A social sandbox MMO developed on Unreal 5, where you can build a home, craft your weapons and go to war. What world will you make? 

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Pax Dei is a social sandbox MMO developed by Mainframe Industries on Unreal 5, where you can build a home, craft your weapons and go to war.

Pax Dei

Pax Dei - Social Sandbox MMO

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<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/oMBZ2O9nn61Z5Je18uKDC/2b602517b75443215259d7d14f2370ff/Thelonius_part_3.1.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="7955" alt="Thelonius, The Great Surge (III.1)" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/1JuO7oBxbwBsyAjMyyuzFx/66af2943369b77d580f1e40e6d3acd64/Thelonius_part_3.2.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="5570" alt="Thelonius, The Age of Legends (III, 2)" /><h3>The Great Surge (~1930 to ~1950)</h3>This was the Great Surge, a time when demons walked brazenly through Creation. Cities burned. Songs were silenced, love was lost, heroes rose and shone for a fleeting moment before being devoured and for a while, it seemed the darkness had won.But then, amid the fiery chaos rose the destined fifth redeemer, Armozel, the seventh son of a Gothian carpenter. A prodigy of alchemy and sacred geometry, he discovered how to imbue metals with divine spirit, crafting weapons and armor unlike any seen before. While being revered as a blacksmith, his true genius, however, lay with the unseen, his hands guided by the Divine&#39;s hidden order, the laws of the elements, the patterns of the Ley Lines and the silent pulse of Creation itself.At thirty-four, he entered the service of the King of Anatolia, and over eleven years, shaped not only weapons and fortresses, but strategy,scholarship and the art of war. Though once overshadowed by the splendor of Atlantis and the pride of Helios, Anatolia endured. Its people, tempered by hardship, became one of the last great bastions of the human will. Armozel’s teachings spread quickly through its grand halls and mountain fastnesses.When the Great Surge began, it was Armozel who foresaw it and he who prepared the initial resistance. From across all the kingdoms, warriors rallied to his banner, the sight of which infused them with Divine inspiration and bravery and thus were born the Sons of the Light.As the demonic tempest rose and spread, Axis Mundi, ancient and sanctified, opened its gates and the city became a sanctuary for all. And as the Surge engulfed the land, thousands fled to its spires, not only commonfolk, but also warriors, sages, artificers and the faithful. The Divine Tree, long withered, standing at the center of the Sepulcher of Love, became an object of pilgrimage. Its trunk  wrapped in wards, its branches hung heavy with prayers and its roots watered with tears of pain and sorrow. But it is said that after Armozel entered the city with his shining legion, tears of hope were being shed at the tree, filling it with life and bloom.One after another, the great kingdoms fell and eventually  Axis Mundi herself was surrounded. But with her walls trembling under the weight of Hell’s legions chipping away at the ancient stones, Armozel stood defiant and together with his paladins repelled each demonic assault, each more vicious than the last. Some said Lilith herself led the last charges on the walls, crowned in bone and mist. But the truth is lost, as truths are invariably fated to become, amongst the flames of war.It was then that Phaionios, the Archangel of Flame and Fourth Redeemer, descended from Heaven, imbued with Divine Wrath. The mighty gates of Axis Mundi were thrown open and the demon hordes fell silent as the fiery seraph emerged. Ahead of him came fire and fury, in his wake marched the Sons of the Light in all their glory, and in his hands, he wielded a divine weapon of unmatched devastation that in one fell swoop crushed the demon horde, sending waves of divine fire emanating from Axis Mundi and eventually throughout all of creation, like ripples in a pond. Thousands of refugees, paladins, and artisans were caught in the blaze, their souls never laid to rest. Only Anatolia was spared.The Divine fire not only burns the elements, but it destroys spirit as well and as it devoured the legions of Hell wherever they were found, it also scarred the land. From Axis Mundi to the hearts of Gothia, Gallia, and Iberia, vast parts of the land became devoid of spirit; The haunted lands. Invisible to the Divine and mostly overlooked by the forces of Evil, these areas are to this day mostly inhabited by lost souls and the occasional animal that loses its way.The tide turned. Armozel’s divine craftsmanship and Phaionios’ heavenly wrath forged a holy alliance, determined to hunt down the remains of Evil, wherever they were found. Initially though, their bond was uneven; The seraphim Phaionios, radiant and revered, Armozel the mortal genius. But during these trials the latter became universally recognized by the faithful and when the time was ripe, he was raised by the Divine to become the Fifth Redeemer.Their crusade became legend. Together, they reignited the Ancient Stela, enabling fallen warriors to rise again. They raised watchtowers at the edges of known lands, engineered fortresses to guard the borders of each province as Evil was uprooted and sealed the underworld’s paths.This was the First Crusade, and it delivered mankind from annihilation.In the end, Phaionios burned the last of the demon gates, channeling divine fire into the rifts, while Armozel forged the seals to bar their return. And then, as majestically as he had appeared, Phaionios departed, his wings reflecting light across the heavens as the trumpets of the Divine sounded farewell.But Axis Mundi had paid the price. Its gates were blackened, its air acrid and foul and its leylines scorched. Those who survived the final assault said it was no longer a city, but a shrine to the sacrifice paid to rid the world of Evil. After the Surge, it was left behind, not in grief, but in reverence. None dared rebuild for ages to come.For Armozel, the story did not end in triumph.Decades after the Crusade, pride took root in his heart. Tempted by the Deceiver in the guise of an angel, he rallied the Sons of the Light one final time and led them into the depths of Mount Medula, seeking hidden glory and forbidden treasures.None returned.Armozel, once the craftsman of salvation, vanished into shadow, his fate a solemn echo of the very sins he once stood against.—Thelonius the Scribe<hr/><h3>The Age of Legends (~1950 to ~2350)</h3>The world did not recover quickly and the devastation that followed in the wake of the First Crusade lingered on for centuries. The Great Surge had left Creation scorched and grieving. The ancient cities of Atlantis, Helios, Carpathia, and Thule lay in ruin or shadow. Yet into the ashes of that fallen splendor, new stories were being written.This was the Age of Legends.The knowledge brought by Phaionios and Armozel endured, passed down by scattered, but determined survivors, scribed in crumbling halls, etched in relics of glowing stone. Their sacred geometry, their divine metallurgy, their rituals of light and warding, all became the foundation upon which a wounded world would heal and rebuild. Not in marble, but in will.Congregations of believers emerged, scattered and often at odds, yet all looking to the heavens for guidance. In the absence of central kingship, warlords rose, some cruel, some noble, others forgotten. The land was broken into many holds and keeps, ruled by sword and pact, raided by monsters that had not returned to Hell, but lingered in deep woods and deeper caves.It was a time of restoration, and also a time of haunting.Across Creation, there were places the Surge had touched too deeply, lands where  the veil between spirit and flesh had torn. In these haunted regions, ghosts could not pass into the Beyond. They wandered, lost in sorrow, rage, or confusion, bound to fields and ruins, like memories that refused to die. These lands are still with us, even now.From this broken age, great names rose. Heroes whose deeds outlived their bones.Arthur, Roland, Moyra, Siegfried, El Cid, Almanzor and Maven, these were not kings or queens alone, but symbols. Embodiments of sacrifice and sovereignty, strength and sorrow. They held the night at bay, slew horrors born of ancient sins, and built realms on cracked earth. Some died in triumph. Some vanished in mystery. Their legacies became the light we carry into our darkest hours.And then, from a place of no throne and no banner, came another light, soft, steady, and enduring.Oroael, the Sixth Redeemer, did not arrive in flame or miracle. He walked the land as a teacher, not a conqueror. He spoke of balance as peace, of the seasons as gifts, of work as devotion, of kindness as strength. He gave us no walls, no weapons, no empire, but the tools to live a worthy life.And people followed.From his wisdom came the first monasteries, carved into old places of power. His followers raised shrines and gardens, taught healing, music, scripture, and sacred labor. His calendar ordered the days, his prayers greeted sunrise and moonrise alike. He gave us the Rule of Life, not with command, but with clarity. And though he never ruled a nation, his words governed the hearts of nations to come.Even now, in forgotten corners of the world, his teachings echo like bells in deep stone.The Age of Legends did not end with silence. It ended with seeds planted and saplings growing, that would bear fruit for the generations to comeAnd it is said, if you listen to the wind at dawn, when the mist is thick and the world is still recovering from the chill of night, you may yet hear the stories of that time, whispered by ghosts, sung by monks and remembered by the souls of the past.—Thelonius the Scribe
Credits, paintings:
The Great Surge - <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Day_of_His_Wrath" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Great Day of His Wrath</a>, John Martin, 1851
The Age of Legends - <a href="https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q123537111#/media/File:The_Valkyrie's_Vigil.jpg" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Valkyrie&#39;s Vigil</a>, Edward Robert Hughes, 1906

The last words of Thelonius the Scribe - Part III

<h3>The Great Surge (~1930 to ~1950)</h3>This was the Great Surge, a time when demons walked brazenly through Creation. Cities burned. Songs were...

Thelonius serie Header

Beltane marks the arrival of summer—a time of fire, fertility, and renewal. Its roots run deep in Celtic tradition, particularly in Ireland and Scotland. The name comes from the Old Irish Bealtaine, meaning &quot;bright fire.&quot;Celebrated from the night of April 30th into May 1st, Beltane was a festival where bonfires blazed across hillsides, driving away evil and inviting good fortune for the months ahead. Communities gathered to feast, dance, and honor the turning of the season.In the Middle Ages, echoes of Beltane spread throughout Western Europe. In Occitan regions, troubadours sang of love and nature, while rural villages lit flames to protect their fields and herds. Over time, some of these customs intertwined with May Day traditions—but the heart of Beltane remained: joy, connection, and the powerful bond between people and the land.Though its meaning has evolved, Beltane still burns bright as a celebration of life and light.<div class="aspect-video"><iframe width="100%" height="100%" type="text/html" id="youtube-Q0JdZdOPeTA" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Q0JdZdOPeTA?iv_load_policy=3&amp;showinfo=0&amp;rel=0&amp;cc_load_policy=1&amp;cc_lang_pref=en&amp;autoplay=0&amp;enablejsapi=1&amp;origin=https%3A%2F%2Fplaypaxdei.com"></iframe></div>

Beltane

Beltane marks the arrival of summer—a time of fire, fertility, and renewal. Its roots run deep in Celtic tradition, particularly in Ireland and Scotland....

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<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3ufjqbbXftznJmhLGwoJLl/3a900b25c1d0920a4f3069464d331a01/lastWordofThelonius201.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="7167" alt="Thelonius, The Age of the Ancients, Meirothea (II.1)" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3onjPnIVYIYxQkKUYvaAFo/661d66b8e8d06f78becf0f49f2863a5a/lastWordofThelonius202.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="7521" alt="Thelonius, The Age of the Ancients, Demira (II.2)" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/2VtpzejhhVYXV83o5tAviz/03644a6ca567eaf26caa6c98d0347053/lastWordofThelonius203.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="6278" alt="Thelonius, The Elysium Age (II.3)" /><h3>The Age of the Ancients – Meirothea (~350 to ~500)</h3>As we emerged from the dying echoes of Paradise, we were little more than wanderers, mute and directionless, stumbling through a world of frightening wonder. The waters had receded and so had our innocence. Where once only summer reigned, the world had changed. The sun no longer lingered forever in the sky. Night had come, and in the fulfillment of time, Winter. Not as punishment, but as a reflection of our loss.Yet we found that Winter carries grace.It was then that the Divine, in Their mercy, sent Meirothea, a Second Redeemer. A Cherubim of flowing voice and luminous form, she descended and taught us how to endure the cold, the silence, the night. She gave us language that we might name what we feared. She gave us song, to remember what we loved. And she gave us symbols, to preserve what we learned. From her gifts came memory.Before her arrival, we possessed no speech, no stories, no ability to shape thought into legacy. With her gifts, we crossed the threshold from survival to culture. And the world itself seemed to reply. Forests echoed with chant, rivers whispered with verse, and it is said that in her presence vines would grow, curling toward her voice like flowers to sunlight.The birds, too, came in her time, or returned. Some say they were not born here, but slipped through from the old worlds of Heaven and Fay, drawn by the sound of Meirothea’s voice. They circled above her and nested near her glades, reminders of the divine chorus no longer allowed to walk the earth. Their songs, in her shadow, became sacred.Her sanctuaries were not of stone, but of earth and moonlight, waterfalls, twilight glades and caves, where by the fire, reflections danced to ancient rhythms.But as ever, light draws shadow.Moloch, born of Wrath and shaped by divine fury, rose from the deep wilds to oppose her. His beasts tore at what she nurtured. A war began, unseen by most, but felt in the shivers of the wind and by growls in the dark. But Meirothea did not fight alone. Beside her stood our ancestors, the first to wield magic through dance and voice. And beside them walked beings older still, strange, luminous, half-remembered. We would later call them the Fay.Also the wolves abandoned the wild and were drawn to her. Under her gaze they howled not in rage, but in reverence. They became her silent allies, not servants, but spirits of understanding and strength.To guide us through the darkness, Meirothea placed the Moon into the sky. Legends speak of her tearing a silvered slab from the mountains of Gallia, raising it into the heavens not only as a lantern, but as a mirror, to reflect what must be seen. Beneath its light, the beasts of Wrath were unmasked. And ever since, those twisted by fury can no longer hide under its glow.Winter returned each year, but under Meirothea it was given meaning. It became a season of reflection, a time to remember and prepare, not to mourn. Death was no longer a void. It became a passage, and memory its light.But not all sought remembrance.Lucifer and Leviathan, spirits of Pride and Envy, moved in secret. They sought not to destroy Meirothea, but to turn her. What happened remains debated even among the wise. Some say Pride nearly tempted her to abandon her path. Others say Envy struck first to prevent a defection. What is certain is this: both were cast back into the abyss, and Meirothea, wounded in spirit, returned to the heavens.She left behind no temple, no crown, no empire.She left the Moon.
She left Stories and Songs.
And through them, we remember her.By every winter fire, in every sacred song, her presence lingers. The Moon still watches. And beneath its glow, we are not haunted by the darkness, but reminded of the one who first taught us how to walk through it.—Thelonius the Scribe<hr/><h3>The Age of the Ancients – Demira (876 to ~1050)</h3>In the centuries that followed Meirothea’s departure, humanity did not fall into silence again. Her precious gifts endured.With speech, we named the rivers and skies. With song, we remembered. And with symbols, we began to mark time and events. Our people wandered still, but no longer as beasts. We tamed the wilds in small ways. We learned to track, to gather, to hunt with intention rather than desperation. The first sages appeared, those who spoke to the wind and fire. In caves and on stones, we carved our thoughts, painted our stories. The first druids enlightened the glades, and the first shamans listened to the stars.Yet knowledge alone could not feed the hungry and memory would not warm a child.So the Divine, in Their endless mercy, sent us Demira, the Third Redeemer.Where Meirothea had given voice to the soul, Demira gave strength to the body and gentleness to the hand. She came not with radiance or spectacle, but with seeds, with tools, and with care. She walked among the humble and the weary, clad in green, her staff in hand with awned ears of wheat woven into her hair.Demira brought three great gifts to mankind, Agriculture, Care, and Craft. She taught us to till the earth, to plant and reap, to tend to beasts not for domination but companionship. Yet her greatest gift was Care itself, a virtue that flowed into every act of tending, healing, and nurturing, be it child or soil, lamb or elder. Under her guidance, we learned to build homes, raise herds, and create the first true communities.Her breath brought the Spring, and her tears, the first Autumn rains. For before her, there was only Summer, endless sun without rest or renewal, and Winter, a time for silence and slumber. Demira completed the cycle, giving the world Spring for birth and Autumn for harvest and reflection. The seasons became spokes on the wheel of time, and life began to turn.But as always, sin follows the seed.With harvest came abundance, and from abundance, indulgence. With craftsmanship came wealth, and with wealth; envy and hoarding. With communities came rumors and suspicions towards ones neighbors, as for when one man thrives, another seeks to prove him unworthy. Thus, the peace she nurtured began to crack. The sins of Gluttony, Greed, and Wrath stirred again. Their Princes, Zeb, Mammon, and Moloch, returned with armies of corruption, cloaked in hunger and fire.Demira, foreseeing the storm, allied once more with the Fay and created what are now the Ancient Stela, monoliths rooted in the Ley Lines of Creation. With sacred inscriptions and divine resonance, they sheltered the faithful and stood as beacons against the encroaching darkness.But the tide of sin would not relent.The Divine, in grief and fury, resolved to cleanse the world in flood, but Demira, in sorrow and out of love, pleaded for the innocent. The Divine offered a choice, to save mankind, she must sacrifice everything.And she did.Demira fashioned not a wooden ark, but a spiritual sanctuary woven from her very being. With her Shepherds, she sought out the worthy. As the waters rose and the world drowned, she held fast. And when the deluge reached its ultimate height, she sacrificed herself, cursing Zeb, Mammon, and Moloch with eternal torment. They would hunger and never be sated, desire and never be fulfilled, rage and never be calmed.From that day forward, they bore a shard of her spirit like burning iron in the soul. Where once they took joy in their sins, now they only found suffering.Her body, untouched by decay, was seen floating above Axis Mundi, and dissolving into droplets of grace, falling onto what remained of Protennoia’s Tree. Her essence flowed into the Ley Lines, weaving a great network of life, memory, and power. The Pax Dei, fragile but enduring, grew from her roots.To this day, when the Autumn rains fall cold and sudden, the old say it is Demira weeping, not for those she saved, but for those she could not.—Thelonius the Scribe<hr/><h3>The Elysium Age (~1050 to ~1930)</h3>The flood had passed and the waters receded. Demira’s sacrifice still echoed in the Ley Lines, and the survivors, cradled in her spirit, stepped once more into the world.But no Divine guidance was forthcoming.For nearly a thousand years, we stood alone, without angels, without voice from the heavens. The Divine watched in silence. The Fay faded into their hidden groves. And so entered the Age of Man.With time, the survivors spread and multiplied. They crossed rivers and climbed ridges, built with stone, tilled the land, and remembered. From them rose four great civilizations, each touched by the gifts of the Redeemers, but shaped by mortal will.In the West, Atlantis rose like a dream recalled. Built upon old memories and older magic, its cities gleamed with water-threaded towers, mirror-like streets, and archives of living crystal. There, sages claimed to read fate from reflections and weather from sound. They perfected artifice and alchemy. It is said they once forged a replica of the sun beneath the sea.In the North, the highlands of Thule bred hard people. Tribes that narrated the howling of wolves and remembered the war-chants of the Wild Firsts. They bound themselves to ancestral oaths, carved stones with blood and bone, and wove sorcery into song. Their chiefs ruled not by crown, but by trial, and their shamans spoke to spirits still lingering from Meirothea’s time. In their defiance, there was strength. In their unity, wisdom.To the East rose Helios, a kingdom of light and law. Seven golden cities, each ruled by a council of philosopher-kings, gleamed beneath towering pyramids of sunstone. Their knowledge rivaled Atlantis, but their pride was deeper. The priests of Helios believed themselves custodians of divine memory. They bent light to their will and claimed their shadows were clean.But it was Carpathia that gleamed most falsely.Set in the heartlands of the old world, Carpathia was a kingdom of gardens and mirrors, marble and incense. Its rulers spoke of peace and beauty, but behind the veils stood a Prince of Hell, cloaked in glory, robed in charm. He whispered of unity, of purity, of ascent. He built a throne that touched the stars, and men followed willingly.Each of the Four bore greatness. And each, a flaw.Atlantis, in its thirst to preserve knowledge, forgot humility.
Thule, in its reverence for strength, sowed seeds of endless retaliation.
Helios, in its worship of order, cast out compassion.
Carpathia, in its desire for perfection, gave pride a crown.The sins returned, not as monsters, but as policies. As architecture. As ritual.And the deeper these civilizations dug their roots, the more they opened cracks in the gates beneath the world. Forgotten ruins stirred. Old bones awoke. And Hell, no longer content to whisper, began to breathe again.The world braced for calamity.And it came.—Thelonius the ScribeCredits, paintings:
The Age of the Ancients – Meirothea - Mucha, Winter, 1896
The Age of the Ancients – Demira - Mucha, Spring, 1896
The Elysium Age - Thomas Cole, The Course of Empire, Destruction, 1836

The last words of Thelonius the Scribe - Part II

<h3>The Age of the Ancients – Meirothea (~350 to ~500)</h3>As we emerged from the dying echoes of Paradise, we were little more than wanderers,...

<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/5K89kBolKee4geFiHqQOnY/a018a3c6350462fe7ae4077437d26e4d/20250414_Merlin_On_the_Fay01.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="2003" alt="20250414 Merlin On the Fay01" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/6tJniQgXIjY1vxgZF0TqRw/4762105ad57a85a6825eaa3d10792ded/20250414_Merlin_On_the_Fay02.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="2505" alt="20250414 Merlin On the Fay02" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/aJ9gtOKDLC6ya24zdGSyO/2f5f2c5f303414f40ab5ff35c69b2212/20250414_Merlin_On_the_Fay03.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="1796" alt="20250414 Merlin On the Fay03" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3jK3qRgIW7J07BrfeHY1WE/d94a8b0873de467fb74baef7f7faa800/20250414_Merlin_On_the_Fay04.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="3050" alt="20250414 Merlin On the Fay04" /><h2>When Birds Still Sang</h2>Ashes heavy, envy&#39;s ploy
Angels lost, demons coy
Never ever, nay never again
Would the mighty host of heaven
Revel in Earthly joy
Babel the Resonate The First Words - 8th stanzaThe second aeon came to an end through Envy, the withering instrument wielded by the glistening serpent of the deep. And as this world of unparalleled beauty and harmony faltered and fell from beneath the crushing will of festering spirits long forgotten, as did a host of the most precious angels fall and follow Leviathan towards the budding kingdom of darkness.

And so it was, when the sun rose to illuminate and herald the coming of the third aeon, that from then on and until eternity, the Divine forbade the spirits of Heaven to materialize within the elemental worlds of yonder. No angel would walk again upon the Creation, save the occasional messenger of the Divine.~~~ 

The Fay were born, on morn of ever
Loving, goodly, gentle, clever
Eden´s tender tenders stand
Gallant wardens of the land
Steadfast in their grand endeavor
Babel the Resonate The First Words - 13th stanzaWhen the divine had for the third time completed its creation, they looked about and found it lacking. Or, perhaps not “lacking”, but something was missing. Previously, the world had been filled with song, thought and the chiming cheers of angels, but this time around, it was aimless and without reply or agency. And while the divine pondered what best to do, with a second thought, they created the birds and made them appear out of the clear blue sky as a cherished memory and a reminder of the angelic host now banished from this realm.

But something was still missing. All this beauty, but no one to appreciate or enjoy it, all this mystery but no one to wonder or even ponder it, all this grandeur and no one to tremble in astonishment and appreciation. What the world was lacking was to be meaningful. Meaningful to someone. And so, the divine created beings in their own image, “Adonii beget by Adonai”.And thus the Fay were born. Big and powerful, strong in spirit, pure in mind and thoughtful. And the Divine imbued them with immortality, intuitively connecting them with all living beings within creation and giving them the gift of channeling the force of life itself to manipulate the elements of creation.

And herein lay seemingly their defense against the Enemy; While demons and angels alike enjoy the supernatural powers of controlling the elements of creation through spirit and the ability to channel spiritual powers from beyond the Veil, the powers of the Fay are essentially of nature itself and presumably beyond the grasp of the corruption that ultimately caused the destruction of previous creations.The sun would never set on this undying first day of the third Aeon, a day that lasted a thousand years. The Fay lived in harmony and immediate touch with all of God&#39;s creatures. Death was yet to be hatched and neither would anyone or anything be born, the world was in perfect balance and peace.And then it wasn&#39;t. ~~~ Red-hot and dark, the mark of pride
Dawnbringer readily does provide
For all but the humble
The world would crumble
And the path to Elphame be denied
Babel the Resonate The First Words - 21st stanzaThe lightbringers words and damning whispers would in the end bring about the downfall of the third creation. One after another the Fay fell to his wiles; his foul suggestions and flattering gifts bolstered their ego and overcome by Pride they lost their grounded connection with the living, making them ripe for the corruption of the spirit.Those precious few who had resisted, remembered and stood their ground, watched as the world crumbled around them. And they were not alone, also the all embracing Divine observed from beyond the Veil as this creation seemingly disintegrated and turned to ashes in their trembling hands. And holy wrath filled the Almighty as his joy turned to dust. The woods splintered, the mountains fell and the waters drained by the will of the Divine and all things living were doomed, as the spirit of Death was created in that instance and was set upon the world to devour the living, lest they too joined the legions of Hell.Watching all this, the handful of Fay who had stood true and resisted the Lightbringer, realized that the Divine would not spare anyone, that they themselves were in the eye of the Lord, tainted by association with this creation and the end was inevitably nigh. But the desire to preserve the holy creation became stronger than the will to obey the Divine for one last time, so they gathered steadfast and determined in the heart of Elysium.~~~ Hand in hand in forests nave
Around The Stone a world to save,
Rowan, Moyra, Merlin and Maven
With Morgan and Danu form a haven,
Remus, Lethe, Loran and Flora
With Auberon’s wisdom kindle the aura,
Babel’s voice the doomed allures
Fauna’s sense the beasts ensues
Flora speaks through branch and root
Titania serves forbidden fruit
And Deva does what she knows best
Lays the souls of all to rest~ Old druid chantChanneling the life force of what remained living in the world and denying the Enemy a chance to devour it all, Auberon’s court broke a path through the Veil and created an otherworldly haven, drawing on the few living things that were still pure and unbroken in the world, plants and animals alike. An extra-natural world. There, the Fay have stayed hidden ever since, both from the wiles of the enemy and also from the eye of the Divine, they know as is, that the Almighty does not easily reconcile those who have been condemned, even though in their own case, they were innocents swept up by a gathering storm.While the Fay fear the Lord more than anything, they passionately hate the agents of Hell with all their might and blame them, rightly, for destroying their own chance at Elysium eternal. Each time the Divine has made a new iteration of Earth, the Fay have secretly broken back through from their hidden realm and acted as the guardians of creation they always intended to be. And at the end of each Aeon, when each of the numerous creations have turned out to be a disappointment and a failure and the Divine has decided to raze them and start anew, the Fay have done their best to save any living things worth saving from each of them before they vanished. It is told that the birds first came to the Tenth Creation during Meirothea’s time, drawn to her voice and charmed by it, slipping through from the old world where memory had wings. But such things are only whispered now, passed through druidic chants and half-sung lullabies. No bird has been seen in living memory, only feathers in empty places, and songs remembered by stones.~~~ Birds on wings and trees on foot
Dwarfs all covered up in soot
Goblin, Goblin, go away
Home to nasty forest FayWyvern singing songs of joy?
Griffin eating farmers boy?!
Cross my heart and hope to die
Before I see the monkeys fly!!If trolls and ogres eat my mom
I doubt my father will stay calm
I hope and pray for every day
That filthy Fay will stay away!~ Well known nursery rhymeMerlin ~ The Bard of Lyonnesse~~~Paintings used in the images:Thomas Jones, The Bard, 1774

Of the Fay and the meaning of Birds

<h2>When Birds Still Sang</h2>Ashes heavy, envy&#39;s ploy
Angels lost, demons coy
Never ever, nay never again
Would the mighty host of heaven
Revel in...

20250414 Merlin On the Fayheader

<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3yzWeegKXF2ALvnYDakSx4/a697b6b7cf7bf93a35051a4b7d77b127/Thelonius_part_1.1.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="4537" alt="Thelonius part 1.1" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/ZPMxGoO6IWT5KCZvFBmuI/75b53845bdba8c33ba0d3183dfe1409d/Thelonius_part_1.2.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="4749" alt="Thelonius part 1.2" /><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3S4K1jM9QCVnBR5qpoRCjz/4f7bbc72bc9c0cd2befbb3f3b8986f18/Thelonius_part_1.3.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="2160" height="5395" alt="Thelonius part 1.3" />I am Brother Thelonius, last Keeper of Hidden Light, of the Scriptorium of Lunthyr. By the time these words are read, my bones shall lie dust-bound, and this world may no longer resemble the one I knew. I write by candlelight while the earth quakes and the skies groan, during what we now call the Great Cataclysm. The ground shudders with each passing day, and the heavens have turned their face from us.This chronicle is not sanctioned by the Papacy. Were I younger, they might burn me for it. But their fires are dying, and so too is their grip on truth. They rewrote history in their own image, erased voices, shattered scrolls, and silenced those who remembered. Yet memory is resilient, and ink, though fragile, can outlast even empires.Last eve, as I lay coughing in this crumbling stone cell, I was visited by a Fay. Not a vision. Not a dream. A presence as real as the stone beneath my back. I felt as though I stood before a storm, not wind nor rain, but something vaster, a force of nature wrapped in grace and sorrow. It knelt beside me and spoke not in words, but in truths.&quot;Keep hope, Thelonius,&quot; it said, &quot;Demira&#39;s dream has not faded. Her sacrifice was not the end, it was the waiting seed.&quot;And as it turned to leave, it paused, the light from its form casting no shadow. &quot;Next time we meet,&quot; it said, &quot;it will be your last day in this Creation, and the beginning of the era of the Scions.&quot;And so I write, not for myself, but for them, for you, Scion. May these pages be the lantern that enlightens your path.—Thelonius the Scribe
Last Keeper of Hidden Light
From the Scriptorium of Lunthyr, 
veiled in fog and silence, where the dead still dreamWritten in the Winter of the Year 3999~~~The Nine Creations BeforeBefore Paradise, before even the first breath of mankind, there were others. Many others.The world we walk upon is not the first. This is the Tenth Creation, and we are its children, but not the creations firstborn.Nine times before, the Divine shaped the tapestry of existence. Nine times, it unraveled. Each Creation was corrupted by a Deadly Sin, rising from within like rot in the root, and each was answered by a Heavenly Virtue, woven into the next. The First was consumed by Anger, and from its ashes rose the Dark Lord, the Great Deceiver. Another drowned in Envy, where Leviathan coiled through the waters of creation, ever longing. Gluttony bloated a world into silence, and another fell to Levity, laughter twisting it into mockery until even death became a jest.The Fay, firstborn of an older grace, hail from one of these fallen worlds. They do not speak of it. Others among us, trolls, ogres, mermaids, kelpies, or wyverns, are remnants of shattered ages, shaped by time, sin, and survival. Not all were wicked at first. Not all are wicked now, for some were saved by the Fay and brought into their hidden realm. When the veil between worlds becomes thin, these beings may cross into our Creation once more.The Divine did not always remove the old to make the new. Some Creations were buried, layered in spirit beneath our own. Their bones remain and among them memories, artifacts, forgotten magic. And through all this , gnashing demons gnaw.Where sin takes hold in the world, it digs downward, clawing through the ruins of the past. It begins in the Rivulets, shallow and twisted lairs built by cultists of this very Aeon. Deeper still lie the Temples, where demonic influence swells and the air thickens with sacrilege and sodom. And lower still they go, defiling the remains of bygone eras and tormenting the remaining spirits, growing ever stronger, to the illusive point of no return, where Creation ends and Hell begins. These are the true domains of demons, not built but birthed, excreted, discharged by sin and suffering and shaped into shrines of their own foul design.To fall into one of these depths is not merely to descend. It is to tumble through sins of history.—Thelonius the Scribe~~~The Age of ParadiseThe story of this Creation begins with Protennoia, the First Redeemer, who gave birth to Humanity at the sacred heart of the world, where Axis Mundi would one day rise. Protennoia&#39;s gifts to her children were pure, plain and unadorned, birth, love, and light. In that first garden stood a wondrous tree, believed by many to be part of the Redeemer’s own spirit. Its golden fruits granting eternal youth and sustenance.This was a time before complexity and before the concept of need. No hunger gnawed, no danger stalked. There was no fire, for there was no cold. No spoken word, for thought and feeling flowed as one. Humanity moved in silent harmony and grace with beasts, drank from chiming silver streams, and slept beneath a sky that never darkened.There was only summer, the endless warmth of divine favor. The sun dawned, rose, and softened to dusk, but never vanished. There was no night. No death. No shadow.But even stillness can decay.Sloth was the first sin to stir, a dulled spirit content in passivity. Then came Lust, turning innocent joy into covetous craving. One among the Firstborn broke the sacred bond. With their kin, they idly plucked the sacred fruit not for need, but for power. In that act, the Divine Root was violated. The harmony of Paradise cracked. The great tree started to wither and waste away. The waters that had sheltered Creation began to recede, revealing a world unprepared for what lay beyond.Night came. No one recalls exactly when, only that it came after the betrayal. And with it came the first chill.Paradise was not taken from us. We abandoned it.As tribes fled the dying garden, they met a world both vast and cruel. Sharp winds tore at them, hail and rain bit them. Wild beasts, once gentle, turned predators. The first one to die left no words, no rites, no songs. For Humanity, there had been no memory of grief and no course for sorrow or regret. They were children born for peace, forced into survival.Those who endured were changed. Hardened. Embittered. They became the Wild Firsts, wrathful and feral, their bond to the Divine dimmed, their tongues unshaped, reduced to guttural chants and wordless humming.And yet, not all strayed into shadow. A few, bearing still the memory of Protennoia&#39;s warmth, wandered far and founded hidden sanctuaries. These scattered lineages preserved glimmers of the old peace, traces that would one day resurface in the tales of Atlantis and in the sanctity of groves where vines still swirled toward heaven.Though the Divine Root lies withered, and its fruit is no more, echoes of that first stillness linger in the Ley Lines. And sometimes, in dreams, or in the hush before dawn, we remember what we were.And what we lost.—Thelonius the Scribe~~~Paintings used as headers in the images:
Caravaggio, Saint Jerome Writing, 1605-1606
Botticelli, The Map of Hell, ~1480-1490 (Illustration for Dante’s Divine Comedy)
Jan Brueghel the Elder, The Garden of Eden with the Fall of Man, 1612

The Last Words of Thelonius the Scribe - Part I

I am Brother Thelonius, last Keeper of Hidden Light, of the Scriptorium of Lunthyr. By the time these words are read, my bones shall lie dust-bound, and...

<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3iZU4Mar6xV6e7YTsPTStD/81cd9c415ca81ee798f12515e6ebabe1/Inquisition_Edit_Scions_2.png?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="2628" alt="Pax Dei- The Holy Edict of Vigilance and Purity" />As decreed by His Eminence, 
the Grand Inquisitor Ignisanctus the White, of the Holy See, 
in the absence of a Pontiff and under the Divine Mandate of The Order.

Let it be known throughout all sanctified lands that, by the authority vested in the Holy Inquisition, a proclamation is hereby made regarding the emergence of beings referred to by recent repentant receivers of the Inquisition&#39;s fiery blessings as Scions. These Scions, fully grown and appearing from the aether with no birthright, no sacraments, and no memory of lawful lineage, have begun to settle across the sacred domains of Creation.They wield unknown magics, construct without sanction, and claim dominion without divine right. Not surprisingly, their sudden appearance coincides with fresh stirrings of corruption, unnatural calm amid chaos, and whispers of dormant powers awakening.Despite their guise of labor, industriousness and restoration, their origin remains shrouded and dubious, their purpose unproven, their allegiance suspect. The Inquisition holds no record of their creation in the Book of Lineages, nor do their souls bear the Mark of Sanctification when weighted, tried and tested.Their very existence constitutes a threat to the Divine Order, a perversion of sacred chronology, and blasphemy against the natural design of the Almighty.Therefore, by this Edict:<ul><li>The so-called Scions are henceforth declared excommunicated as Heretics.</li><li>All contact with them is seen as perverted and deemed forbidden.</li><li>Comfort, aid or shelter offered to them by anyone shall be punished as complicity in heresy.</li><li>Any agent of the Inquisition is authorized and obliged to purge these beings, dispensing Divine justice on sight.</li></ul>Until such time as divine judgment is revealed and sanctioned through holy revelation, the Inquisition shall act as the unblinking eye of the Divine, the flaming sword of righteousness, and the keeper of sacred law.Let no soul be deceived by their semblance of peace or promise of renewal.For the Divine does not forget, ad futuram rei memoriam.In His Light, by Flame and Word, Grand Inquisitor Ignisanctus the White, of the Holy See.By Divine authority, this Edict is sealed.

The Holy Edict of Vigilance and Purity

As decreed by His Eminence, 
the Grand Inquisitor Ignisanctus the White, of the Holy See, 
in the absence of a Pontiff and under the Divine Mandate of...

Pax Dei- The Holy Edict

From the Compendium of The Cacodemonic, penned in the early years of the Age of the Papacy by Brother Aldric of Libornes.The Cult of Zeb has persisted since the first peoples, its vile traditions rooted in service to Lord of the Flies, Devourer of Lands, and Manifest Gluttony; Beelzebub, Prince of Hell. Like all demonic cults, they seek to desecrate and mock the Divine creation and destroy all that is sacred. Legends abound of their plagues and locust swarms, of their perverse hunger that drives them to devour human flesh and craft garments from the skin of their victims.&quot;A man may fall into gluttony once and repent. A man may indulge twice and suffer. But the third time, his soul is lost, swallowed whole by the maw of Zeb. He will hunger, yet never be filled. He will feast, yet never taste. Such is the fate of those who make an altar of their own bellies.&quot;
 — St. Gregorius, On the Fate of the Damned<h2>Who is Zeb?</h2><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/4h1cH8dmASRrq7Iq4dihAA/271d09f2cc30c071d42b15dd3a8fafd8/ZebC.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="IsitZebB" />Zeb is a diminutive for Beelzebub, a name used by the common man, as uttering the true name of this Prince of Hell in full is considered neither decent, sound or safe.

According to St. Gregorius, Beelzebub was once known as the Lord Angel of Abundance, residing at the high table of the Divine, before being allured and corrupted by the Deceiver.Zeb´s presence among us is perhaps most commonly manifested by the living embodiment of gluttony, the maggot. Rising from the depths, these vectors of Zeb&#39;s deadly sin crawl, slither and devour all living things before being transformed into the pests that, on unnatural wings, carry their master&#39;s corruption ever wider throughout the lands.And quite fittingly, this graphic, earthy manifestation of Beelzebub´s will and desire has been amplified, idolized, and worshipped by his followers, The Cult of Zeb. In the deepest reaches of their strongholds, huge, megalithic manifestations of the maggot champion the halls, no doubt idolized and worshipped by the cult&#39;s followers.<h2>Who Are the Cultists?</h2><img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/4c9P2yXeU1n00EADb4ryBX/877c9ad35b66bb0861155785aa720003/WhoAreThey.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="WhoAreThey" />&quot;They are gaunt as though starved, their flesh a sickly grey, clothed in scraps of leather stitched from unholy sources. But their mouths—oh, their mouths!— too large, their teeth too many, and their gaze is one of endless hunger.&quot;
 — St. Gregorius, On the Fate of the DamnedMost cultists were once human, but it is difficult to say how much of their humanity remains. Corruption warps both body and mind, feeding on their sins until only hunger remains.They are drawn by promises of power and eternal life as revenants of the Nightmire. While their ranks favor the selfish and cruel, even the common and unassuming may fall prey to their influence. No caste, no wealth and no loyalty protect one from their call. The Cult of Zeb is indiscriminate in its recruitment—man and woman, beggar and noble, criminal and soldier alike.Only the most devout and disciplined can endure the corruption of Gluttony and eventually join the eternal legions of Hell.<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/4TIfTiRzIHbzGvUPuFH0iC/8e17173e9954b56eb5283770a45d17b2/Feast.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="Feast" />&quot;Gluttony is not merely indulgence of the flesh, but the consumption of all things sacred—our virtues, our faith, our humanity. To resist is to temper one’s soul as steel in the forge.&quot;
 — St. Gregorius, On Temptation and Vice<h2>Practices and Rituals of the Cult of Zeb</h2>&quot;To partake in their feast is to partake in damnation. For every morsel consumed, a soul is lost. Beware, for their hunger knows no end, and those who dine with demons soon find themselves the next course.&quot;
 — Brother Aldric of Libornes, On the Wickedness of the Flesh<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/01tWm8lyiYSiqvDzXLPBgk/f27528a3399f97f6660555849ab44026/FrescoD.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="FrescoD" />The Cult of Zeb is a horror beyond mortal comprehension, consumed by endless feasting and destruction. Whatever they cannot devour, they defile.During the Age of the Ancients, as mankind learned to farm and store food under the caring gaze of Demira, Beelzebub’s followers found new ways to corrupt. They tainted the harvests, spreading disease and decay. They poisoned wells, conjured swarms of locusts, and spread famine across the land, reveling in the suffering it caused and drawing power from the rot they created.<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/5eWi0v0PcWtiQ4mLSTTZAS/6848a81eb163116c8d0f7130b804458c/Sarcoph.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="Sarcoph" />Their deep lairs reek of decay, filled with paraphernalia of their grotesque rituals. In some places, like the Contageum, they breed monstrous boars, training them for war and slaughter. Into others, they bring captured innocents and broken cultists, imprisoning them in stone sarcophagi or oubliettes and force-feeding them to unnatural limits. Once their bodies are swollen beyond recognition, they are sacrificed—consumed in monstrous feasts. Their flayed skin is tanned into leather, a gruesome tribute to their insatiable hunger.Some of their lairs can only be described as maggot hives, where the cultists string their victims up alive and infect them with thousands of their lords’ favorite creatures. And yet other locations such as the place known as The Reflection of Holastri seem more eerily serene and focused on sharpening the minds of cultists who have survived the weight of the cravings suffused in them by their diabolical masters.<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/3OwKboI8T95cuKHOH1dut0/58d405ba64d418bb81adc0eb7962ae30/CocoonOr..._B.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="CocoonOr... B" />Throughout, their halls are adorned with vile frescoes depicting their atrocities, ancient dwellings long since crumbled into decadence, for when Demira gifted her spirit to mankind, she stripped the earthly power from Beelzebub’s grasp, casting his followers into darkness forevermore. Trapped in their own corruption, they have never advanced, only lingering in the decayed ruins of what they once had.But it was then that Demira gathered and raised her spirit, drew in all her power of divinity, and with her life&#39;s spark burning with the intensity of the sun, if only for a fleeting moment, she cursed the three and their followers to eternal suffering; Starvation for the gluttonous, perpetual dissatisfaction for the greedy and uncontrolled relentless anger for the wrathful. And when she had named the three princes, she fell, cold and seemingly lifeless, never to rise again.— The Gyronomicon, Giraud´s expository on the Redeemers, pg.22<h2>A World Beyond Redemption</h2>&quot;There are evils that tempt, evils that whisper, and evils that deceive. But Gluttony does not seduce—it consumes. It is a fire that cannot be sated, a wound that never heals. To let it fester is to watch the world be devoured, piece by piece.&quot;
 — Archpriest Theodoric of Anatolia, Sermons Against the Abyss<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/6O4QzIjAQ7NJ0SAONxENB7/614b51f0a2617bea50a694c45fa69114/ZebiansIndoor.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="ZebiansIndoor" />The Cult of Zeb exists only outside the Pax Dei, in lands where Gluttony reigns unchecked and where the eye of the Divine cannot reach. They are hunger-given form, an unstoppable force of consumption that devours everything on its path.The faithful must remain ever vigilant, for their corruption spreads unseen, lurking wherever hunger and excess take hold.As long as there are those who crave without restraint, the Cult of Zeb will endure.&quot;A man’s soul is not lost in a single bite, nor in the first indulgence. It is in the second, the third, the hundredth until one no longer remembers what it means to be sated. Beware the path of Zeb, for it is lined with feasts, yet leads only to famine everlasting.&quot;
 — St. Gregorius, On the Fate of the Damned

The Cult of Zeb: A Study of Gluttony and Corruption

From the Compendium of The Cacodemonic, penned in the early years of the Age of the Papacy by Brother Aldric of Libornes.The Cult of Zeb has persisted...

ZebHeader

In Pax Dei, the world is home to many rare and twisted beings. Gatekeeper Montel is one such aberration.Once a man of flesh and kin, he cast off his sanctity and embraced gluttony, offering his soul to Beelzebub, a Prince of Hell and the Manifestation of Hunger.
Now, Montel stands sentinel in The Rivulet, a Cultist lair perilously close to the surface of Creation and a threshold to deeper Hells.He guards the Sigil of Gotifan, a unique relic used in Cultist summoning rituals, and essential for crafting artifacts touched by Archduke Gotifan himself.Summary:<ul><li>NPC: Gatekeeper Montel</li><li>Location: The Rivulet, Ancien</li><li>Unique drop: The Sigil of Gotifan</li><li>Ingredient for: Gatekeeper Montel’s Gloves</li></ul>Pax vobiscum,
The Mainframe Team.<div class="aspect-video"><iframe width="100%" height="100%" type="text/html" id="youtube-DDst1Mgd4Fc" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DDst1Mgd4Fc?iv_load_policy=3&amp;showinfo=0&amp;rel=0&amp;cc_load_policy=1&amp;cc_lang_pref=en&amp;autoplay=0&amp;enablejsapi=1&amp;origin=https%3A%2F%2Fplaypaxdei.com"></iframe></div>

Echoes from Pax Dei, a Zebian Horror Audio Tale

In Pax Dei, the world is home to many rare and twisted beings. Gatekeeper Montel is one such aberration.Once a man of flesh and kin, he cast off his sanctity...

Echoes from Pax Dei - A Zebian Horror Tale

The Gyronomicon
Giraud´s expository on the Redeemers pg.20And before long, the Divine appeared to Demira and bid her return to his side, as humanity had failed and the days of this last creation seemed numbered. But Demira stood tall and steadfast and refused the almighty. And out of love for all she had seen and gotten close to on earth, for all the hopes and dreams she had gotten to know and for how she had come to admire the resilience and humble splendor of the human spirit, she begged the Divine to allow her a last attempt to save them.
And the Divine saw that she was unmovable.~~~At the end of the Age of the Ancients, the Stelae were built by the Fay, instructed and guided by Demira herself, in order to protect and benefit this Divine´s tenth creation. The Fay, building on their ancient wisdom and having seen creations come and go throughout the aeons, knew that sooner rather than later, this creation would need all the help they could give to withstand the corrupting agents of Hell.Demira, who had not only rediscovered the Fay, some of whom were the original incarnations of the Divine’s image from a much earlier creation, had come to understand their plight and chosen mission and she, therefore, decided to aid them in this endeavour. And perhaps she saw in this some glimpse of hope for them and all those they protect to gain redemption in the eye of the Almighty eventually.Fay magic manipulates the elements of creation using life force itself and so the stones were aligned to bolster and protect all living things. And even after Demira had made the ultimate sacrifice, banishing the three Lords of the Nether and the Fay had retreated with her seemingly lifeless body deep into their hidden realm, her spirit still nurtured and maintained the Stelae’s influence throughout the Elysian Age.And a millennium passed.<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/6AnyJGsWhqBLa2SXdhdUkt/06b21ce685898ec804b3fcb59217d5cc/20231030144720_1.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="3840" height="2160" alt="Ancient times" />It was in the last year of the Elysian Age, at the peak of the great Demon Incursion and the beginning of the First Crusade, that Armozel, the fifth redeemer, through his ingenuity and wild desperation, harnessed the mysterious powers of the Stelae. He reshaped them and imbued them with a spark of eternal life drawn from Phaionios’ angelic divinity, allowing their fallen paladins to rise again and return to the fight against the Legions of Hell, that at this point seemed would overwhelm and swallow the world.But at the end of the demon wars, when victory was had, and Phaionios had triumphantly returned to the side of the Lord, the Stelae gradually lost their powers. And so it was that when Armozel, in his vainglory, gathered his host of paladins once more for the final push to hunt The Deceiver into the depths of Mount Medula, they soon became overwhelmed by the unending swarms of the minions of Hell that awaited, the fallen would not return. And before long, all was lost.Since then, throughout the ages, the Stelae have laid dormant, lost to the memories of mankind and their former powers forgotten. But recently, something has begun to stir within. The Ancient Stelae however faintly, are once again emanating nurturing strands enforcing the fabric of life and bringing the people of Demira’s Second Arch back to life whenever they falter. What it is that has brought the Stela back to life is still draped in mystery, but bright and hopeful voices whisper that this, among other current, wondrous occurrences around the world, may be a sign that heralds the long prophesied Age of Renewal.~Sages Annals<img src="//images.ctfassets.net/96ostmeapxb7/5PcyTui7tKjMLpe6MYXCln/f45ef53a3a665ef6438f0c9b091eaaf1/IG_Ancient_Stela.jpg?fm=webp&w=1024" width="1920" height="1080" alt="IG Ancient Stela" />

Redeemers, Part 2: The Ancient Stelae

The Gyronomicon
Giraud´s expository on the Redeemers pg.20And before long, the Divine appeared to Demira and bid her return to his side, as humanity had...

Header Ancient Stela

Yule arrives at winter solstice, the longest night of the year. On this night, the Sun reaches its lowest point, pausing briefly before beginning its slow return and reverses the rise of Winter. For our ancestors, this was a moment of hope and renewal—a promise of warmth and light to come.And as the Holly King is laid to rest and the Oak King is reborn, nature wakes from its slumber, heralding brighter days ahead. Families and friends gather by the fire, exchange small gifts, and weave evergreen branches throughout their homes, as a symbol of life´s resilience and strength during this Heart of Winter.As the longest night deepens, we too come together. How will you celebrate this night of renewal?<div class="aspect-video"><iframe width="100%" height="100%" type="text/html" id="youtube-s3p73m5mR1o" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/s3p73m5mR1o?iv_load_policy=3&amp;showinfo=0&amp;rel=0&amp;cc_load_policy=1&amp;cc_lang_pref=en&amp;autoplay=0&amp;enablejsapi=1&amp;origin=https%3A%2F%2Fplaypaxdei.com"></iframe></div>

Yule: Ancient Winter Traditions in Pax Dei

Yule arrives at winter solstice, the longest night of the year. On this night, the Sun reaches its lowest point, pausing briefly before beginning its slow...

Diegesis