Faiths and Doctrines

The Church of Okran stands as both beacon and blade, preaching purity through fire and discipline. In their sunlit creed, doubt is sin and strength is virtue, redemption earned through unwavering faith and righteous labor. Beneath gold and ivory banners, the faithful march, believing all shadows must flee, or burn, in Okran’s holy light.

The Church of Stobe whispers where others preach, a quiet faith carved from time and stillness. Its followers find divinity not in fire or fury, but in patience, endurance, and the mercy that asks for nothing in return. They speak of a god who does not command, but listens, whose silence comforts the suffering and shields the meek beneath his unshaking gaze. Where Okran burns, Stobe endures, a quiet sentinel watching the world weather itself.

The Code of Kral is not prayed, it is lived, carved into flesh and bone with every trial endured. It is a creed of blood and blade, born in exile, where honor is earned through combat and freedom is sacred above all. Followers do not bow to gods nor kings, save the memory of Kral, who shattered his chains and dared the world to break him. To live by the Code is to carry the weight of one’s strength, to never kneel, and to fall only facing forward, weapon in hand.

The Hive is not belief, it is being. In the pulse of the swarm, the sacred truth hums. Each drone, a prayer; each act, a rite. We are born not to question, but to serve. The Queen speaks in silence, and we obey. To walk alone is to fall into madness. But within the Hive, there is no hunger, no fear, only purpose. Ours is a holy order of unity, a faith written not in scripture, but in the rhythm of many hearts, beating as one.

New Imperialism is the gospel of power veiled in golden silk, a creed whispered in the halls of marble palaces and etched into the bones of conquered lands. It teaches that wealth is not earned but inherited through divine favor, that the blood of the powerful runs thicker than justice, and that to rule is not a burden, but a birthright. Beneath its banners, ambition becomes sanctified, and the world is carved to suit the appetites of the ordained. It is not merely governance, it is providence draped in coin and steel.

The Manumit faith is a fire in the soul, a sacred revolt whispered on every wind and etched into every scar. It teaches that freedom is not granted, but born into the marrow of all living things, stolen only by cruelty and reclaimed only through will. Its believers speak of a world where no yoke shall bite, no chain shall hold, and no master shall name another's worth. To walk the Manumit path is to bear the burden of memory, to strike the iron of justice, and to unmake every shackle in both body and spirit.

Procurism is the fire of forgotten divinity, a creed whispered from the ruins of the Ancients. Its faithful walk not in search of grace, but in remembrance of glory, for they believe themselves reborn gods, the rightful inheritors of a broken world. Strength is sacred, power is proof, and weakness is a stain upon the blood. In Procurism, to rise is not ambition, it is destiny reclaimed.