After the Great War ended in calamity, little was left save ash and grief. For a time, the Great Nations lived in tenuous peace as they licked their wounds and rebuilt themselves from the brink of collapse. As they reknit their fractured societies, so too did the CoK expand its reach with every tithing cycle. Despite the rapid pace at which its infrastructure grew, the sobering effects of its heavy-handed ultimatum would wear off in time, and the organization would gradually be regarded as little more than a mercenary outfit encroaching upon something far out of its depth. Though resentment began to accrue, none yet were confident in their ability to challenge the CoK’s grip on their societies save one—the Utarii Conclave upon Ultar.
The blooding of the Utarii would become the most consequential event in modern history since the formation of the Consociation of Khalik. The CoK remained reticent in the aftermath of the act, but the uncharacteristically taciturn Utarii and the rest of the Great Nations bearing witness were given a chilling display of reproval that recapitulated—once more—where power resides. In the wake of this event, the emboldened CoK would set its sights on bringing the Maritime Republic of Vangor into its constituency by restricting its access to the Great Nations under its jurisdiction. Recognizing the economic ruin this would bring to themselves, along with not daring to risk testing the efficacy of the CoK’s response to any violation of its mandate, Vangor would agree to terms of investiture under its charge.
Following the Vangorian induction at gunpoint, the Great Nations would redouble their efforts at recovering from the staggering losses incurred mere decades before in the Great War. Trade was eventually re-established between nations—initially at a glacier’s pace, but exponentially once the momentum shifted in its favor. In time, nations with exclusive access to one or several globally significant resources would wage war on an all-too-familiar front, as they sought to strangle their contemporaries’ economies and bend them to their will. One such dispute between the Jyntar and the Sangori League would prove pivotal to the future establishment of the Crucible—the Magnium Embargo.
Citing the CoK’s own mandate to protect its constituents from being warred upon, representatives of both the Lapis and the Alean argued that this extended to economic warfare and its disastrous effect on the afflicted nation, petitioning for a CoK-led solution. Eager to achieve legitimacy outside of its military might, the Council agreed to host a tribunal hearing on neutral ground—vowing to hear both sides and enforce the policy born of its deliberation thereafter. The First Khalik Tribunal “for the amelioration of asymmetric warfare upon fellow constituencies” took place at the heart of Council space; it was here where the CoK would arrive at the disastrous arbitrament to act as a mediator for sanctioned gladiatorial combat between the Great Nations, with the outcome of such bouts determining trade and sovereignty privileges enforced by the standing decree of the Council.
While the Council maintained the appearance of an undivided front, internal strife at this time threatened to erode its uniformity of purpose. While several solutions were proposed, the Council would ultimately find itself split between two factions. The Pugilists, headed by Councilor Tormin, argued for the institution of ritual combat as the solely governable solution to a lamentable inevitability. The Egalitarianists, led by Councilor Sorqestris, saw the other as an irreversible decline into barbarism that could see all of them slip into a dark age from whence they may never recover, calling for an approach described as ‘distributive egalitarianism’.
While contemporary records of this intra-organizational schism are largely absent, history proves one thing without a shadow of a doubt: for all of the Egalitarianists’ idealist rhetoric, the Pugilists won out—bringing about a radical change in the way the organization would come to view the nations under its stewardship. Though initially taken aback by such an aberrant suggestion, both nations would come to agree to the terms set forth by the councilor, giving in to the welling eagerness to spill blood as payment for their perennial grievances. Concurrently, the CoK steered its undertakings to expand the scope of personnel and infrastructure necessary to support the Crucible in its incipiency.
The CoK would put itself to task constructing an arena of unmatched grandeur—for its time—at the heart of council space. Not long after its completion, constituent nations would begin the construction of their own Crucible amphitheaters, eager to outdo one another in scale and complexity. Over the years, each nation would build many within their borders—the colossal marvels of engineering often becoming the predominant landmark for miles around.
No two amphitheaters are alike; many sport all manner of shifting terrain, self-configuring architectural arrangements, or a panoply of deadly hazards and creatures. As these structures deteriorate in service to their grisly purpose, their decrepitude and propensity for violent mishap is often left intentionally unaddressed by the powers that be. Irrespective of their individual eccentricities, all share a common denominator: they are centers of irreverent and excessive savagery, forever soaked in the blood of murderers and martyrs alike.
The macabre precedent set by the Crucible would gradually ingratiate itself into global society, propagating with it an acceptance of casual brutality and resignation towards the rekindling of old hostilities. Where once the possibility may have existed that nations would seek peaceful conflict resolution with each other following the dire events of the previous age, the more belligerent among them would show little interest in diplomacy when aggressive negotiations offered more forthright results. Whether it be tragic inevitability or morbid design, international relations would remain at a constant simmer, with only the might of the CoK keeping things from boiling over into outright war once more. While non-violent trade persists in the Age of Gelding, it does so asymmetrically—its existence and prevalence contextually dependent on the degrees of tolerance that exist between the nations involved.
The current working axiom is that Vix and Siol function as extraplanar forces that overlap with and affect the physical plane, while viraa vitae presents much like an invader violently encroaching upon an isolated system—an entropic force that wreaks havoc upon natural order. This running theory is further substantiated by the fact that viraa is not ever-present within the Nether Regions, but exists instead in large, isolated swathes and concentrated pockets across the planet. Viraa is most heavily present on the islands of Nostrix, Vangor and sizable chunks of the Alean.
Ever predatory, viraa appears driven by a nigh-sentient compulsion to transubstantiate all it comes in contact with into a grotesque parody of its previous form—be it organic or inorganic. Viraa remains an inscrutable vector even among the cognoscenti, with the closest approximation to a body of knowledge surrounding its properties and potential applications resting almost exclusively within the ranks of the Boffin Manipulex of Nostrix—working principles they jealously immure from prying eyes. The dominance they display in this field is speculated to be the result of the successful integration of viraa into vitaeotech. Despite its volatile interactions with opposing vitaeic forces, it has the potential to greatly boost the performance and output of these systems in comparison to their extra-national counterparts.
Viraa is not a force to be harnessed so much as it is the harness—parasitically enmeshing itself to a host and drastically altering it from its baseline in often execrable ways. It terraforms its surroundings when present in great quantities, capable of causing violent tectonic upheaval or the spawning of bizarre organic growths that defy explanation from seemingly nothing. Overwhelming saturation of viraa within an area is just as likely to destabilize cellular bonds as it is to induce monstrous levels of cell growth to appalling effect. Coupled with this is an observable phenomenon known as viraathropy—a type of psychosis that afflicts creatures imperiled by steady exposure to viraa that leads to aberrant behavior, hysteria and a strong propensity towards territorial aggression, even amongst bones. For these very reasons, it remains anathema to almost everything it comes in contact with.
While Mysdiks that employ viraa are all but the stuff of myth to most, grim rumors abound that the exalted nobility of the Nostridian Empire are powerful and amoral wielders of viraa. Few are granted an audience with them—fewer still emerge from it unscathed.
Initiates are those who find themselves at the start of the path, voluntarily or otherwise. Regardless of which Great Nation sired them, the vicissitudes of training ensures that life for initiates is arduous and frequently short. Those who survive receive their studs, denoting them as fully-fledged Battle Bones—after which, they are sent forth to exact their toll until death takes them.
Foregoing the tedious rigmarole and parlance that is characteristic of international dialogue, the Great Nations recurrently opt to let their aggressive negotiations divisions parley at their behest. Before the eyes of the Magistrates—impartial servants of the Council that oversee all instances of ritual combat, Bones fight to the death according to policy set forth by a regulatory body meant to ensure violence stays within tolerable parameters. Wisely, the CoK allows constituents to issue no more than one challenge to each of their rivals per disolar revolution.
Following the First Khalik Tribunal, the CoK introduced a levy on each of the Great Nations in addition to its previous tithes. The Crucible Enrollment Levy acts as the collective pot from which the Great Nations draw the earnings from their victories. Furthermore, aggressing nations who emerge victorious from the Crucible are granted privileged access to the defending nation’s CSF lane and the sanctioned resources available therein for a full disolar revolution. Nations will send workers in great droves to harvest, mine, or process the spoils of their victory under the unwavering surveillance of the CSF—and in constant rotation with the workers of rival nations.
Alternatively, they may choose instead to receive twice the regular dividend from the levy pool. Inversely, nations that successfully defend themselves from aggressive rivals are given a dividend from the CEL. Crucible matches attract audiences on a global scale—while censorship laws differ from nation to nation, none fail to see its potential as an effective mechanism of distributing propaganda and as a veritable tap into the vox populi.
When a Nation stakes its claim to another’s bounty, they lock themselves and their rivals into a best-of-three bout series. While the defending nation retains the benefit of home field for both rounds, the aggressor is afforded the advantage of choosing the format and subdivision of the first bout. In turn, the second bout sees the opportunity to choose the format and subdivision given to the defending nation. Should the second bout end with each nation having claimed a victory, the final bout takes place on neutral territory relative to both nations with the format and subdivision left purely up to chance.
Melees are the largest battles fought across the full span of a nation’s amphitheater. With a maximum combatant count of up to 200—no more than 100 allotted per side, sensational clashes between large groups of skilled warriors are a common and anticipated occurrence in these exhibitions. Additionally, melees tend to make greater use of modular architecture and the more exotic features characteristic of many amphitheaters across the Great Nations. While killing is sanctioned in the Crucible, the subdivisions of the melee format offer objective-based victory conditions that do not simply demand the total annihilation of the opposing side.
Skirmishes are intense contests between two teams of ten combatants pitted against one another in a grueling spectacle of violence and small unit tactics. Skirmish teams are almost exclusively composed of veterans. While this Crucible format likewise offers objective-based victory conditions across its available subdivisions, wholesale elimination of an opposing team is not an infrequent occurrence.
Duels have only one victory condition: to be the last combatant standing. Nations select duelists from among their strongest combatants—distinguished veterans, grizzled battle masters, and unwonted prodigies rising through the ranks. Should a nation have a Champion among their number, they are the de-facto candidate for this format of Crucible bout.
