Preface
Hello,
My name is Azamor, and this book is the result of years of gathering ideas, stories, myths, games, legends, and inspirations into a single universe.
Lotus began as a setting for adventures, but it grew into something greater: a living world with its own cosmology, peoples, conflicts, and mysteries.
This book does not intend to answer every question. On the contrary, its purpose is to present the foundations of this universe and serve as a gateway for those who wish to explore it.
Whether you are a reader, player, game master, or simply a curious traveler, welcome to Lotus.
May you find here something worthy of being remembered.
What is Lotus?
Lotus is a colossal flower-world.
Supported by roots that extend beyond mortal comprehension and organized around Mount Olympus, its central axis, the world unfolds into twelve petals, each illuminated by its own sun and shaped by the cycles of twelve moons.
Mountains, deserts, oceans, forests, and kingdoms flourish beneath different skies, molded by the forces that govern each petal. Countless peoples inhabit these lands, raising empires, cults, cities, and legends in search of their place within creation.
Beyond the heavens lies a vast expanse inhabited by wandering celestial bodies, ancient creatures, and distant civilizations.
This book gathers the foundations of this world: its structure, its peoples, its history, and the phenomena that shape life within Lotus.
"To know Lotus is to understand that a world need not be a sphere to contain infinite horizons."
— Azamor, Structural Compendium of Lotus
The Vision of Germination
I witnessed the world ages before it had a name.
Before maps, before divided skies, before destiny learned to follow lines.
I saw its germination as an impossible flower. A stalk of energy so dark that light itself dared not manifest in its presence rose from nothingness. It was not absence—it was excess. Dense, silent, aware. This darkness was not rejected by creation; it was its first foundation.
That stalk plunged into depths never meant for mortal eyes. There formed what is now known as the Shadow Plane.
At the tip of that stalk, the darkness began to spread and thin, unfolding into a vast shadowed membrane. Thus the bud emerged: firm enough to bear weight, vast enough to contain stories—a world in the shape of a disk.
After the germination, I saw the world learn to sustain itself.
From the center of that disk, where the primordial stalk had become fully condensed, rose Mount Olympus. It was not raised by hands, nor shaped by an external will.
It emerged.
Olympus is axis and anchor. Its foundations touch the roots of the world, and its shadow echoes through the reflected plane below. Yet its summit points toward a place where destiny remains undecided.
From it flow unseen currents—of mana, matter, and intent—that shape winds, rivers, continents, and magical tides.
Everything that falls falls toward it.
Everything that rises measures itself against its height.
Then came the Twelve Suns.
They were not born together, nor were they alike. Each ignited within a different arc of the heavens.
As their newborn light met the shadowed membrane—not in conflict, but in creative tension—the substance of the world solidified.
Thus each sun traced invisible borders across the disk.
Where a sun reigns, the land responds.
Light does not merely warm—it claims.
Climates, biomes, peoples, cultures, and conflicts align themselves with its presence, as though the very ground recognizes its celestial sovereign.
No land exists without a sun to claim it.
And no sun shines without demanding something in return.
Yet light alone cannot sustain a world.
Later, it was revealed to me that each sun required a living axis, something that would anchor its influence to the land and prevent its power from spreading without shape or limit.
And so arose the Trees of Life.
They did not sprout from ordinary soil, nor did they obey the seasons. Each was born at the precise place where the light of one of the Twelve Suns first touched the world.
Their roots burrowed deep through stone, mana, and memory until they reached the currents flowing from Olympus—and deeper still, the shadowed echoes of the primordial stalk.
Their trunks rose like living pillars, reflecting upon the earth what their suns embodied in the heavens.
Where a sun burned with fury, its tree grew wild and untamed.
Where another shone in balance, its tree flourished in harmonious cycles.
Thus each territory gained a heart.
Not merely defined by the light that claimed it, but sustained by a living force that translated that light into the world.
Peoples learned—even without understanding—to live beneath the shadows of these trees, shaped by their sap, their fruits, and their silences.
The Twelve Moons, however, accept no dominion.
They came later, cold and patient, beginning their dance around Olympus.
They do not define—they influence.
Transient and ever-changing, they cross the heavens in cycles that affect tides, magic, dreams, and rituals.
Each moon observes the world from a different angle, and none remains long enough to become a tyrant.
When they align, destiny bends.
When they vanish, secrets flourish.
Whenever they pass above a Tree of Life, something within it changes: a branch withers, another blossoms, a prophecy takes root.
Many ages did not begin with wars or coronations, but with the unexpected blooming of a branch beneath a wandering moon.
Thus it was shown to me:
A world anchored by a central axis, divided by the constant light of the suns, sustained by living roots, and transformed by the uncertain steps of the moons.
Stable enough to exist.
Unstable enough to never cease changing.
I was not made to judge this world.
I was made to witness it.
And what I witnessed...
is still unfolding.
— The Diviner,
Archivist of what was, what is, and what almost was.
Mount Olympus — The Living Axis of the World
At the center of Lotus rises Mount Olympus.
It is not merely a mountain, but the axis of existence, the pillar that sustains heavens, planes, and destiny.
Its colossal form pierces the clouds, wounds the firmament, and nearly touches the stars, reaching the threshold of the Void, beyond the skies and above the heavens, where reality dissolves and only the absolute remains.
It is said that the world does not revolve around Olympus—
Olympus is what keeps the world whole.
A Living Biome
Mount Olympus lives.
Its slopes, valleys, caverns, and plateaus form unique biomes—mutable and hostile—where entire peoples are born, flourish, and vanish without ever reaching half its height.
Forests grow upon veins of divine power. Suspended seas evaporate and return. Creatures emerge from living stone, and entire civilizations are erased when the Mountain decides to change.
To mortals, Olympus is not a climb—it is divine natural selection.
Very few survive long enough to realize they are walking upon the body of something conscious.
The Field of Suppression
From the summit emanates an invisible field, a silent presence that suffocates ordinary magic.
The higher one ascends, the more mortal spells fail, rituals unravel, and arcane power falls silent.
Only gods and beings of divine essence cast freely beneath its influence.
Near the peak, non-divine magic ceases to exist entirely—not through denial, but through irrelevance.
There, only the will of the gods shapes reality.
The Hall of Omnipotence
At the highest point of the Mountain, where the world nearly touches the Void, stands the Hall of Omnipotence.
It is there that the most powerful gods gather—a restricted circle, traditionally thirteen—not because they are the strongest, but because they alone can endure such proximity to the Absolute.
Within the Hall, the fate of individuals is not decided.
The course of ages is.
Divine wars are permitted or prevented. Peoples are elevated or condemned. Cosmic laws are adjusted, always at the cost of faith, essence, and sacrifice.
The Silent Judgment
Mount Olympus protects no one.
It watches.
With every step of the ascent, it tests body, mind, faith, and essence.
Most fail.
Many are consumed.
A rare few are transformed.
For Olympus does not prevent ascension—it merely ensures that only those worthy may approach its summit.
And even then, no being can claim that the Mountain allowed their passage out of benevolence.
The Final Truth
Some gods whisper that Mount Olympus is the last physical remnant of the Fall of Destiny.
Others claim it is a wound in the universe that never healed.
Yet all agree on one thing:
As long as Olympus endures, no god is absolute, no magic is sovereign, and the world shall never stand beyond judgment.
— Unanimous Account Source: Residents of the Base of Olympus
The Flower-world
Is This Your First Time Here?
Do not be afraid. Lower your weapons and do not let my appearance deceive you...
I know my kin are not known for the finest of reputations, but I am not aggressive without reason.
Just do not touch my food. I do not share it. And you certainly would not enjoy seeing me hungry.
Before you continue, I suggest you look.
Take in the unique view this place offers.
We stand so high that we can see more than one sun, more than one Tree of Life, and more than one moon at the same time.
From here we witness countless sunrises and sunsets, noons and midnights, springs and winters coexisting before our eyes.
Beautiful, isn't it?
I love walking around the mountain. Seeing all the petals, all the suns, all the lives.
It is from up here that certain truths become clear.
Why people change.
Why kings fight over territories.
Why we grow.
And why we die.
Territories do not belong only to living beings.
Look at the suns.
None of them trespasses upon another's domain.
The light of one never touches the land destined for another.
It is from the reach of these lights that we conceive the Petals of Lotus.
And despite being so powerful and magnificent, the suns do not exist alone.
Throughout each year, twelve moons cross their paths, meeting their light in countless ways. Some favor intense warmth; others prefer gentler radiance. Every encounter leaves a different mark upon the world.
The moons move the seas.
They carry energies.
They influence plants, animals, and peoples.
And in answer to the moons, rising in all their grandeur, stand the Trees of Life.
One in each petal.
They sustain the health of their lands, distribute lunar energies, and keep the suns steadfast upon their paths.
Yes... it is the sun that circles the tree.
Throughout the day, it follows its orbit to illuminate every part of its domain, always leaving at least one side bathed in light.
So then, adventurers...
Continue your journey.
You have not yet reached even halfway up Mount Olympus.
If you seek the gods, there is still much left to climb.
I wish you good fortune.
This will be the last time we see one another.
Whether you achieve your goal or fail along the way matters little.
If you descend this mountain...
you will be different people from those who arrived.
— Orcus the Hermit, Solitary Dweller of Mount Olympus
Eurona, the Petal of the Yellow Sun
The Enchanted Land
Once upon a time, beyond the western seas...
After you have sailed, become lost, given up, and found the courage to keep going just a little farther,
they say there lies an enchanted land.
A land bathed beneath a living sun, its light bright and golden, so radiant that even the shadows seem less frightening.
There, they say, hope is real. That courage rarely abandons an honest heart. That light always finds a way, even when night arrives.
The hills remain green through nearly every season, the fields bloom with little effort, and forests as ancient as the oldest tales stretch as far as the eye can see.
Their trees hide ancient spirits, curious fairies, slumbering ents, and creatures that smile before vanishing among the leaves.
The rivers run clear, the winds carry the fragrance of flowers, and even the animals know the proper hour to awaken and the peaceful hour to return to their nests.
There, the seasons seem to have learned good manners.
In spring, flowers and fairies awaken together.
In summer, gentle rains visit the land by day, and when the sunlight passes through every drop, the sky fills with bridges of color.
In autumn, the leaves dress the world in gold and amber, while princes, knights, and adventurers set forth in search of glory.
In winter, the cold arrives gently. Snow falls only where it wishes to rest, as though afraid of harming the flowers.
They say its roads are never empty.
Along them walk merchants, pilgrims, crusaders, explorers, spellcasters, and heroes in search of monsters, treasures, or simply a good story to tell.
Eurona is the name of this enchanted land.
And the strangest thing of all...
...is that, when night falls, no one fears they will never see the dawn again.
Because in that land, the nights are meant for dreaming.
Not for dying.
— A Fairy Tale from Trasvena
Court and Commons
After visiting so many kingdoms, one thing has never ceased to surprise me.
It is remarkable how societies so different from one another always seem to repeat the same pattern: a noble court above, and the "common rabble" below, as the people themselves often say.
For many years I believed this to be nothing more than a human inheritance. After all, we are the most numerous people in Eurona, and we are inclined to believe that whatever we find in the world must have begun with us. I no longer think so. I still believe we inherited this tendency from our ancestors, but I have also learned that we were hardly the only ones.
Among the Abluceat Elves, for instance, this division is almost poetic. The nobility dwells high among the treetops, surrounded by libraries, observatories, and academies of magic. Below them, beside the roots, lie the districts of those who labor with their hands, tending the fields and maintaining all that beauty. While some devote themselves to the mysteries of the Prismatic Light, others uphold their civilization through honest work.
A small note: I was never able to uncover anything truly reliable about the exceedingly rare Prismatic Elves. Even the Abluceat speak of them almost as legends. Everything suggests they dwell in even more secluded communities, where only the greatest of mages are welcomed.
The dwarves follow much the same pattern beneath their mountains. The grand halls belong to forge-kings and master smiths, while countless miners spend their entire lives in the deepest tunnels, extracting the metals that uphold their rulers' prestige. Even among the halflings I found a similar arrangement: prosperous merchants grow wealthy through caravans and marketplaces, while the camp halflings live by cultivating the land and surrendering a heavy share of their harvests.
My greatest surprise, however, came from the orcs.
I had always imagined that nomadic tribes, living as one great family, shared their resources equally.
I was completely mistaken.
The finest tents belong to the warriors and the shamans. The slaves—and those orcs whose appearance is considered more "docile"—are left with the poorest shelters, or no shelter at all, burdened with the least honorable tasks. To my astonishment, I discovered that even a people who despise castles are perfectly capable of building a court of their own.
The great multicultural cities are no exception to this pattern. They welcome those who have abandoned their former homes—adventurers, merchants, refugees, artisans, and the dissatisfied from every people. I had expected that such diversity would naturally give rise to more participatory forms of government.
The opposite proved true.
Nearly all are ruled by absolute authorities or by small councils formed from the most influential families, whose positions, curiously enough, tend to remain hereditary. It seems that wherever many compete for influence, only a few ultimately govern.
My conclusions may disappoint the dreamers.
The farther I traveled, the less I believed in the existence of a truly equal society. Everywhere I found those who wished to command and those who preferred to be commanded. The nobility rarely sees the outskirts as anything more than a tool, despite depending upon them for its own survival. The common folk, in turn, often appear more interested in finding someone to blame than in seeking genuine solutions.
Perhaps I am wrong.
Perhaps somewhere in this world there exists a city that has escaped this cycle.
If such a place exists, I must confess that I have never found it.
— From the journals of Leonard Von Doril, Grand Duke, Bard, Enchanter, Adventurer, Hermit, Royal Counselor, Chosen of Hemes, God of Messengers, Speed, and Journeys, and humble student of people.