Tikar, the Sorcerer Kingdoms

The Empire at the Edge of the Abyss

The Tikarians were never content with merely ruling the mortal world. Their ambition, their hunger, has always driven them to seek dominion over forces beyond flesh and stone. Before the Iitanish conquest, before the great burning of their temples, they sought more than simple power; they sought divinity.   The sorcerer-kings of old were not merely wielders of magic, but bargainers with the dark, signing their names in blood upon contracts older than the stars. They reached into the abyss, into realms where the laws of man and nature held no sway. They whispered their desires to the things that dwelled in the places between, offering flesh and souls in exchange for knowledge.   They did not fear damnation. They sought to transcend it.   It was the Tikarians who first opened the Gates of Turmoil, it was they who shattered the balance between realms. Their greatest sorcerers did not wish for power alone—they wished to become gods. The old rites, the bloodied ascensions, the vast and terrible rituals that consumed entire cities in flame and shadow; these were but the first steps toward apotheosis.   And they nearly succeeded.  

The Turmoil

The world remembers the Turmoil as a time of madness, a cataclysm so vast and unfathomable that even the strongest kingdoms trembled. It was a time when the skies burned black with unnatural fire, when shadows moved with a will of their own, when the very land rebelled against its inhabitants.   It was in the temple-city of Mitchuani, the Eye—so named because it was the place where the Tikarians first opened their gaze to the beyond—that the ritual was conducted. The greatest sorcerer-lords, their flesh marked with the ink of ancient sigils, gathered upon the heights of the obsidian ziggurats. They carved the final incantations into the bones of the living, their voices echoing across the jungle like the howls of starving beasts.   And the world split.   For a brief, terrible moment, the boundaries between the mortal plane and the abyssal realms dissolved. The sky became a wound. The rivers turned to blood. The air itself howled with voices not meant for human ears. The Tikarians stood on the precipice of ascension until the abyss answered in full.   The sorcerer-lords were devoured. Not merely slain, not merely unmade, but ripped from existence in ways the world has never fully understood. The city of Mitchuani was left in ruin, shrouded in an eternal mist, its streets echoing with whispers of those who had vanished.   And the world reeled.   Empires fell. Continents crumbled. The Turmoil left scars upon the land that have never truly healed. The Tikarians broke the world in their quest for godhood. And for their hubris, they were conquered.   The Iitanish Empire came soon after, clad in steel, wielding the purity of fire and order. They saw guilt in Tikar without ever knowing how true it was. All that really mattered was that they bring the sorcerers of the jungles to heal. Their empire rose upon the bones of Tikar, burying its forbidden past beneath laws and chains.   But nothing stays buried forever.  

The Return of the Old Ways

A millennium passed under the Empire of Itania, and the Tikarians waited. They learned their masters’ ways, worming their way into positions of power, sharpening the old sorceries in secret places. When the time came, they struck, and with their victory, the chains of the past were broken.   But the Tikarians had not forgotten what they once reached for.   The empire now stands on the precipice of its old ambition. The Crimson Serpent, ruler of the Tikarian dominion, is said to have made a new pact, one darker than any that came before. The sorcerer cults once again whisper to the things beyond, offering tribute in ways that make even the hardiest warriors shudder.   The old ambition stirs once more.   The dream of ascension has never died.   And should the Tikarians succeed this time—should they reclaim what was stolen—then the world will tremble not before an empire… but before gods.  

A Society of Blood and Shadow

The Tikarian Empire is not merely a kingdom of warriors and sorcerers—it is a machine of domination, built upon fear and unwavering control. Their society is rigid, divided between those who wield power and those who exist only to feed it.  

The Sorcerer Cults

At the pinnacle of society stand the Sorcerer Cults, the ruling elite who command the empire through magic, political cunning, and ruthless brutality. Each cult is devoted to a different aspect of the old dark gods—some seek knowledge, others power, and some pursue the secrets of ascension.   Sorcery is the highest art, and those born with the gift are taken from their families at an early age, trained in the ways of sacrifice and summoning. The strong thrive. The weak become fuel.  

The Warrior Orders

Below the sorcerers stand the warrior orders, brutal and disciplined legions who enforce the will of the empire. Clad in black lacquered armor, wielding enchanted obsidian blades, they are trained from childhood to kill without hesitation.   Each warrior is sworn to a patron god, and in battle, they call upon their divine favor. Some are said to fight as if possessed, striking with unnatural speed and strength. Others bear the marks of demonic blessing, their bodies twisted into something beyond human.  

The Liir’ellar: A People in Chains

The Liir’ellar remain the empire’s greatest resource and its most tragic victims. Their plight has only worsened since the return of Tikarian rule. They are no longer mere laborers—they are sacrificial stock.   Their longevity makes them perfect vessels for dark experiments, and it is said that in the deepest chambers of Tikopolis, the sorcerer-kings seek to bind the essence of the abyss into living ellar flesh.   Few Liir’ellar live past their second century.   Fewer still live free.  

The Rule of the Sorcerer Cults

The Crimson Serpent, an immortal entity or perhaps merely a man who has devoured too many souls to remain mortal, reigns from the great temple-pyramid of Tikopolis. His word is law, and his gaze is death. Below him, the cults vie for power in a web of deception, treachery, and dark sorcery.   Each cult worships a different aspect of Tikarian faith:   The Cult of the Crimson Maw – Blood-drinkers, flesh-eaters, and war priests. They oversee sacrifice and maintain the sacred obsidian blades that have drunk the lifeblood of thousands.   The Cult of the Serpent’s Coil – Spies, assassins, and wielders of shadow magic. Their sorcerers weave illusions so potent they can twist the fabric of a man’s mind until he can no longer recall the sound of his own name.   The Cult of the Drowned King – Priests who speak to the ancient things that lurk beneath the waves. The drowned gods answer in dreams and visions, whispering secrets in the gurgling tongues of the abyss.   There are others, but none dare name them in the open.  

The Cities of Tikaria

Though the jungle ever seeks to reclaim them, the cities of Tikaria endure.   Tikopolis – The beating heart of the empire, a sprawl of obsidian temples and towering ziggurats. Here, the Crimson Serpent rules from his Throne of Coiled Stone, surrounded by the ever-burning braziers of sacrifice. The streets are lined with golden idols, their eyes hollow, as if watching all who pass.   Mitchuani (The Eye) – A city built upon an ancient ruin, its foundations older than the Iitanish Empire itself. The elders say the first sorcerer-king awoke here, speaking the words of the gods in a tongue not meant for men. Those who seek forbidden knowledge come here, though few return unchanged.   Procul Vigilia – Once the crown jewel of the Iitanish Empire, now a city of slaves, thieves, and merchants willing to brave the dangers of Tikaria for the promise of gold and power. The pink coral walls stand as a testament to past glories, now cracked and scorched by the hands of their former captives.  

Holidays of Blood and Power

The Tikarian calendar is marked by grand rites of sacrifice, times when the empire reaffirms its dominion through ritual and spectacle.  

• The Reaping of the Fallen Moon – Held once every thirteen years when the great lunar eclipse shrouds the world in darkness. The priests say it is the time when the gods descend to walk among men. Thousands of captives are sacrificed in a single night, their hearts burned in golden braziers to light the path for the dead. The strongest warriors of the realm fight duels atop the temple steps, their bodies thrown into the sea to appease the Drowned King.

 

• The Day of the Bleeding Sun – A yearly rite marking the rebellion against the Iitanish Empire. A great flame is lit atop the ruins of Procul Vigilia, and prisoners of war are dragged in chains to be sacrificed to the Crimson Maw. Those who show bravery in the face of death are granted the honor of reincarnation or so the priests claim.

 

• The Night of the Waning Fire – A festival of forbidden sorcery, where the boundaries between worlds grow thin. Sorcerers perform grand rituals, summoning shadows from the past to offer wisdom or warnings. It is said that on this night, the dead walk among the living, and those who listen too closely to their whispers rarely wake again.