to command, its strength his to claim. He clenches his gauntleted fist, the echo of metal breaking stone reverberating through the cavern. Either he will bend this power to his dominion, or it will be broken and snuffed out like all who have dared oppose his decree.
Tomas allows himself a grim smile, feeling the flesh of his face stretch and move as it once had many years ago, when he had been a general fighting in a world that made sense. He more than any other god carves a return to the mortal coil that he gave up. It was a fair exchange for the power he now wields, he muses. But oh how he longs for the solid dependability of physical form, for the laws of physics, and man. For the dependable calculations of war as it was fought on the plane of Athien. Reluctantly, he allows his body to melt away, returning to the safety and power that the Effigy Network provides.
Victory is still within his grasp, and no sacrifice is too great in order to achieve it. For once he has laid waste to his rivals, and claimed control over Mideon, he will rebuild everything that he has lost.