Author: [Sorry, I'm not feeling well today, both mentally and physically.
So here's a lore drop I made earlier.
If you want, you can just skip this part.]
The Altar
Not to be confused with the True Altars—
the incomprehensible Axis at the heart of all planes—
there exists another kind of structure:
simply called the Altar.
These are not born of impossible balance.
They are built.
Crafted by mortal hands, immortal ambition,
or the desperate remains of a fallen god.
At the heart of every Altar lies a Core.
This core may be:
A stone blessed by the touch of a god.
A fragment torn from a fallen deity.
An ancient artifact no longer understood.
Or even a shard derived from a True Altar itself.
These cores are rare, dangerous, and coveted—
but with the right knowledge, ingredients, and rituals,
anyone can construct an Altar around one.
This is what makes them so dangerous.
Polymorphism of Altars
Though every Altar has a fixed, constant shape once complete,
that shape is not universal.
Some appear as dark monoliths.
Others as glowing circles.
Others still as delicate, crystalline lattices suspended midair.
The design is dictated by its core—
and yet two Altars can appear identical while harboring wildly different power,
or take on different appearances while serving the same function.
This phenomenon is known as Altar Polymorphism.
It makes distinguishing one Altar's nature from another's nearly impossible.
An Altar derivative of a True Altar may still seem indistinguishable
from an ordinary, crafted one.
And worse yet, some derivatives of derivatives
Phantom Altars
blur the line even further.
Some say even the Watchers can no longer tell the difference.
Purpose & Use
These lesser Altars are reliable tools for those with the means and knowledge:
Spellcasting
Summoning and banishment
Rending planes open
Binding or breaking fate
Communion with things beyond
But it comes at a cost.
Even the smallest Altar pulls at its creator—
feeding on something they may never get back.
And though the True Altars cannot be made…
these can.
And they are everywhere.
Their shape is constant.
But their nature is unknowable.
And their danger… inevitable.
The thing is…
no mortal has the lifespan it takes
to truly research how to craft an Altar.
What knowledge exists has been stolen,
pieced together from forgotten ruins,
whispered by dying gods,
or inscribed in blood on the walls of collapsing planes.
Every Altar is built imperfectly.
Every builder carves a piece of themselves into it,
not fully knowing what they've made.
And so the Altars proliferate—
dangerous, unknowable,
haunting the planes like silent witnesses.
Yet still, they are built.
Because even if it costs everything…
there is always one more soul
desperate enough to try.
And each ritual is different.
There is no right way to do so…
but there is.
But each one demands a greater sacrifice.