The history of Materna

This is the story of Materna — a land of vast plains, frozen mountains, deep forests, and shining cities; a world where every rock, every river, and every tree holds a memory. It is a place of great beauty and great darkness, of freedom and bondage, of silence and song. But above all, it is a place defined by its people — six very different peoples, each born of this earth, each shaped by their past, and each singing their own truth into the wind.

To understand Materna, you must understand that here, history is not just written down — it is sung. Every people has their anthem, their story, and their reason for being. Every song you will read in these pages carries the weight of what they have suffered, what they have achieved, and what they believe to be right. And as you will discover, what one believes to be good, another believes to be wrong; what one sees as kindness, another sees as cruelty.

Herein lies the history of them all.

We begin with the Centaurs of Forgiveness — proud, wild, and free. Once they were slaves, bound in chains by those who thought they owned the world. But they broke free and ran until they found the great grasslands and ancient woods where no wall could ever stand again. They named their home Forgiveness not because they pardoned their captors, but because they learned to forgive themselves for ever believing they could be owned. Their song is the song of the wind — wild, loud, and unbound.

We travel north to Ice Bay, home of the Minotaurs. They are the great minders of the earth, strong as the mountains they live beneath, and deeply in love with the cold, the silence, and the hard work of mining deep into the stone. They are a people of iron and bone, who carry weights no others can bear and stand firm when all else falls. Yet they are also stubborn and hot-headed, so fierce and quick to anger that they long ago passed a law: There shall be no pubs in Ice Bay. For where two Minotaurs gather to drink, destruction follows. Their song is heavy, loud, and proud — a punk-rock roar of endurance.

By the shores and fertile banks live the Shellings, the gentle heart of this world. They are the nurturers, the healers, the ones who believe that true power lies in holding things softly, like a shell holds a pearl. Long ago, they made a mistake; tired of moving every third moon when the waters rose, they tried to hold back the tide, and in doing so, they upset the Gods. To apologise, and to show they understood their place, they dug deep into the earth and built the Sunken Garden — a place open to the waters, open to the sky, a living apology that became the most beautiful place in all the land. Their song is a lullaby, soft and sweet, sung to the earth itself.

Deep in the wild places, running every trail and knowing every secret path, are the Fast Ones — the human race of Materna. They are quick of foot but slow of mind, loud of voice but short of wisdom. They are utterly convinced that they are always right, even when they are clearly wrong. They run between nations, claiming friendship with everyone, yet they cannot decide which side they are on until the battle is over and it is far too late. And when things go wrong — as they so often do — they will blame absolutely anyone but themselves. They know every road, yet they never truly know where they stand. Their song is fast, flowing, and light, like footsteps vanishing into the trees.

High above the rest, in gleaming realms of light and perfection, dwell the Beautiful Ones. Born long ago from butterflies and bees, they took shape as the most dazzling creatures imaginable. They believe with absolute certainty that they are the peak of creation, the only thing in this world with any true worth. To them, everything else — stone, soil, beasts, and people — exists only to serve them. They look back at history and see no wrong in what they have done. Enslaving the Centaurs? That was not cruelty, that was giving them purpose. Taking what they want? That is simply what perfection deserves. Their song is hypnotic, filled with hums and buzzes, drawing you in with beauty while asking you to give up everything you are.

And finally, in the shadows, living where others fear to tread, are the Secret Wolves. Long ago, their ancestors were like Vikings and Pirates — wanderers, raiders, and traders of secrets, trusted by no one. The great council of all lands agreed: “These wolves know too much, and they cannot be controlled.” So, by law, they were exiled. They were forced to live forever in the Forest of the Dead, a place of mist, echoes, and ancient silence. But what was meant as a punishment became their purpose. Cut off from the world, forbidden to speak what they know, they became the keepers of all history. They know every lie, every truth, every crime, and every kindness that has ever happened. They are neither good nor evil; they are simply the witnesses. Their song is a whisper, heard by almost no one, but guarding everything.

These are the peoples of Materna.

They clash, they coexist, they love, they hate, and they misunderstand one another completely. But together, they make this world what it is — a place of harsh beauty, stubborn pride, gentle love, and wild freedom.