The world crumbled apart in a single night, the night the Queen of Layol was attacked within her castle by a bevy of creatures from her own land. No one knew why they revolted and sought blood, but they were swift, killing all in their path.
The maids lay dead in their beds, completely unaware of the swords plunged into their flesh until it was too late. The banister in the grand ballroom was smeared with crimson as this cavalcade of bloodthirsty beings searched for the queen’s chambers to end her life. They never made it in time to commit the deed themselves. She didn’t give them the satisfaction slitting her own throat before they reached her. At least, that was what they all thought; that it was to rob them of that pleasure, and not something else.
But that is another story for another day. This is the story of what she left behind; what Layol became in her absence.
It was so damning, word never flew that her end was met by her own hand. No matter what, the creatures had stormed the castle, forcing her hand. The secret of how she truly perished remained with only the ones there that night.
Word from the Council was silent. Some were convinced they had perished in the revolt as well. Others knew better. They had no real clue what to do. No one had ever killed a Solaire. They were deemed blessed by the gods themselves, destined to rule over everyone in Layol since the beginning of the age of Prosper. And these creatures had destroyed that. All thought the gods had abandoned them, including the most powerful of all, Layol herself.
The news of the atrocity spread, and it didn’t take long for madness to occur, for fires in the villages, and for anarchy to take place as mourning twisted into something dark and ugly.
The structure of reign, which the Solaires had created to ensure peace for centuries, died. Mobs formed, traveling across cities, ripping any creatures with special abilities from their homes.
Whether it was goblins, shapeshifters, or any of the other countless found living in the land, they were now seen as poison.
Without hesitation, they were slaughtered in the streets by a hatred that grew deep, burrowing into the gut of many who now sought order and retribution. It didn’t matter that these beings had nothing to do with the Queen’s demise. They were loathed because of what they were.
All people saw when they looked at them was danger. And the ones who didn’t were filled with greed, seeking to capitalize in a grab for power. Nothing was going back to the way it was.
If humas were found aiding such creatures, they too were deemed traitors to the world and received the same punishments.
Creatures of all kinds went into hiding, but the most persecuted were the witches. Suspicions rose that, with their type of power, they must have been involved in the fall of the Solairian reign. They faced the worst if discovered, sentenced to excruciating deaths: ripped alive by hollow hounds to retrieve their magic for sale.
Soon, any creatures possessing powers of strength were sought after, and a market to harness their abilities grew rabid among the fallen kingdom.
War formed between the humans and creatures. The slaughtering ignited on both sides, making Layol a very unsavory place where one should never place their trust in anyone.
It became a dark time. Where the worst in people shook and came alive, searching to snuff out the smallest bit of light. People focused on survival above all else.
In this time of war, there were a few who didn’t flee into the darkness, praying to not be discovered.
A circus, hidden from plain view, traveled the land, filled with creatures the world deemed dangerous, and the magic it outcast and spat on. If there was a desire strong enough, tickets appeared in the hands of would-be attendees, and the carnival appeared before their very eyes.
For one night only, they could soak in magic again, or they could gaze in horror at what they deemed the atrocities that had supposedly destroyed their beloved kingdom.
This circus was called the Great Bazaar.
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