While Eternity sang from on high, Perpetuity plotted in the shadows below—its existence not only certain, but logical to any who could perceive the grand designs of the universe. Each night, crimson points write equations across a black sky, and each day, a different sun takes its shift, casting pale violet over desert sands. The people here don’t believe in fate. They believe in design.
Magic was once the lifeblood of this place. Scintilla—the Spark—lit the cities, healed the sick, twisted the impossible into the tangible. The Guilds called it progress. The gods called it a gift. But in time, it became a weapon. Rival Veneficus houses carved up the world in pursuit of power. The skies burned. The seas split. One god--Castor—died. The other--Pollux—disappeared.
The people endured.
The war ended in silence and shame. In signatures inked in ashes. The Doctoral Review Board, once a minor institution, rose from the wreckage to outlaw Scintilla and everything it touched. The divine was archived and the Guilds dissolved. Magic gave way to machines powered by Inanis, a volatile fuel drawn from the edges of the world.
But Perpetuity didn’t stop dreaming. In the halls of invention, new tools are created every day—handcrafted by those too practical to mourn what was, and too stubborn to give up on what could be. The Tenebris, who never touched magic, now stand at the forefront of design. The Lux preserve old traditions in secret, quietly undermining the prohibition. And the Incipia move between both worlds, dancing the line between survival and idealism.
Meanwhile, deep in the Veilworks and the abandoned halls of old cities, the Spark still burns. It moves through forgotten tram lines. It sleeps inside machines that refuse to die. And it waits—in the hearts of those labeled rebel, criminal, and exile who still remember the beauty of Scintilla’s possibilities.
This is Thesis: a realm of sea and sand, of logic and dust, built by the hands of mortals in the shadow of the divine. A place where even now, someone, somewhere, is writing the next equation in the Great Work—and wondering what will happen if they solve it.
Magic was once the lifeblood of this place. Scintilla—the Spark—lit the cities, healed the sick, twisted the impossible into the tangible. The Guilds called it progress. The gods called it a gift. But in time, it became a weapon. Rival Veneficus houses carved up the world in pursuit of power. The skies burned. The seas split. One god--Castor—died. The other--Pollux—disappeared.
The people endured.
The war ended in silence and shame. In signatures inked in ashes. The Doctoral Review Board, once a minor institution, rose from the wreckage to outlaw Scintilla and everything it touched. The divine was archived and the Guilds dissolved. Magic gave way to machines powered by Inanis, a volatile fuel drawn from the edges of the world.
But Perpetuity didn’t stop dreaming. In the halls of invention, new tools are created every day—handcrafted by those too practical to mourn what was, and too stubborn to give up on what could be. The Tenebris, who never touched magic, now stand at the forefront of design. The Lux preserve old traditions in secret, quietly undermining the prohibition. And the Incipia move between both worlds, dancing the line between survival and idealism.
Meanwhile, deep in the Veilworks and the abandoned halls of old cities, the Spark still burns. It moves through forgotten tram lines. It sleeps inside machines that refuse to die. And it waits—in the hearts of those labeled rebel, criminal, and exile who still remember the beauty of Scintilla’s possibilities.
This is Thesis: a realm of sea and sand, of logic and dust, built by the hands of mortals in the shadow of the divine. A place where even now, someone, somewhere, is writing the next equation in the Great Work—and wondering what will happen if they solve it.
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Disclaimer: As a Shadow of the Realm of Opus, the stories of both are closely tied together, therefore Thesis carries the same general content disclosure. This setting deals with issues very close to real-life disability struggles. While the ultimate message is one of hope and understanding, there are elements of the story that might hit close to home.
Additionally, this setting is at its heart a detective story and there are storytelling beats that are intentionally meant to mislead. There will be hints that things are not what they seem, but there will be incorrect or incomplete information given. |
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Thesians in the Dreaming
Thesians might not notice they’re in the Dreaming until they feel the absence of the Dark Firmament—like a phantom limb. As though gravity had been swept away, there is no real way to describe the absence of something which permeates across all things.
The People of PerpetuityThe people of Perpetuity are resourceful and relentlessly driven by the pursuit of progress—whether sanctioned or not. Shaped by war, repression, and innovation, they’ve learned to adapt, rebuild, and remember. Some cling to the old ways in secret, others embrace invention with open hands, but all live in a realm where survival is an act of will, and every creation, legal or otherwise, is a declaration of who they are.
Costume and Roleplay Basics
Lux(Pronounced: Lucks)
The Lux are naturally attuned to the Dark Firmament and the old magic—Scintilla. Once, their great houses stood as pillars of education and magical refinement but the Great War shattered their legacy. The practice of Scintilla is now banned and their people were displaced as void workshops gave way to factories, and magic was replaced with more traditional machines. Even so, the Lux endured—watchful and undiminished in their resolve. Their struggle has given most a quiet resilience—where researchers and visionaries refuse to let their legacies fade. Many Lux have chosen to preserve their traditions in secret, passing down knowledge through coded texts, carefully hidden lessons, and artifacts of their former grandeur. In a physical sense, the Lux exist in true grayscale, their forms appearing devoid of hue no matter where they are in the realm or beyond it. This intrinsic trait gives them an aura unmistakably connected to the Void. When outside of Thesis, some Lux attempt to mask their aura by infusing themselves with Opal pigment through the use of alchemical substances collectively called Atrabacca. These tonics can alter their outward appearance, granting the illusion of opal hues. It is both socially and legally fraught—and requires frequent maintenance. Costume and Roleplay
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Incipia(Pronounced: In-Sip-ee-ah)
The most populous species in Perpetuity, the Incipia form the backbone of its cities, industries, and institutions. They lack the innate connection to the Dark Firmament that the Lux have, but are more than capable of wielding Scintilla, if they are willing to break the law. Their relationship with magic is cautious, not absent. Culturally, the Incipia value collaboration and practical skills. Where Lux are drawn to hypotheticals and theory, Incipia focus on tangible issues: problem solving, engineering, and applied medicine. Many Incipia families have all practiced the same trade for generations and directly influenced the post-war recovery efforts. Others refused to accept the policy shift on moral grounds—or were equally devastated by the prohibition, just as their Lux-born neighbors were. When outside of the Realm, Incipia present as desaturated with hues of red and violet, although complete masking of one’s Perpetual nature is still possible through the same illegal alchemical methods used by the Lux. Costume and Roleplay
Tenebris(Pronounced: Ten-eh-briss)
An anomaly in Perpetuity, the Tenebris are incapable of interfacing with Scintilla or drawing power from the Dark Firmament. Where others shape the realm using magic, the Tenebris can instead visualize how something is put together, giving them a natural edge when working with mechanical systems such as rudimentary combustion engines powered by Inanis fuel, delicate or intricate gearwork, and other ingenious contraptions. These skills were in greater demand after the war, and Tenebris workshops seemed to spring up overnight as society rebuilt. Though they resemble other Thesians at a glance, Tenebris have pointed ears, an average shorter height, and a rare hereditary trait causes some to sprout wings that start at the elbow and extend to their hands. Their presence becomes much more saturated when outside the Realm, appearing in a variety of colorful tones rather than the partial or full retention of grayscale seen in the Incipia or the Lux. Costume and Roleplay
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Bootleg Scintilla and Speakeasies
Bootleg Scintilla and Speakeasies are where the banned magic still flickers, hidden behind false walls and locked doors. These underground spaces offer forbidden spellwork, altered Atrabacca, and a place for those who refuse to let the Spark die. Many are disguised as workshops, apothecaries, or transit depots—safe on the surface, subversive underneath. The following are just a few examples of what your character might encounter in Thesis.
The Opal StarThe Devils in Brimston Bay - The Bishop Family has owned and operated the notorious Opal Star Social Club for two generations. Owned by a Lux named Millie Bishop, she had the dance hall moved to Brimston Bay when she took over the business. The Opal Star was started by her mom, Emma Bishop—who still operates an ice-cream parlor in the original location. The new Opal Star boasts a premier location overlooking the port, and any business flowing in and out of the bay. While official policy is 'No Scintilla on the Premises,' if you know the right people, then you can gain access to their underground speakeasy. And rumor has it there is a doorway to the Veilworks between worlds.
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Castor BrandyScintilla Tonics for Everyday Woes - Thirty years ago Mad Tramell's Tonics claimed they could treat dry skin, thinning hair, relieve muscle pain and was one of a dozen miracle potions of the era that guaranteed satisfaction or your coinage back. When the alchemy factories closed at the start of Prohibition, Mad Tramell quickly found himself with a large amount of stock he couldn't sell and an even larger amount of debt. However, there was an opportunity for a new customers base. He had previously discovered by sheer accident, that his particular formula could be mixed on-site to make an alright tasting brandy that puts a little Atrabacca in your system.
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Line Seventy-NineNow Serving All Regions in Perpetuity - Officially, no trains run through the old Veilworks connection tunnels. Unofficially, the 4:44 still does. No conductor, no posted route—just a half-rusted tram car that howls through forgotten lines at impossible speeds, stopping only for those who know where to stand and what to say. It's used by smugglers, Spark-runners, and anyone desperate enough to trust a machine that shouldn't be running at all. Some say it was the last train scheduled before the war broke out. Others say it never had a schedule to begin with.
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The TremulantsA Sound That Isn’t Supposed to Exist - No one remembers exactly when the Tremulants started playing, only that they show up where the prohibition runs thin and the walls are double thick. The trio—led by a masked Tenebris violinist known only as “Chime”—is infamous for live sets that sync with latent Scintilla energy, causing instruments to shimmer, distort, or resonate with heightened clarity. It’s said that if you hear them perform inside a Veil-space, you’ll remember things you never lived and dream in languages you’ve never learned. They're banned from every licensed venue in Mortua Lux... but they never played those anyway.
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The Veilworks
There is a liminal space that is neither fully Perpetuity nor Eternity, but suspended in the in-between. Woven from the overlapping roots of the Shroudcore Menhir and its Opus counterpart, the Mistwood Monolith, it forms a kind of cosmic latticework between the two worlds. The Veilworks was once used as a transit hub for Mortua Lux and the regional area, but is now sealed—or at least, mostly sealed. Gateways connected to Thesis are called Attic Doors, and those that connect to Opus are Cellar Doors.
Of the five known districts, Ranunculus, Celandine, Hyssop, and Vervain are partially inhabited, each shaped by the war’s aftermath and claimed by rogue scientists, displaced citizens, and magical resistors. The fifth, Nettle, remains unreachable—every attempt to map or enter it has failed, leaving only speculation and rumor in its place.
Of the five known districts, Ranunculus, Celandine, Hyssop, and Vervain are partially inhabited, each shaped by the war’s aftermath and claimed by rogue scientists, displaced citizens, and magical resistors. The fifth, Nettle, remains unreachable—every attempt to map or enter it has failed, leaving only speculation and rumor in its place.
Hyssop - The Guild SeatControlled by: The Marfud Archmagisters
Hyssop was always quiet—an elegant administrative quarter beneath Perpetuity's fallen academic guildhalls. After the Prohibition, it became the shadowy seat of the Veneficus Marfud, a criminal syndicate formed from the remnants of the outlawed magical guilds. At the pinnacle sit the three ruling Archmagisters, anonymous outside Hyssop, each presiding over a specific domain of illicit trade. Beneath them are lesser Archmagisters, responsible for separate branches of Scintilla trafficking, intelligence gathering, and black-market magic. At the street level, local bosses and Spark-runners operate independently, reporting upward in a strict hierarchy. The Marfud keep Hyssop pristine. Narrow alleys glow with controlled Scintilla enchantments that linger from before the Prohibition. Couriers speak in ciphers and codebooks; debts are settled by tribunals held in old lecture halls. Despite their criminality, the Marfud style themselves equally as protectors of lost souls and old traditions. Membership grants education, employment, and community, so long as you don’t question leadership. Ranunculus - The Railside CommonsControlled by: Tiberzio “Buzzy” Bristlehorn
What used to be Civic Terminus 9 is now Bristlehorn territory—cleaned up, fortified, and loud. The old tram station has been transformed into a maze of repurposed hostels, backroom alchemy dens, and underground fighting rings. Buzzy runs it like a neighborhood gym with a criminal backbone. Locals call him “Boss,” but this Incipia is more of a folk hero: he pays debts, funds repairs, and makes sure nobody roughs up his people without consequences. But beneath the charm and bravado lies a volcanic temper. When things go off-schedule, when deals sour, or when loyalty wavers—Buzzy erupts. Walls get punched through. Knees get broken. It’s said he once flipped a tram car because a runner missed curfew. His people fear him, yes—but they also love him enough to try to keep him from lighting the fuse. |
Celandine - The Drowned MarketControlled by: Alonzo & Saida “Sadi” Nighttree
The Drowned Market floats on half-sunk wrecks and the influence of the Nighttree siblings, an old-money Lux family. Alonzo and Sadi keep tight control over the smuggler routes in and out of Celandine, using ship husks as both storefront and storage vault. Every crate of contraband, every black-market deal, and every quiet bribe flows through their hands. Beneath the rusted decks, sealed cargo chambers host black auctions and coded meetings. Locals know to stay on the Nighttrees’ good side—because nothing gets in or out of Celandine without their blessing. Their partnership is strong, but not flawless. Alonzo has developed a worsening Atrabacca dependency, his mind sharpened but fraying around the edges—kept in check only by Sadi’s strategic oversight. Meanwhile, Sadi is notorious for bleeding the coffers dry whenever a new Velocar hits the market—sleek Inanis-powered cruisers prized for their smooth glide and silent engines. He funds her indulgence. She covers his spirals. Together they keep the district afloat. Vervain - The Painted DistrictControlled by: Armida “Snake-Eyes” Lanzetta
Vervain may look like an artist’s dreamscape, but behind the street performers and opal murals is Snake-Eyes’ empire of money laundering and territorial leverage. Armida Lanzetta funds galleries, underground fashion shows, and high-profile salons—all of which double as fronts for financial shadowplay. Her enforcers are polished, posh, and always watching their marks. Vervain’s creatives love her, fear her, and sometimes are her, given her knack for adopting personas as easily as changing gloves. This personal up-close touch lets her sell secrets at a premium. She calls herself a curator of human behavior—but her cruelty is legendary. Behind her manor lies a sculpture garden made of those who crossed her: bodies encased in alchemically hardened concrete, frozen mid-beg or breath. She hosts evening viewings for trusted associates, offering canapés and commentary on posture. To Snake-Eyes, every betrayal is like a work of art, and every lesson should last forever. |
