Gods and other elevated beings descended upon Vitallia from the very moment of its creation. Countless kinds of deities and exalted creatures walk or once walked its lands, each defined by different origins, natures, and degrees of power.
Lahar are demi-gods born of a mortal parent and a Luvar. They inherit only a fraction of divine power, yet that sliver is often enough to grant them superhuman prowess in battle or near-miraculous resilience.
Sirat are mortals who claw their way to divinity through deeds so monumental that thousands come to genuinely worship them as gods. Almost as mighty as a Luvar or Amar, a Sirat usually remains close to the mortal world and to the followers who raised them up.
The Amar are native deities of Vitallia, born from the Sentinel’s own essence. They rose to godhood by inspiring worship and protecting the natural world—rivers, mountains, storms, and forests often claim an Amar as patron. No one knows their true number. The greatest and most beloved was Laira, elven queen and founder of the only major faith that turned its back on the Sentinel itself. When an Amar dies, their essence bursts into sacred flame and they are reborn as a Phoenix—the eternal proof that the Sentinel’s blood is never truly lost, only transformed.
The Luvar are exiles from the cosmic empire of Pantheon. Once overlords of entire miniature worlds within that greater realm, they were cast out and now wander the universe seeking new homes. In power they rival the greatest gods. Their forms vary wildly—some appear as radiant humanoids, others as dragons, elementals, or stranger things—but those who came to Vitallia were almost always gigantic, ranging from three to thirty metres in height. A Luvar may shrink, grow, or reshape itself at will.
A Kisarak is a living world. These rarest and mightiest of deities possess the ability to birth an entire Prime Material plane and bind their essence to it. In their stationary aspect they are the planet itself; in their mobile aspect they take whatever shape reflects their soul. The Sentinel beneath Vitallia is a Kisarak.
The Vaal are the emperors of divinity, crowned even among the gods of Pantheon. Only a handful exist. Their hunger for power is endless; they walk an eternal path called the Spiral Lane, forever devouring dominion, planes, and lesser deities to fuel their ascent.
When a god wishes to walk openly among mortals for any length of time, they craft an Avatar—a physical shell containing only a fragment of their true power. Full manifestation is simply too costly and dangerous.
Demons did not truly appear until the Great Cell rose in the west and condemned an entire continent to save the rest. The people trapped within did not die in body, but their souls shattered under the weight of divine betrayal. From that collective despair the first demons were born.
Every demon is the embodiment of a single negative emotion—rage, despair, envy, pride, terror. The intensity of that emotion determines its strength. They are spirits, not flesh, and their true home, the Abyss, is less a place than a state of perpetual self-imprisonment. A demon cannot escape its own torment long enough to truly live; it can only watch the living world through cracks created by mortal sin and, when the cracks widen, slip through to taste life again—even if only for a moment.
Demons crave existence more than destruction. Murder is a waste; domination, corruption, and the slow theft of another’s will grant them longer purchase in the material world. Their true names are the last mortal threads binding them to who they once were. Speaking a demon’s true name forces it to remember, to feel shame, and—when done with sufficient power or ritual—can tear it from the Abyss forever in an act of exorcism or redemption.
A demon has no fixed shape. When it manifests, the terror, hatred, or longing of the beholder gives it form. One person may see a towering horned horror, another a beautiful child with black eyes; both are true, because both are born from the emotion the demon wields.
The Hala are martyrs who faced every trial of mortal life, remained true to their purpose, and emerged victorious. Their reward is ascension to the Eral Plane—an exalted mirror of the material world shaped by enlightened will. From that paradise of light and growth, a Hala may choose to descend once more, answering a mortal plea or righting a cosmic wrong. Each descent is a new test; failure casts them back into mortal flesh as one of the Fallen, forced to walk the Path of Judgment again.
When the Great Cell rose, it did not kill the western peoples—it unmade them. Their bodies were twisted by amber, their lifeforce severed from the natural order. Nedel, imprisoned with them, refused to let them die. Through his will alone he kept spirit bound to flesh, creating the first Undead: beings who endure not by the laws of life but by the stubborn triumph of will over oblivion.
In the darkest hour of the Great War, the wounded Sentinel lashed out in desperation and accidentally forged the Beasts—monstrous, malformed things born from panic rather than purpose. Once released, they could not be unmade. They roam Vitallia still, living reminders that even a god’s despair can birth nightmares.
Every divine being, from the lowliest Lahar to the mightiest Vaal, feeds on faith. Temples, priests, and the sincere belief of followers are the wells from which their power flows. When the last worshipper dies and the final shrine crumbles, a god begins to fade.
Powerful deities retreat to private Pocket Planes—pocket universes where they may endure eternally. Lesser gods who lack such refuges simply cease when faith runs dry.
Death is rarely final for a god, but its consequences vary:
A Lahar rises again and again, until its borrowed divinity is spent.
A Sirat flees to its Pocket Plane or perishes forever.
An Amar burns and is reborn as a Phoenix or mighty spirit-beast.
A Luvar withdraws to its realm, or, if too mighty for the world that slew it, is exiled from that plane.
A Kisarak dies only when its entire world is destroyed—and takes the planet with it.
A Vaal retreats or suffers temporary banishment, then returns hungry for vengeance.
Thus the cosmos of Vitallia turns: gods rise on the breath of prayer, wage war for the hearts of mortals, and fall when those hearts turn cold. Even the mightiest are only ever one forgotten name away from oblivion.