Wild lore from the plowmasters book of secrets

Chapter 9: The Enlightenment – Aura Ascendant

In the fractured dominion of Praetoria, change didn’t come with a bang—it came with a buzz. A warm, tingling, soul-melting buzz called AURA. After years of black-market dealings, secret exchanges in alleyways behind battle arenas, and wild benders that ended with half-melted goblins confessing their love to stone statues, AURA was finally legalized. But not by choice—by conspiracy.

The newly formed Conclave of Archans, a shady group of masked power-mongers who claimed to represent the “People’s Will,” passed sweeping reforms. They declared AURA a “natural right,” a nutritional necessity, and—most controversially—a sacred sacrament of the Splinterlands. Within a week, AURA was placed at the very top of the Pretorian Food Pyramid, replacing both "meat" and "ethics."

At first, monsters rejoiced. Drunken Djinns danced in the moonlight, Succubi set up street-side distilleries, and Riftwatchers threw glittering AURA-fueled raves inside broken Realmgates. It was a golden age—until it turned into sludge.

Behind the scenes, shadow cartels—led by the same Conclave members who “liberated” the substance—were buying up land, mining rights, and infrastructure for pennies. Turns out, AURA legalization was just a smokescreen for resource extraction on an apocalyptic scale.

To maximize profits, they launched a government program for "AURA Runoff Employment," targeting the destitute outskirts of Praetoria where dreams went to die. There, monsters were fed a new cheap blend called Unicorn Dust—a grotesque cocktail of unicorn urine and the mammary runoff of a creature bred in secrecy: the Byzantine Kitty-Chaos Dragon Hybrid.

This monstrosity, named "Obey-Kitty Unit #557", was a massive, oozing blob with 55 fire-spewing udders, a melting half-smile, and no brain—just one biological purpose: excrete obedience. The Unicorn Dust—filtered through its udders and laced with magical chaos essence—caused severe brain rot in prolonged users, turning them into euphoric, loyal miners of SPS.

These mutated laborers worked endlessly in the new underground AURA mines, smiling while their bodies broke down, hallucinating that they were heroes in an eternal brawl. Meanwhile, the wealthy elite—those lucky enough to escape the Dust—used AURA recreationally in disgusting ways.

Most notably, they inserted it rectally before battle, a practice known as "Backdoor Enlightenment." It gave them psychedelic visions and tripled their strength, or so they claimed. Some even saw the future. Most just screamed and launched fireballs at clouds.

And as property values plummeted, whole towns were bought up, turned into arenas, factories, and AURA refineries. The monsters cheered, too far gone to notice their neighbors vanishing, their leaders cashing in, or the fact that the Conclave had quietly rebranded as the Board of Supreme Harmony.

The Enlightenment had come.
And it brought with it… obedience, decay, and sweet, sweet profit.

Backseat Alchemy: A Night with Aura
It was the kind of Praetorian night where the AURA fog rolled in heavy and thick—glowing green, humming like it had secrets. The neon signs flickered across the ruined skyline, advertising everything from fireproof sandals to genetically modified cuddle beasts. But in a cracked alley behind a retired war chariot turned taxi, Mistress Glint was on the clock.

Mistress Glint wasn’t your average night operator. She didn’t deal in credits or coin. She dealt in vibes, vibrations, and volatile AURA chemistry. Rumor had it she once seduced a Djinn into donating his beard for potion-making. Others claimed she could sniff your bloodline by scent alone. The truth? Even weirder.

So there I was, slumped in the backseat of a repurposed Soulbound Transport Mk. II—half asleep, half melted from sipping SplinterJuice Atomic straight from a cursed goblet—when Glint slid in beside me. Her eyes glowed like twin emeralds soaked in sin, and she carried a flask filled with bubbling purple AURA that hissed when uncorked.

“You look like someone who’s been losing votes,” she said, smirking. “Wanna win some back?”

Before I could answer, she poured a drop of that AURA directly onto the cracked leather seat between us. Instantly, the cab filled with visions: collapsing empires, dancing chickens, and a haunted saxophone solo that seemed to come from nowhere.

We didn’t talk much after that.

She mixed that AURA with a sprinkle of ground Chaos Scale and a puff of Unicorn Dust (from the legal kind, don’t worry). It lit up like a bonfire in the shape of a question mark. Then she whispered a forgotten spell and—bam—we were soaring. Not in the sky, but through our own memories, dreams, and tax audits.

The backseat pulsed with magic. The cab levitated two inches off the ground. Outside, time slowed. A goblin chasing a floating coin paused mid-leap. Somewhere in the distance, a volcano burped and decided to take a nap.

When the AURA settled and the taxi hit the ground, we sat in silence.

Mistress Glint licked the rim of the empty flask, looked at me, and said,
“That’ll be 5 SPS, or one secret you’ve never told anyone.”

I paid both.