Reclamation

Reclamation was a fantasy MMORPG in development by Lyra Studios. A sequel to Underlight, the game was intended to set players in a dream world and give them much control over the game environment like its predecessor. This would include allowing players to be in-game Teachers, who write the quests, as well as others in political and economic roles. Few NPCs would be present, and there was a heavy emphasis on roleplaying. Reclamation was cancelled after Underlight was shut down, although a new version of the original game called Underlight: Shades of Truth was rebooted by players and Ixios Development.

Lyra Studios announces Reclamation

Lyra Studios is working on a fantasy massively multiplayer role-playing game with a strong emphasis on role-playing. First screens inside.

By Justin Calvert on May 26, 2004

Los Angeles-based Lyra Studios has today announced the development of Reclamation--a fantasy massively multiplayer role-playing game in which players will be rewarded with personality points for role-playing as their chosen character. The game is currently in the pre-alpha stages of development and, according to Lyra Studios, will boast a number of features that are rare or unheard of in the genre.

"Our goal is to create, promote, and foster a dynamic role-playing environment, where characters are someone and where their actions truly matter," said Jason Kramer, producer on Reclamation. "We are aiming to create small, tight-knit communities, where role-playing is enforced and where players are given frequent and meaningful role-playing opportunities not found in other games."

Reclamation will be set in the Dream City of Underlight (Underlight being the title of the company's first product, released in 1998)--a place frequented by those with the rare ability to be awakened, who are known as dreamers. Monsters known as nightmares will also be present in the world and will even be controllable by players using a "pay-as-you-play" scheme.

Non-player characters, it seems, will play little if any part in Reclamation, with all player quests being generated by other players. Character types supported in the game will include leaders, followers, storytellers, warriors, teachers, hunters, mystics, and explorers, although it's suggested that players will be able to assume any role they wish in the game with a little imagination. Combat in the game will be first-person and in real time, and while player-vs.-player combat will be supported, it will only be encouraged through legitimate scenarios.

Prolouge

"A city? In a dream?"

"Oh, yes! It was a society all its own where people of different cultures, and even different worlds, could meet and share their knowledge. The City of Dreams used to be a very important place to some. These ruins used to be one of their buildings. I think it was called a Sanctuary," he said nodding knowledgeably.

"A Sanctuary? Why would they need one of those?" I asked, gazing around.

"They needed the Sanctuary because they didn't always get along. You see, here in the Dream you can gain power." He made the flinging-whooshing gesture again. "That can go to your head, you know." Fitzhune shook his head matter-of-factly.

This made me remember the man in the forest. "I saw someone else earlier."

"Who?" he asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and he began to look around with wild twists of his head.

I described the hulk of a man that had somehow thrown me across the woods.

He immediately waved his hand dismissively. "Oh. That's Cron. He's another reason you have to be careful."

"Oh?" I asked cautiously.

"Yes. Supposedly there may still be some relics from back then. Artifacts of power. He's determined to find them, if there are any. I was looking myself, but I've never found anything. Yep, he's quite determined," he finished with a slight laugh.

"So what happened?" I inquired.

"Huh? Happened to whom? Cron? I thought you just saw him."

"No, to all the Dreamers. To what this place used to be."

Fitzhune shrugged. "No one knows. There could have been some great Dreamer war where they all killed each other. Or the Chaos," he swept a hand to indicate the pulsing mist above, "could have crashed down, destroying everything and everyone. The Nightmares could have even killed everyone..." he finished.

"Um… What is a Nightmare?" I asked becoming slightly worried again.

Fitzhune's smile faltered. He looked at me and asked, this time adopting a worried tone, "Where exactly did you say you saw Cron?"

"Well, I'm not sure. It was over that way-" I explained, pointing.

Fitzhune stood up suddenly and began looking around nervously. "What if he was hunting?" he said to obviously to no one in particular. In his mind, I was no longer there. "If he was hunting, that means there's probably one nearby."

"One what? A Nightmare? What exactly is a-"

A roar issued from the other side of the ruins that made us both jump out of our skins. Out from the undergrowth slithered a towering creature with rubbery, glistening black skin and white razor spines down its back. Cold red eyes glared from its demonic face and four short tentacles writhed in place of a mouth. The Nightmare, because that is what it had to be, had a muscular, humanoid torso with long, powerful arms ending in scissor-like claws. It slithered purposefully toward us on its hideous serpent-like lower body. Its claws clattered together in anticipation, as it whispered to me in a raspy voice. I felt my bowels begin to loosen when I realized it actually spoke my name.

Cloudsbreak

Bentis smoothed the ancient and tattered piece of parchment carefully. He dipped his quill in the inkhorn and began laboriously to recopy the faded words…

The true nature of Cloudsbreak remains a mystery. Before people learned to dream, they believed that their own small worlds, surrounded by the Boundary Mists, were all that existed. Now they know that there are many worlds; some so small that one may ride from edge to edge in a day or two, some large enough to require a handful or more of days to cross from Mist to Mist.

Each small world, now called a shard, is bounded by the Mists. Whether the Mists are only a few handspans or miles deep, they are impenetrable. Explorers on many shards have tried to penetrate them and all have failed to emerge again.

With no possibility of physical contact, the people have never learned whether all the shards are part of a single larger world, or completely separate tiny worlds. All those who have learned to Dream are of a similar human type, which suggests that the shards may be part of a single world. If so, the shards were separated long enough ago that no known culture retains even the vaguest legend of a time before the Mists.

Isolated on their shards and with limited land and resources, the people of Cloudsbreak developed their own cultures. On the smaller shards of Cloudsbreak, all one can do is try to produce enough food to survive through hunting and farming. Some few of the larger shards have learned to exploit what resources they have of metals, but none have advanced past simple tools and machines.

With limited possibilities for development in other directions, many of the people of Cloudsbreak turned to mental and spiritual disciplines. For untold millenia, nothing changed. Then came the breakthrough. Then came The Awakening.

The old monk carefully rolled up the parchment and put it into his scrip. He folded the sheets on which he'd transcribed the ancient history and concealed them within the dullest book of sermons in the monastery's library.

It was several days before Bentis dared go back to the scriptorium and continue his work on the ancient fragments of parchment. Once again, he chose a cold, cloudy day when few of the brothers wished to write in the semi-dark.

The Awakening

No one knows who the first person to achieve the awakening was. What is known, however, is that it had a radical effect on the shards of Cloudsbreak. Those who have achieved the awakening fall asleep on Cloudsbreak, and enter into a lucid dreaming.

The Dreamscape is a realm of swirling chaotic energy. This energy was drawn from the incoherent dreams of the unawakened people on Cloudsbreak. Those who have achieved the awakening can come to consciousness in this place. At first, they were formless, lost in the tumultuous energy. They could hear the voices of others, and tried to speak themselves, but had little success. They could sense the presence of other Dreamers, but could not make contact.

Gerrial Endeth was the first dreamer to craft an avatar, a form out of the chaos. She gathered some of the ambient energy and used it to craft and maintain a stylized body around her consciousness. Bolstered by her success, others began crafting avatars for themselves. In these more stable forms, Dreamers could meet and recognize one another. And having learned to manipulate the essence of the Dreamscape, they began to impose structures upon it.

The Dreamers who would become the Master Dreamwrights learned to visualize an equivalent of solid matter within the Dreamstate. So powerful and disciplined were their minds that they were able to project their visualizations to other Dreamers and have their illusions accepted as real and solid places.

The first place crafted was the Hall of Voices. It was a sheltered place, where dreamers could come and speak in comfort. At first, the Hall was enough. The dreamers would meet and share tales of their shards in Cloudsbreak. They would exchange ideas and thoughts. But as time grew, and more dreamers awakened, the Hall was too small. The Dreamwrights began to expand. They crafted their own world, their own city in the Dreaming. And thus was formed the City of Underlight.

The second parchment copied, Bentis concealed his transcription in another of the volumes of soporific sermons written by a long dead abbot. He flexed his cramped and chilled hands and left the dim scriptorium.

Spring planting intervened and it was weeks before Bentis again had the leisure to return to the scriptorium and continue his secret labors.

The Golden Age of Dreaming

The city of Underlight was a wondrous place: the dreams of Cloudsbreak made into a reality. A large land, where people could wander freely, meeting others they had never known before. They had the ability to form their avatars in whatever shape they desired, and were able to become whatever they wanted to be.

The Dreamscape itself flourished. Houses rose and fell. From the chaos beyond the city walls, malevolent beings the tales called 'Nightmares' invaded, bringing fear and danger to the dreamscape. Great wars were waged between opposing factions and beliefs. More and more dreamers achieved the awakening, and brought with them new ideas and sciences. Civilization in both Underlight and Cloudsbreak flourished.

The Dreamers became valued people on their shards in Cloudsbreak. They brought new ideas to their people, told wonderful tales of events on other shards and in the Dream. Often, only one or two in a given shard would achieve the awakening. As the main sources of knowledge and entertainment on their shards, they were treated with honor and respect. Often they were not required to do everyday tasks, such as raising crops and doing chores. Many societies would take care of them completely in exchange for the gifts the Awakened brought to them.

For most, the Dream quickly became more important to them than their lives on Cloudsbreak. They would lie in bed sleeping the majority of the day, waking only to clean and eat, and share news with those on their shard. From lack of physical exertion, their bodies began to weaken,. For some dreamers, merely getting out of bed itself became a chore. They found themselves at the mercy of those around them, depending on them for life as the unawakened depended on them for information.

With a sigh of regret, Bentis rolled up the last tattered scrap of parchment. He stared unseeing at the transcription for some moments, then dipped his quill again and began to write….

I have copied all that I have found of the history of the Dream. The old, torn parchments had been concealed in the bindings of books in the monastery library. My copies too will be hidden in the hope that one day someone else will find them and take up my search for the rest of the story.

No one now living knows what happened to the Dream and the Dreamers. How did it happen that Dreamers were once the pampered elite of our society and are now feared and reviled?

All my life I have been cursed with the ability to Dream; to walk those empty halls, to see the proud Houses, the majestic rooms of Threshold, the closed and enigmatic Library of Souls. Far from the throngs of noble lords and great ladies who once ruled and fought in the Dream, my fellow dreamers are few and as furtive as I have had to be.

None of us knows the ending of the story. Only that on all shards we know of, Dreamers are hunted and slain when found. All of us have heard dark tales. Some whisper that the Dreamers brought their wars home with them. Some tell of famines and diseases caused by Dreamers. Some claim that Dreamers ran mad and slew their Unawakened families and friends. Some say that the Unawakened were driven mad with envy and slew the Dreamers in their midst.

And so we have only dark whispers and rumors. We dream rarely and in as much secrecy as we may. We scavenge for scraps of tales and histories. We trade our meager information and try to piece together a tale lost and suppressed by generations of fears. We ...

Bentis stiffened at the sound of the doorlatch and quickly shuffled his sheet of paper into the stack of sheets beside him. When the door swung open, he was bent over a different sheet, devoutly recopying the deathless words of a long ago saint.

The Great Loss

Bentis sat in his usual spot on the edge of the Fountain of Wishes. This dream, the name of the Fountain seemed ironic. He wished he had not found the latest parchment with its terrible history of loss and destruction. Rather than seeking out his young friends, he waited for them to locate him and come to ask about his research.

The first chime of the portal admitted Alkinia, who came up the stairs and took her usual seat a little distance from him on the fountain's rim.

"You look tired, Bentis," she observed.

He sighed and nodded to her. Their beliefs kept them from being friends, but they had known one another for many years. He acknowledged to himself that he would miss their arguments if she ceased to dream. That realization made him smile wryly as he answered, "I've been copying so many dull saints' lives for such a small trove of Dream history. And the latest one is even more terrible than the others."

Before Alkinia could reply, the portal chimed again, admitting Nightwing and Skandren. The younger dreamers ran up the stairs and bowed to the elders waiting for them.

"Why so gloomy, Master?" Skandren asked, "Have you found no more histories in the library?"

Bentis sighed and answered, "I could wish I had not found this one, my friends."

The students sat at their master's feet and Nightwing urged, "Tell us anyway, Master. We've lost so much. Even the sad and terrible stories should be preserved."

The portal chimed again and Termish came running up the stairs to join them. "Good dreams, my friends! I've been smacking the agos around and only just located you all. More history, Master Bentis?"

Alkinia glowered at his mention of hunting, but unusually for her, forbore to comment.

Bentis nodded and began to relate the tale he had just transcribed, "It began on a day much like any other in the City of Underlight. In Threshold, experienced Dreamers met with the Newly Awakened. In the Houses, meetings were underway, guards were posted and Dreamers came and went. In the lands, roving bands of Dreamers fought over their beliefs while other Dreamers hunted mares and collected essences.

"And far out on the edges of the Dreamstate, a team of Master Dreamwrights and Dreamsmiths called the Overscanners were trying to find a way to repair the City walls and keep the Mares out once and for all. Under the leadership of a Master Dreamwright Elder named Ibioc, the Overscanners made ready to attempt their first repair.

"The Overscanners began by entering a group meditation and reaching out with their minds to probe the weakened sections of the City walls. They did not realize how much the Walls had been weakened by the meddling of the Entropy Coalition. Where once the City had maintained a balance between the forces of Chaos and Order within and without the Walls, now the forces fluctuated wildly. The City of Dreams, a tiny island of Order in the surging seas of Chaos was under severe pressure and perilously close to rupture.

"And that is exactly what happened. Before the Overscanners realized what they had done, the City walls blew apart and a tidal wave of chaotic consciousness flooded into Underlight. In the space of a heartbeat, the Overscanners were torn asunder, their minds overwhelmed by the chaotic forces.

"The Dorsal Rift was born."

Nightwing gasped in horror and moved closed to Skandren.

Skandren put his arm around her and observed, "For all their power, a lot of those ancient Masters seem to have been awfully reckless. It seems like they were willing to try anything they dreamed up, regardless of what might happen."

Bentis nodded slowly, "It does look that way, for all the chroniclers seem to admire them. It gets worse.

"The monstrous wave of consciousness slammed through the Dream, blowing through the portals and rushing toward Threshold. Dreamers caught by its sudden onslaught were also destroyed, their minds shredded by the waves of raw psychic essence. The wave hit the Houses and even their mighty walls could not hold it back. It poured through Sanctuaries destroying Dreamers before they could so much as scream. Within seconds, every single Dreamer in the city was utterly slain.

"The City itself began to shake and crumble as the Dorsal Rift grew. As those who had not been dreaming at the moment of disaster entered the City, they found utter carnage: the Dreamstate rippled with raw, uncontrolled power and the death essences of Dreamer and Mare alike littered the lands.

"Struggling against the continuing waves of energy, all the surviving Master Dreamwrights fought their way outward toward Dorsal Rift. Freesoul, Illuminate and Freespirit alike joined in a last desperate effort to save Underlight. The City was being pulled apart and would soon be lost if some stability could not be restored. All that had been accomplished in the Dream since its first days was on the verge of being destroyed.

"The surviving Dreamwrights did as the Overscanners had done that very day: they joined in a group meditation and began to focus their will on the Rift. They reached out, grasping the edges of the rift, stopping it from spreading, pulling it closed. For hours they labored to gain control of the deadly forces, pulling the Rift closed, struggling to push the Chaos from the City. At last came the moment when their heroic efforts were within a hairsbreadth of success: the Rift was almost sealed.

"In that moment they were lost again. Again the Master Dreamwrights had failed to understand the pressures within and without the City. In the instant they made their last thrust to evict the chaotic energies and close the Dorsal Rift, a second Rift blew open on the opposite side of the City. Caudal Rift was born in a second tidal wave of consciousness pouring through the City. Again, chaotic energy surged through Underlight, destroying all in its path. Teams of Dreamers attempting to repair the damage of the first eruption were caught and destroyed by the second. The last of the Master Dreamwrights were collapsed and shredded within seconds.

"This Dream of terror became known as The Great Loss. Almost every Dreamer alive was killed that day, leaving only those few fortunate enough not to have been dreaming at the time of the great eruptions. Underlight would remain almost empty for many months till more Dreamers awakened in the lands of Cloudsbreak and took up the work of rebuilding the shattered City."

There was a stunned silence when Bentis finished speaking.

Finally, Termish asked, "How could they all be killed by something that happened in the Dream?"

"It must have been like Dreamstrike," mused Skandren, "a shock so violent that it destroyed their ability to Dream again. I've known people who had something so terrible happen to them that their minds couldn't accept it and wiped out the memory completely."

Nightwing nodded slowly, "And perhaps some of them really did die of the shock. If they believed strongly enough that what happened in the Dream could kill their souls, then perhaps it did so. There are witches on my shard who can curse people to death, and whether it's the witch's power or the power of the victim's belief, some of them do die."

"You never understand, you foolish Freesouls, even when the answer is in front of your faces." Alkinia said, shaking her head. "Their souls were slain by the chaos wave that hit the City and their empty bodies died in the waking world."

Alkinia crossed her arms, and looked away. Those who looked closely could see the beginnings of a tear fall from her eye, as she stared quietly at the eclipse in the sky.

Lament for the Passing

The woman sat on the top stair, her back to the portals that no longer spun. She gazed out at the empty, beautiful room, remembering.

"They say talking to yourself is a sign of madness, but there's no one else to talk to anymore," she muttered. "Where did they all go?" She shook her head sadly, "So many lost in that stupid war. Dreamstruck, never to be seen in the City again. Stupid, stupid, stupid! So intent on their idiotic war they never noticed the Dream emptying around them."

She rocked back and forth on the stair, her voice rising, "So many gone. Just gone. Dreaming one day, then never again. Where are you? Why did you leave me? Drenthan! Xaria! T'rassa! All of you gone.

"The House closed. I tried, but I couldn't keep it open alone. Hunting, bringing in essences to strengthen the Prime. Genning, even for things I can't use, but hoping that someone would Dream again and be glad of Seer Chaks and Will eles."

"And this Dream," her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.

"This Dream," she continued, "the House portal from the Courtyard wouldn't let me in. I came the long way. Ran all the way up from Thresh. I knew. Long before I got here, I knew. But I had to see for myself. My crest gone. The one I swore to wear till the end of my Dreaming. The portals still and dead."

A portal chimed and she looked up listlessly. A dark figure strode down the stairs from the far entrance, across the courtyard and partway up the stairs, "So your House is gone too," he said.

The woman looked down at him and said bitterly, "Aye, for all I could do, one member wasn't enough to keep it open forever. I suppose you've come to gloat."

Slowly, he shook his head, "No. When I saw you run through Thresh, I guessed what had happened. At first I felt triumphant that the last Freesoul House had closed. But it wasn't just the last Freesoul House; it was the last House in the Dream.

"They're all gone now. No more Houses. Scarcely any more Dreamers.

"My House had a legend, an ancient ruler who went mad. He claimed we were all endangering souls by dreaming, wanted to rid the Dream of all the Dreamers. He's so long dead that we're not even sure of his name anymore. Whoever it was, no doubt his ghost is happy now."

"What happened, Malven? Where did they all go?" she asked.

Once there was a Place

“Once there was a place,” the old woman whispered, “a better place than this. A beautiful place, and strange. Where we didn’t spend all our time grubbing in the earth.”

The girl looked fearfully around and asked in a low tone, “What are you talking about Gran?”

The old woman rocked back in the rickety chair, her hands always busy with the coarse wool and wooden knitting pins. She looked at the girl and whispered again, “A dream, it was a dream. But it seemed so real, realer than this place. Even in ruins, it was better than this.”

The girl looked around again at the small, bare room, the hearth of mud and stone, the wooden walls. It was all she’d ever known, and until now she’d never thought if it was good or bad. It simply was. All the houses in the village were similar and she’d never been more than a day’s walk from the village.

“Just a dream,” she said softly, “And what’s the use of dreaming?”

“Once….,” the old woman replied, “once it was a great thing to Dream, to walk those halls and learn strange lore and visit with folk from beyond the Mists.”

The girl snorted, “You can’t go beyond the Mists! Everyone knows that.”

“The Dream was somewhere else. No Mists. And folk came there in dreams, not walking through the Mists,” the old woman retorted. “Once it was a great pride to a family to have a Dreamer. Now you keep your tongue still in your head and you don’t tell none but maybe your closest kin.

“The great days are gone, the Great Houses closed and dark, the great Rulers and Teachers dead and gone,” the old woman looked down at the coarse shawl she was knitting and sighed.

The girl opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, a loud voice from outside the cabin called out. “Nan, where are you, girl? Get out here and tend those chickens! They’re in the garden again!”

Nan scrambled to her feet and ran outside to chase the greedy birds.

The rest of the day passed in the usual round of chores. It was not until she lay down on her pallet in the loft and pulled her blanket around her that Nan remembered her grandmother’s words

A better place than this, she mused. She remembered the peddler who’d come by a few months ago. He’d had things such as she’d never seen before; strips of fabric in colors like flowers, rings made of metal as shiny as ice. Her father had snorted and turned away: nothing in the peddler’s pack that he could use.

But Nan had hung around, looking at the bright wares and listening to the man’s chatter.

He’d been as far as the City, the peddler claimed, “Where the houses are all stone and the streets are stone as well. And lasses wear ribbons like these, and jewelry as well.”

Now she wondered if her Gran’s dream was like the City, with stone houses and everyone wearing pretty ribbons and fine things.

Nan blinked and looked around her. She stood in an open space, a pool in front of her, two graceful stairways arcing up to either side. Everything appeared to be made of large blocks of dressed stone, no mud, no dingy rotting wood. She blinked again and remembered her grandmother’s tale of a City of Dreams.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward, wondering if she dared set her dirty feet on those fine stone stairs.

Reference

• http://web.archive.org/web/20060830122432/http://www.reclamationgame.com/
• https://www.gamespot.com/articles/lyra-studios-announces-reclamation/1100-6099276/
• https://www.mmorpg.com/reclamation
• http://web.archive.org/web/20050926114344/http://www.reclamationgame.com/207.0.html
• http://web.archive.org/web/20050927054554/http://www.reclamationgame.com/8.0.html
• http://web.archive.org/web/20050926020640/http://www.reclamationgame.com/239.0.html
• http://www.reclamationgame.com/238.0.html
• http://www.reclamationgame.com/233.0.html