Zeldryn - The Last World

Zeldryn is a world of grey skies and near-eternal storm clouds, giving everything a dull, muted cast. Where the cloud-cover thins or shifts aside, sharp red light bathes the land. The source is not any kind of star, but rather what seems like a jagged scar branching across half the sky, a tear of pulsing red light, like an infected wound. This Scar goes through cycles, slowly pulsing wider, as if the gash was opening up, before diminishing, the lines becoming thinner and the light fainter. At the same time, the Scar shifts colours slowly over longer periods of time, moving from the deep red of congealing blood to the dull reddish brown of rusting metal. These have been used for day-night and month cycles, respectively. The Scar appears tidally locked with the world, never moving overhead, though the planet itself does seem to move, orbiting an apparently empty point in space. There are no stars to accompany it in the sky. Just a deep black. On clear nights, though, there are sometimes strange auroras visible, out beyond the planet's atmosphere, like faint wisps of crystalline mist moving languidly through space. Some have reported seeing vague, shifting patterns in these auroras, structured and regular, almost like writing. 
The main continent seems to be a long, relatively narrow strip of land, only 500 kilometers across in most places. According to the Kindred, it runs the entire circumference of the planet, like a jagged band. Numerous small islands can be seen in the distance, all along this vast length, suggesting meandering archipelagoes. The oceans themselves are unnaturally still, with no tides to speak of and few waves even amidst the worst storms. Rising out of the water are titanic trees the colour of charcoal, whose dark leafless branches reach up beyond the grey-black clouds.
The ecology of Zeldryn seems…primordial. Strange, towering flora and fungi dominate a landscape of towering crags and boiling lakes. Nothing on land compares to the colossal size of the oceanic trees, but the scale of life here seems much greater than that of Aeldryn. And yet, there have been no large creatures to speak of on initial surveys, only varieties of small creatures reminiscent of insects both in appearance and apparent role in the ecosystem. Most are slow moving and quiet, and very few appear hostile, even towards one another. Nature, in this world, gives a sense of still and silent patience. There is beauty, even vibrancy, but little of the frenetic dance of life or struggle for survival that characterize the wilds of other worlds. Indeed, life here seems, in many ways, easier. Edible roots, fruits, and fungi grow everywhere. Dense, easy to harvest, and apparently safe to consume. Explorers have claimed to scarcely need supplies as they survey this strange world. They stride through the nights and sleep under the Scarlight unafraid, occasionally approached by curious, insectile creatures, but never accosted. Though unnerving in its alien appearance, Zeldryn has proven welcoming to its new guests.
There has been no sign of sapient species or living civilizations…but there are ruins. Vast ancient cities and strange structures can be found all across the land. Many distinct varieties of alien architecture, weathered by rain and wind. All empty, abandoned. No remains have been found, no signs of conflict or destruction, no clues as to what manner of species built and lived here long ago. Many settlers have used these ruins as the foundation for new cities, inhabiting existing structures or incorporating them into new buildings. Others avoid such ruins out of fear or suspicion, forging into the wilderness to found smaller settlements, away from these looming mysteries. The forgotten city that the Gates lead to consists of thousands of hollow spires, structures that resemble towering slate-grey shells. While the stone is unadorned, they possess a faint luminescent sheen. The wind slides through their many small openings and creates a moaning sound all through the city, like a mix between waves and whale song. Something about the strange construction and arrangement of the buildings also seems to…catch other sounds. Apparently at random, small noises or whispered conversations might be magnified and sent echoing many winding streets away. Because of this, it is being called the City of Echoes by its new inhabitants, though the official name given by the Coalition is Vanguard. It is shaped like a gigantic spear, long and narrow. A vast, sweeping cathedral of curving stone the colour of bone forms the spearhead all on its own, dwarfing every other structure in the city, or indeed any structure in all of Aeldryn. A huge circular plaza separates this cathedral from the rest of the city proper, and this is where the Gate is located.
The Gate on this side is very different from the structures built on Aeldryn. It is a kind of crystalline lens, over one hundred metres across, suspended horizontally high above the city. Directly beneath is a wide, raised dais, which appears to be the sheared stump of a colossal tree. Long stairways are carved into the sides of the black wood, curving down to the ground, where spiral walkways of polished white and red stones frame the base. There is a shallow, bowl-like depression at the exact center, worn into the wood directly below the lens. Seen from below, the lens is aligned with the Scar. And when it waxes bright, the light shines through the lens, focusing into a tight beam that bathes the area in a column of light. This is what people emerge from, as they come through the Gate, and they do so facing a seemingly random direction. Travelling the other direction through this pillar of light, a traveller will emerge through one of the nine existing portals on Aeldryn, again seemingly at random. This has made commercial or military transit back to Aeldryn untenable. Even when groups enter at the same time, every individual will emerge at a different random Gate, making it impossible to coordinate effectively. Further complicating their use, the Gates can apparently only be activated during the three days of the Scar’s longer monthly cycle, when its colour is at the brightest, most vibrant red and the blazing piller appears. However, time moves differently on this world, passing roughly ten times faster than on Aeldryn. About twenty years have passed here since the first refugees came through, while less than two full years have passed on Aeldryn since the portals became functional. The day cycles on Zeldryn, where the Scar brightens and dims, are roughly 21 hours long. The monthly cycles, where the Scar shifts its colour between shades of red, consist of 21 of these days. This means that the three days of true-red Scarlight each month correspond to roughly six hours every other day in Aeldryn when the Gates can be activated.
The staggered arrival of refugees from Aeldryn has allowed the city of Vanguard to remain organized, in sharp contrast to the often chaotic conditions in the Gate-Cities. The time differential has also given the city governors years to establish a working government and sufficient infrastructure, as well as to work out various diplomatic means for so many diverse cultures to coexist within the city. What has emerged is a relatively egalitarian, radically cosmopolitan society, watched over by a Governing Council made from representatives of each of the Coalition Nations. While some districts have formed within the city according to nationality, race, or culture, for the most part tensions have eased in the two decades spent here. By common agreement, Vanguard remains a neutral territory held in tandem by the member nations of the Coalition. There is an understanding that conflict at the only point of escape and refuge would be dangerous and foolhardy. However, elsewhere on Zeldryn new city-states are growing swiftly. Established nations are looking to cement their claims and maintain power, while other unaffiliated settlers see an opportunity to forge entirely new nations on the blank political slate of this new world. The pact of neutrality does not extend there, and small-scale conflicts over territory, resources, and ideology are common.
These conflicts are especially tragic now, because no afterlives remain. The realms created by the gods to house the souls of the dead are corrupted and dying. On Zeldryn, such realms do not exist at all. When the soul leaves the body in this world, it lingers only briefly before vanishing. Presumably, the souls of the dead drift out through the thin shell of this reality and into the morphic essence of the Far Realm, lost forever. Religions new and old continuously feed the Deific Cores, hoping to birth new gods as soon as possible. If these seeds function as the Kindred claim, a new pantheon will eventually emerge. At that point they will be able to create new Planes to serve as afterlives for their followers. Until then, death is final, absolute.
Zeldryn may have offered a spark of hope. But that hope is a feeble, brittle thing, easily crushed. Collectively, the survivors of the multiverse must find a way to live, thrive, and even die in this new and unforgiving reality. Failure means annihilation, and the end of all things.