The Campaign Builder's Guild

[Please, do not post in this thread]


 In 1818, a young Swiss scientist by the name of Victor Frankenstein did the unthinkable: by applying a powerful electric current to a body he had assembled piecemeal from stolen corpses, he actually succeeded in artificially creating life. In the basement of that secluded laboratory, the creature rose off the cold stone slab, tore the wires from its flesh, and stood fully-conscious before its creator. A man weaker is his convictions would have been horrified by what he saw and fled for his life, but Victor was driven, intoxicated by the power that lay at his fingertips. He taught and educated his creation, who fittingly named Adam, and it was only a matter of weeks before the creature became his new assistant. Over the next five years, the two of them continued their experiments in revivification and galvanism, pushing the boundaries of what they could reanimate: everything from individual limbs and organs to hulking constructs that were the product of multiple corpses grafted together. The scientist even created a bride for Adam, rightly named Eve, who was created from only the most beautiful and well-preserved parts. In future decades, the undead couple would become the public face for what Victor Frankenstein himself gave the poetic name of 'Promethean technology'.

When he finally released his findings at a scientific convention in Zürich in 1823, he shocked the assembled crowds; it was said that even the aging Count Alessandro Volta himself was in awe of what the young man created. A firestorm of discussion and controversy erupted across Europe, with the practical and scientific applications as well as the philosophical and moral ramifications of these new 'Prometheans' the center of debate and the subject of choice in salons from Paris to Vienna. No one could deny, however, the usefulness of the technology; it was not long before the governments of every nation in Europe was offering Frankenstein enormous sums of money for the secrets of his process and tasking the finest scientific minds with developing Prometheans of their own. Singlehandedly, a once-unknown chemist from Geneva and his undead assistant had ushered in a new era that would soon threaten to consume the continent: countless terms were coins for it, but the most enduring sobriquet was the Thanatonic Revolution.

Other brilliant minds followed, as unfettered by the constrains of ethics and convention as Frankenstein had been. To them, the future of science and industry lay not with the living, but with the dead. Having already mastered the art of manipulating the now-ubiquitous medium of corpseflesh, the scientists and philosophers turned their attention to exploring and harnessing the dead in less-corporeal forms; that is, ghosts, spectres, and the like. Their work blurred the boundaries between the scientific and the metaphysical even more than Frankenstein's had, a frantic search for not only how to attract deceased souls from whatever realm they inhabited but how to give them some manner of substance in the physical world. A breakthrough was finally reached by a group of scientists working in Paris who succeeded in summoning the spirit of one of their number; he had bravely ingested a lethal dose of cyanide in order to provide the experiment with a subject instantly recognizable by his fellows.

Perhaps the most radical and polarizing discovery since Frankenstein's original work and the invention of Prometheans themselves was made by the young German philosopher and scientist Heinricherson Faust. By combining modern scientific process and traditional occultism to an unprecedented degree, he did something beyond unthinkable: he not only evoked a demonic entity from the depths of Hell itself, he successfully bound it within a sigil-etched flask filled with the inert, gaseous substance aether. Many immediately renounced Faust's work as unethical, even outright evil, and there was not a single religious institution that did not universally renounce him as insane at best and a heretic at worst. Along with other like-minded occultists, he persisted, summoning and trapping more demons over the course of several months. In his notes, he divided them into two categories: the Demons of Motion, who could physically interact with their surroundings, and the Demons of Ideation, who projected thoughts and ideas and could even possess mortal if not properly restrained. It was only when Faust demonstrated the superiority of a revolver that had a demon bound within it, which could fire at blinding speeds and never ran out of ammunition so long as it was greased with fat of a newborn lamb, to a group of Prussian generals that his work enjoyed the same manner of widespread, albeit tentative, support that Frankenstein and his other successors enjoyed.

In the wake of the Thanatonic Revolution, some changes came unbidden to Europe, revealing themselves of their own accord. The most infamous of these came from the far southeastern corner of the Austrian Empire, from the previously-unknown region of Transylvania. The local prince that ruled there, known to his subjects as Count Dracula, had long been seen as a sinister, suspicious figure, attracting much negative attention when he travelled abroad. This reputation, as it turns out, was well-deserved, for while visiting Queen Victoria with his family, he revealed himself to be what many had quietly suspected him of being: a vampire, an ancient and incredibly-powerful one. Taking the cue from their de-facto spokesman, vampiric communities across the continent cast off their disguises and stepped into the light, metaphorically-speaking. There was a massive outcry in most countries and vampires throughout Europe were the targets of countless witch-hunts and mob attacks. Many of their number held positions of great influence in Europe's political, academic, and religious institutions, and it was not long before they had permanently cemented themselves in public society. In countries with democratic governments, pro-vampire bills and measures were swiftly voted in; in countries without, resistance was more likely to be crushed by military means. The greatest example of this undead dominance of government was is the Russian Empire, where the Tsar of All Russias and his entire family voluntarily became vampires themselves, much to the dismay of their subjects.

Going hand-in-hand with the revelation of the existence of vampires was that of the werewolves and other such beasts that also prowled Europe's moonlight countrysides. Lacking the widespread organization of the bloodsucking kin, the process was a far more gradual one; many simply saw the increased acceptance of the otherwise-nightmarish Thanatonic Revolution as a sign that they could show themselves more openly. Reactions were mixed; more often than not, fearful mobs attacked the theiranthropes, to use the technical term, only to be torn to shreds themselves. Of all the nations in Europe, England and Prussia were the most accepting of the creatures, but for very different reasons. The English believed themselves to be highly egalitarian and viewed the acceptance of werebeasts in much the same way as the abolition of slavery. The Prussian Empire, the so called 'army with a country', was not nearly as idealistic: creatures who could rip enemies apart with their bare hands, run as fast as a galloping dragoon, and absorb a full volley of musket balls without pausing to wince simply made too perfect of soldiers to persecute, though their normally-unflappable comrades did tend to give them an extremely wide berth.

Quote from: SteerpikeSome people make two threads, one for comments, one for the actual setting itself.

Once I've got a bit more of it finished, I think I'll do just that...

It might be a good idea to just have this thread deleted so that I can start over a leave myself a little more room...who do I speak to about doing that?

Might anyone have ideas about which countries I should feature? I'm definitely including the major players of Austria, France, Great Britain, Prussia, and Russia, but I think that it might be a good idea to also feature some of the smaller countries as well.

I seem to be at a loss for what to call the scientists who invented spirit-manipulation. They don't have to be French, but I can't find any Gothic characters who quite fit the bill in the same that that Frankenstein or Faust do.

Also, any ideas on other miscellaneous Gothic characters to include? I'm perfectly fine with tweaking chronology to squeeze them into the 1840 setting. It might be a good idea to add some cameos by the likes of Doctor Jekyll, Dorian Gray, or Melmoth the Wandering Jew. Perhaps even famous authors themselves?

[Far more to follow, do not worry. Is there a way to squeeze in two extra posts under this one?]


Perhaps the most important scientific breakthrough of the modern age, Victor Frankenstein's poetically-named 'Promethean Process', a process by which life and consciousness might by restored to an unloving corpse via the application of a powerful electrical current, is now ubiquitous across all of Europe. The product of the young man's unhealthy fascination with the then-experimental science of galvanism and a desire to bring back those who have already passed away, an urge no doubt motivated by his own mother's tragic death from scarlet fever. It took years of fruitless experimentation and countless failures before he finally managed to successfully reanimate a construct of his own making; Adam, his Creature. It would be another five years of research and testing, the cost of which was measured not only in capital borrowed but in corpses exhumed and flesh stolen, before Frankenstein and his assistant finally perfected the science, revealing it to the awestruck scientific community at a conference in Zurich, Switzerland.

As any modern man with a little education or a head for the technical can explain, the Promethean Process is a deceptively simple one, one which narrows in divide between hard science and alchemical superstition. First, a body, human or otherwise, must be prepared for revification; any sort of corpse will do, so long as the brain in reasonably-intact and the flesh has not putrefied to the point that it is unable to support animation. Because of all of these variables, most of the bodies used in reanimation are assembled from parts taken from several different sources, each limb and organ selected so that it best suits the creature's intended purpose. The quality of assembly varies greatly, depending on the region and individual creator: the corpse-soldiers that spew out of the smoke-belching factories of Prussia are rugged and practical, far less elegant and more noticeably deformed than those lovingly-crafted by Italian fleshsmiths, legendary for their nigh-invisible stitching and lifelike complexions.

Once a body has been properly prepared, the true magic of the Promethean Process can take place. Firstly, a substance refined from amniotic fluids in injected into the veins, which will make sure the life-giving energies are properly conducted.  The subject is typically strapped securely to a bed or slab, lest it harm itself or its creators with the violent spasms of its 'birth', and copper wires are inserted into its flesh. Finally, once the would-be reanimators are confident in their ability to witness the undoubtedly-frightful process and remain sane, the switch is thrown and a powerful current of electrical energy courses through the creature's body, forcing life into the once-dead muscles, returning consciousness to the once-inert brain. Most often, success is heralded by screams or howls and much violent thrashing from the Promethean, much as an newborn infant greets its mother with a wail; more than one scientist has accidentally terminated an otherwise-viable subject out of fear, believing himself to have created a bestial monster. Once the current has been shut off and the creature given time to acclimate, however, most do eventually calm themselves.

[Reserved for Summary of Modern Nations of Europe]

In 1818, a young Swiss scientist by the name of Victor Frankenstein did the unthinkable: by applying a powerful electric current to a body he had assembled piecemeal from stolen corpses, he actually succeeded in artificially creating life. In the basement of that secluded laboratory, the creature rose off the cold stone slab, tore the wires from its flesh, and stood fully-conscious before its creator. A man weaker is his convictions would have been horrified by what he saw and fled for his life, but Victor was driven, intoxicated by the power that lay at his fingertips. He taught and educated his creation, who fittingly named Adam, and it was only a matter of weeks before the creature became his new assistant. Over the next five years, the two of them continued their experiments in revivification and galvanism, pushing the boundaries of what they could reanimate: everything from individual limbs and organs to hulking constructs that were the product of multiple corpses grafted together. The scientist even created a bride for Adam, rightly named Eve, who was created from only the most beautiful and well-preserved parts. In future decades, the undead couple would become the public face for what Victor Frankenstein himself gave the poetic name of 'Promethean technology'.

When he finally released his findings at a scientific convention in Zürich in 1823, he shocked the assembled crowds; it was said that even the aging Count Alessandro Volta himself was in awe of what the young man created. A firestorm of discussion and controversy erupted across Europe, with the practical and scientific applications as well as the philosophical and moral ramifications of these new 'Prometheans' the center of debate and the subject of choice in salons from Paris to Vienna. No one could deny, however, the usefulness of the technology; it was not long before the governments of every nation in Europe was offering Frankenstein enormous sums of money for the secrets of his process and tasking the finest scientific minds with developing Prometheans of their own. Singlehandedly, a once-unknown chemist from Geneva and his undead assistant had ushered in a new era that would soon threaten to consume the continent: countless terms were coins for it, but the most enduring sobriquet was the Thanatonic Revolution.

Other brilliant minds followed, as unfettered by the constrains of ethics and convention as Frankenstein had been. To them, the future of science and industry lay not with the living, but with the dead. Having already mastered the art of manipulating the now-ubiquitous medium of corpseflesh, the scientists and philosophers turned their attention to exploring and harnessing the dead in less-corporeal forms; that is, ghosts, spectres, and the like. Their work blurred the boundaries between the scientific and the metaphysical even more than Frankenstein's had, a frantic search for not only how to attract deceased souls from whatever realm they inhabited but how to give them some manner of substance in the physical world. A breakthrough was finally reached by a group of scientists working in Paris who succeeded in summoning the spirit of one of their number; he had bravely ingested a lethal dose of cyanide in order to provide the experiment with a subject instantly recognizable by his fellows.

Perhaps the most radical and polarizing discovery since Frankenstein's original work and the invention of Prometheans themselves was made by the young German philosopher and scientist Heinricherson Faust. By combining modern scientific process and traditional occultism to an unprecedented degree, he did something beyond unthinkable: he not only evoked a demonic entity from the depths of Hell itself, he successfully bound it within a sigil-etched flask filled with the inert, gaseous substance aether. Many immediately renounced Faust's work as unethical, even outright evil, and there was not a single religious institution that did not universally renounce him as insane at best and a heretic at worst. Along with other like-minded occultists, he persisted, summoning and trapping more demons over the course of several months. In his notes, he divided them into two categories: the Demons of Motion, who could physically interact with their surroundings, and the Demons of Ideation, who projected thoughts and ideas and could even possess mortal if not properly restrained. It was only when Faust demonstrated the superiority of a revolver that had a demon bound within it, which could fire at blinding speeds and never ran out of ammunition so long as it was greased with fat of a newborn lamb, to a group of Prussian generals that his work enjoyed the same manner of widespread, albeit tentative, support that Frankenstein and his other successors enjoyed.

In the wake of the Thanatonic Revolution, some changes came unbidden to Europe, revealing themselves of their own accord. The most infamous of these came from the far southeastern corner of the Austrian Empire, from the previously-unknown region of Transylvania. The local prince that ruled there, known to his subjects as Count Dracula, had long been seen as a sinister, suspicious figure, attracting much negative attention when he travelled abroad. This reputation, as it turns out, was well-deserved, for while visiting Queen Victoria with his family, he revealed himself to be what many had quietly suspected him of being: a vampire, an ancient and incredibly-powerful one. Taking the cue from their de-facto spokesman, vampiric communities across the continent cast off their disguises and stepped into the light, metaphorically-speaking. There was a massive outcry in most countries and vampires throughout Europe were the targets of countless witch-hunts and mob attacks. Many of their number held positions of great influence in Europe's political, academic, and religious institutions, and it was not long before they had permanently cemented themselves in public society. In countries with democratic governments, pro-vampire bills and measures were swiftly voted in; in countries without, resistance was more likely to be crushed by military means. The greatest example of this undead dominance of government was is the Russian Empire, where the Tsar of All Russias and his entire family voluntarily became vampires themselves, much to the dismay of their subjects.

Going hand-in-hand with the revelation of the existence of vampires was that of the werewolves and other such beasts that also prowled Europe's moonlight countrysides. Lacking the widespread organization of the bloodsucking kin, the process was a far more gradual one; many simply saw the increased acceptance of the otherwise-nightmarish Thanatonic Revolution as a sign that they could show themselves more openly. Reactions were mixed; more often than not, fearful mobs attacked the theiranthropes, to use the technical term, only to be torn to shreds themselves. Of all the nations in Europe, England and Prussia were the most accepting of the creatures, but for very different reasons. The English believed themselves to be highly egalitarian and viewed the acceptance of werebeasts in much the same way as the abolition of slavery. The Prussian Empire, the so called 'army with a country', was not nearly as idealistic: creatures who could rip enemies apart with their bare hands, run as fast as a galloping dragoon, and absorb a full volley of musket balls without pausing to wince simply made too perfect of soldiers to persecute, though their normally-unflappable comrades did tend to give them an extremely wide berth.

Quote from: SteerpikeAre you planning on keeping the political landscape roughly similar, or has the advent of necromancy changed things?

The politics of Europe have not changed too dramatically, though things have become far more fractious, with individual states claiming greater sovereignty, especially in the area of the Germanies and Eastern Europe.

Quote from: SteerpikeAre there Luddites who object to the dead stealing the jobs of the living?

Of course, though I've yet to come up with a better term for them.

Quote from: SteerpikeHow are the Prometheans treated, in general - slaves?  Second-class citizens?  Full citizens?  Glorified machines?  Do some have suffrage in the parliamentary countries?

The most mindless of Prometheans are treated as little more than automata in any country. Those that possess greater reason and intellect, however, may be given second-class citizenship; in extremely-liberal countries like the Netherlands and Sweden, they may be considered full-citizens and represented as such.

Also, I am considering including even more supernatural elements, such as a pseudoscientific approach to dealing with and harnessing the power of demons, as you had suggested before.

While thinking over my other nascent settings, another popped into my head, one which I'm interested in pursuing as well. While the influence of Steerpike's own Cadaverous Earth setting is very apparent, I'm hoping that I can distance this setting from it. And I promise, I'll get to your questions about Frankenstein's Legions as well.

Boschian Earth is a world that has begun to come apart at the seams, suffering the effects and aftershocks of the apocalyptic Tear. Gods have died, their bodies petrifying and splitting in the heavens before falling to earth; chunks of fossilized flesh and bone the size of cities crashing to the ground and causing widespread devastation, killing millions and shattering the landscape. Stars followed, the ruins of civilization burning in cosmic funeral pyres. Our own Sun survived, but even it was dimmed, swollen, and bloated. The moon was shattered, the fragments scattered across the now-black sky, hanging ominously above the earth. To those who survived the cataclysm, it seemed as though the universe itself was dying. Like a tapestry pulled from all four corners, everything had begun to unravel; small holes and tears appearing in the fabric, even though the cloth remained more or less whole.

Despite the destruction wrought by the Tear, the Godfall and the Starfires, there were many who survived, though not all could be described as human. Many were twisted, warped and altered in mind and body. Some underwent such changes suddenly, unseen forces reshaping them where they stood. Others were simply born different, their mutations seemingly random. And there were some whose existence had no explanation, for they were so far removed from humanity that they could only have been created after the Tear.

There are the Mostly-Humans, their changes relatively subtle, like an extra pair of eyes or acid-dripping tongue. There are the Undead, everything from half-decaying shamblers to insubstantial spectres to clattering, fleshless skeletons. Verminkind and Insectfolk appear to be hybrids between humanity and lower creatures, their twisted bodies sporting all manner of bestial features. And then there are the Inhumans, beings so altered by strange energies that they are utterly alien, even metaphysical.

Life is neither easy nor forgiving, for violence is the currency with which one purchases most essentials. Those who do not dwell within the great cities that have sprung up since the Tear live as scavengers, picking over the corpse of fallen civilizations. Cannibalism, both literal and figurative, is the norm; a defeated captive too valuable to serve as food can look forward to becoming a slave. In the lawless territory that exists beyond the cities' borders, the family is the highest form of government. These packs are tight-knit, members loyal only to each other and only welcoming of outsiders when in need of fresh blood, so to speak. At best, encounters between them are tense; more often than not, they are violent clashes, the victors picking over the bodies of the defeated.

There is magic in the world, though it is a dangerous and unpredictable force that often takes a heavy toll on those who seeks to harness its power. Technology too exists, relics of a mostly-forgotten era, though somewhat-mutable laws of reality mean that it frequently behaves like less like proper science and more like magic itself; a car might run as well on blood as it does on gasoline. Much of what has survived is ramshackle and heavily-altered, constantly being repaired and upgraded with scavenged parts.

There's more to it in my head, but at the moment, my train of thought is beginning to derail itself and I think it best to end my ramblings before I fall too off-course.

Quote from: SteerpikeInteresting.  So where does the Papacy stand on the whole Necroindustrial Revolution?  Are European Catholics up in arms, or are some reconciled to the new tech?

The Papacy itself opposes the technology and certainly there are a good number of Catholics who try to avoid having anything to do with it, but as a whole it is too ubiquitous and useful for predominantly-Catholic coutries like France and Austria to completely ignore.

Quote from: SteerpikeHow occult are you envisioning the Frankenstien's Legion setting?  Can I summon a demon with a blood-powered difference engine, or is it strictly psuedo-scientific?  On a related note, are other literary characters other than Frankenstein abroad in the universe (Dracula, Jekyll/Hyde, Dorian Gray?)?

The technology purely pseudo-scientific, though it has its roots in occult and alchemical lore and there are elements of it that do not fit rational science, like the so-called "spark of life". And yes on Dracula, who's living it up as an Austrian noble. I'm still uncertain about the rest of them, however. Introducing Dr. Jekyll is certainly tempting, especially as another father of the Necroindustrial Revolution.

Quote from: SteerpikeIf you weren't combining the two, how do you envision the New World in Frankenstein's Legions?

Pretty much behind the times, actually. America was still pretty young at the time and not on good terms with many of the Old World powers, so they're not exactly privy to the new technological developments. Also remember, religion was generally a much bigger deal across the Atlantic than in Europe and leaders had much more sway in the community, and no self-respecting methodist or baptist minister ould allow things like reanimated corpses walking around in his parish.

Quote from: SteerpikeThe first two might be combined fairly easily, I think.  They're both quite interesting, and remind me vaguely of Unhallowed Metropolis and Deadlands, though they're certainly different enough to still be original.

I definately see how they could be, but with Frankenstein's Legions, I'm going for more of a twisted steampunk-meets-biopunk with a heavy-handed dose of gothic atmosphere, with only a little actual fantasy. Uncivil War, on the other hand, is basically a dumping-ground for any bizarre or over-the-top ideas I can come up with.

While I let my Underdark setting lie fallow for a little while so the inspiration can start to build up again, I've let my attention wander to a few other ideas that I have rattling around inside my brain. I thought then that I might be a good idea to put up some brief descriptions of each setting and see what better writers than myself were interested in having me pursue in greater depth. These are all pretty vague and mutable concepts at the moment, so i won't go into too great of detail in describing me.

Frankenstein's Legions is set in Europe in the early 19th Century, a Europe in which the mad experiments of a one Victor Frankenstein did not fail, but instead exceeded his wildest expectations. Refining and expanding his science of reanimation, the widespread acceptance Prometheans helped to spark the Necroindustrial Revolution, harnessing the power of death itself through bizarre pseudosciences and experimental alchemies. More followed in his wake: the creation of vampires and werebeasts, the restoration of dead souls, even methods for true immortality in undeath. But for a Europe divided between bickering states and on the brink of another war, such discoveries are as much a curse as they were a blessing, for now the continent has begun the slow slide into an era that Frankenstein himself had not foreseen.  Dark forests once again cover the twisted countryside and monstrous creatures lurk in the shadows. For the people of Europe, they are grim times to live in, where nations have begun to decay back into divided states and the progress of unnatural science is a double-edged sword that releases ever-newer horrors with each discovery and invention. In Prussia, undead soldiers fill the ranks, towered over by hulking war-machines of flesh and metal. In England, Her Majesty's ships are crewed by the souls of the dead bound to the vessels and dissenters in Ireland are hunted by Parliament's werewolf agents. In Russia, the Tsar rules with a blood-soaked fist, butchering his own citizens when they can prove more useful in life than in death. Indeed, dark days and darker nights lie ahead for the Continent.

Uncivil War is set in an America where in War Between the States has reach truly apocalyptic proportions, decades of warfare having ravaged the nation and embittered its populace. For the political leaders and military commanders of the Union and Confederacy alike, victory is worth any price. No theory is considered too radical, no invention too unorthodox, and no strategy too unethical; men of science push the boundaries further with each passing day, each discovery threatening to damn the entire country. The vampiric President Lincoln still governs a United States that has allied itself with Germany as well as bloodsucking undead elders, crazed industrialists, scientists driven mad by their own genius, and even creatures from beyond the stars. The Confederate States, loyal ally of France and Great Britain, is equally a creative in its pursuit of a war-winner: werewolf raiders, Indian mystics and shamans, dark pacts with unholy entities. To the west, the natives have begun to retake their ancestral lands, the thinly-stretched armies of the white man unable to stand against their spirit-ridden warriors, while to the south, Mexico has plans to retake the Southwest territories they had been robbed of. On battlefields from Ohio to Atlanta to South Dakota, soldiers clad in mechanized armor and rumbling war-machines belching smoke and steam march side-by-side with black-clad military-necromancers and vicious vampire-gorillas as a nation divided threatens to rips itself apart.

The Empire is a high fantasy setting with an Old Imperialism-themed take on the genre: the titular Empire, something of a cross between the Spanish and British Empires, is an institution of such incredible vastness that it encompasses countless worlds and spans multiple planes of existence, from the raw elements of the Inner Planes to the swirling void of the Astral Sea to the strange and wonderful landscapes of the Outer Planes and beyond. Hundreds of intelligent races populate the Empire and make up the twin Houses of Parliament, locked in a constant political duel with the ruling Monarch, who's own bloodline can be traced back to more than a dozen different origins. The Company dispatches explorers and mercenaries to every corner of the multiverse in search of wealth and resources to exploit, while the Inquisition fervently hunts out revolutionaries, traitors, and practitioners of forbidden faiths. The Imperial Army maintains the Empire's rule across all of its colonies, taking new ones when desired, while the ships of the Imperial Navy are just as often drifting through the Astral Sea as they are the seas of a world on the Material Plane. The possibilities are limitless; the Empire and its various parts need agents of all sorts and all alignments, and there are no shortages of independent guilds and underworld organizations in search of recruits either.

Gravelands is set in a strange region of the fantasy world, one where the undead are just as common, if not more so, than the living. Creatures such as ghouls, wights, specters, wraiths, zombies, skeletons, liches, and vampires all populate a landscape tainted by the negative energies of death and dark magic; some of their fellows are even stranger still, like amortal offspring of Death Itself or humanoid-shaped swarms of vermin animated by undying minds. Great necropolises  and morbid cities of the dead dominate the land, resembling anything from archaic graveyards to subterranean barrow mounds and populated by living citizens as well as undead. Decaying farms worked by tireless peasants harvest the crops and cattle, some intelligent, needed to sustain those creatures who still require food in a grotesque parody of medieval life. They form small states and kingdoms, constantly squabbling and bickering with neighbors and rivals. The undead, however, are neither mindless nor inherently evil, regardless of what the mortals who frequently raid their lands might say. They are a society as much as any other, with their own culture and language and religion, and they will often take up arms to defend their own right to exist. Parties of undead adventurers travelling the countryside are a frequent sight; sometimes on quests like a more traditional group, sometimes out to exact reparations from a mortal town or strike a blow against another petty kingdom.

Hub is set in the titular city, known most often as the City Out of Time and the City Beyond Space, a small metropolis nested in its own cozy dimension and populated by one sort of person: time travelers. The travelers are eternal and ageless beings born with the strange and wonderful ability to throw themselves through time, space, and between parallel dimensions. They hail from every period of every nation's history, making them a diverse group, to say the least. The city itself is full of anachronisms and characterized by limitless different cultures, though it most strongly resembles Elizabethan England. Various guilds and societies manage the city in lieu of an actual government, leading to the sort of conflicts and intrigue that time travelers love to involve themselves in.

And more might be on the way...

I've come up with two more possible races;

Aboleths:  ancient amphibious creatures dwelling in the deepest of subterranean seas, they are so intelligent that metaphors fail to describe their cognitive capacity: even newborn aboleths could out-think all but the most brilliant of humanoid savants. They have little ambition for expansion, prefering to live comfortably and occupy themselves with intellectual pursuits. Virtually all are powerful magic-users. Slaves they have either bred themselves or captured from other races perform most of the actual work in aboleth settlements. They lack any real government, with individual, mafia-like "families" administering their own personal territory. Aboleth librabries are amongst the greatest reserves of knowledge in the Underdark and those built on land are usually neutral areas open to any visitors who respect aboleth laws.

Myconids: bizarre mushroom-folk, they are living fungi whose bodies are supported by a fibrous "muscles" instead of bones. They are not usually aggressive but are fiercely expansionist. Most races, like the drow and goblins, will gladly intergrate myconid districts into their cities. They do not eat or drink, but rather absorb all that they need from decaying matter. Myconids possess a strange connection to many species of fungus in the Underdark and their magic reflects this. While tough, they are not especially strong or fast; in battle, they rely on a host of plant-derived toxins and gases, and myconid poisoners are amongst the only who can rival the drow in their expertise.

Just a brief opinion of mine; I feel that too often in fictional religions, the Gods are always over-specialized and only given jurisdiction over a single niche concept or idea. In actuality, even Gods of the Classical Greeks like Poseidon were not bound to only a single patronage: he was first and foremost the God of horses and earthquakes, becoming the lord of the seas after his brothers decided to divide up the world between themselves.

So, don't feel like you have to be bound to narrow-minded deities, and always remember to provide some justification or story as to why the oversee what they do.