Lore and other documents for the Eve of Midnight game
As whispered by the Eternal Clockwatcher, overseer of worlds, guardian of balance, and keeper of the multiverse’s ticking threads.
Ah, the lifeblood of existence, the pulse that binds worlds to their purpose. Resources are not mere tools, nor trinkets to be hoarded by mortals who stumble blindly upon them. No—these are the keystones of reality, the breath of archetypes, the whispered promise that something greater stirs beneath the surface of the mundane.
They emerge, timeless and tireless, from the great weave of creation. Mythic Energy hums with the voices of forgotten sagas; Void Fragments fracture into being where chaos dares intrude; Spore Clouds rise and fall like the breath of an untamed wilderness. These are not static relics but living, pulsing forces, flowing and shifting to their own rhythms.
Listen closely, mortal—if you wish to understand, cast aside your notions of time and origin. These resources do not merely “come into being.” They are.
From the forge of primal creation sprang the first sparks: Ingenuity Crystals erupted from the collision of thought and action; Runic Glyphs etched themselves into the very ether of existence, born of precision and the will to shape the unknown. Spore Clouds? No, they were not “born” but exhaled, the sigh of a world that grows too much, too fast, and yet cannot resist.
Some arose from catastrophe. The rifts of Vleddica weep Void Fragments, like glass shattered by the careless swing of some cosmic hammer. Others, like Mythic Energy, gather in whispers, pooling in the forgotten places of Levander or the twilight boughs of Yorwain.
They do not merely “exist” in your world—they inhabit. They rest, coiled and patient, waiting for those who are bold or desperate enough to draw them forth.
But beware. Resources are not yours for the taking. They may give freely—if the worlds deem you worthy. Or they may coil around you like a serpent, their price far greater than you can afford.
And now we come to the heart of it. What are these resources for, you ask? Foolish question. What are your limbs for, or the breath in your lungs? They are for movement, for action, for the turning of the multiverse’s gears.
The worlds hum with them, mortal. Every footfall you take on Yorwain’s soft earth, every whisper you hear in Reve’s dreamscape, every cog that turns in Utletmach’s mechanical heart—all of it thrums with the rhythm of resources at work. They are more than currency; they are the breath of the multiverse itself, woven into the fabric of existence.
To wield them is to hold in your hand the essence of creation and destruction, of chaos and order. To misuse them? That is to court ruin.
I have seen the threads of the multiverse tangle and fray. I have watched fools squander Spore Clouds in a reckless bloom, only to choke on their hubris. I have heard the weeping of those who sought too many Void Fragments, only to lose themselves to the madness.