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★ GENERAL ★
Russian-language species project about dragons!
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★ DISCLAIMER ★
Individuals that are sold on the project's territory can be removed from the project, and you can use them as your main characters.
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★ YOU CAN FIND US HERE ★
We are on VK: vk.com/sompromo
We are on Deviantart: deviantart.com/sompromo
⚡ PAY ON BOOSTY ⚡
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Recent Journal
The History of the SOMPROMO Project (G)
a month ago
Echoes of Sompromo: When Sparks Meet Steam
There was never silence on the continent. Since the late 18th century, it had resembled a massive, eternally shifting attic: here, the elegant spires of magical academies stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the soot-stained chimneys of factories. It was a strange time—the Art Nouveau era, where the scent of expensive parchment mingled with the acrid stench of coal soot.
Echoes of Sompromo: When Sparks Meet Steam
There was never silence on the continent. Since the late 18th century, it had resembled a massive, eternally shifting attic: here, the elegant spires of magical academies stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the soot-stained chimneys of factories. It was a strange time—the Art Nouveau era, where the scent of expensive parchment mingled with the acrid stench of coal soot.The world was cracked in two:Luminor: The kingdom of conservatives and aesthetics. Here, the whisper of incantations was considered the highest art, and traditions were valued above common sense.Mechanos: The land of steam, clank, and grease. Its people believed only in what could be taken apart and put back together.Between the two, there were always sparks flying—and rarely out of affection.The Dreamer and the Skeptic
Elian lived in Luminor. He was the kind of mage who always had singed cuffs and oil on his hands. While his masters droned on about the purity of the Aether, Elian spent his nights tinkering with gears, trying to lock a spell inside a copper casing. He dreamed of something impossible: an engine powered by the very essence of magic.Across the water, in the thundering heart of Mechanos, lived Lyra. If you had asked her about magic, she would have snorted: "Tricks for those afraid to get their hands dirty." But everything changed when a Luminor artifact arrived in her workshop—a crystal pulsing with a strange, arrhythmic light. Lyra, accustomed to the rigid logic of pistons, found herself unable to explain how the damn thing worked.Fate threw them together at the Grand Exhibition of Technology. It wasn't a spark from a romance novel; it was a heated clash between two professionals, each hell-bent on proving the other wrong."Your magic is unstable," Lyra declared.
"Your iron is lifeless," Elian shot back.
But as they leaned over each other’s blueprints, silence fell. They realized that where one had hit a dead end, the other held the solution.The work on the Paramagical Engine nearly drove them mad. It was months of arguments, sleepless nights, and desperate attempts to marry ancient runes with pressure valves. They had to break not just metal, but their own core beliefs. Lyra learned to feel the rhythm of magical currents, while Elian finally accepted that precise calculations were more important than artistic inspiration.On demonstration day, a graveyard silence hung over the square. When Elian turned the key and Lyra opened the steam valve, the machine didn't just roar. It breathed. Instead of black smoke, violet-pink flares shot into the sky, and the sound of working pistons harmonized into a pure, almost musical note.It was a victory. Not just of engineering or sorcery, but of common sense over pride.From that day on, Sompromo ceased to be a battlefield. Magic and mechanics stopped arguing over who was superior and simply began working together. As for Elian and Lyra? They remained icons of this strange, loud, and beautiful era—a time when the impossible became merely a matter of proper calibration.The Almagetto Mountains: Do Not Disturb Our Silence
Deep within those accursed snows, where mountains loom like skeletal remains and eternal darkness hides more than one can fathom, live the Cultists of the Red Angel. They hide not only from the world but from their own destiny. Their pale bodies seem untouched by the cold, radiating a chill of their own as they wander through snowfields in thin shirts. Yet, they drape themselves in heavy, snow-white fur coats—not for warmth, but as a symbol to blend with the landscape and hide the blood that flows in their veins.Their faith is not a choice, but a necessity. They worship the Red Angel not for protection, but for the "blood magic" it bestows. This gift is both a curse and their only means of survival; without this dark power, their bodies would wither in a week. Through this magic, they weave their most terrible wonders, creating immortal beasts known as Blood Angels.These Blood Angels are not mere dragons. They are the cultists' creations, their guardians, and their eternal prisoners. The most terrifying condition of their existence is that a Blood Angel must never lose faith in its god. If it doubts for even a single moment, its immortality shatters, and it dies instantly.Cult mages use these Blood Angels to guard their secrets and sacred sites. Their magic, fueled by pain and blood, allows them to manipulate the elements and weave illusions that make even the bravest tremble. They avoid humanity out of sheer disgust, viewing the outside world as a threat to their fragile, damned order.Outsiders know nothing of them. Legends are whispered, but none dare to verify them. The rare fools who tried to approach either perished or returned with fractured minds, raving about nightmarish flights of Blood Angels over snowy peaks and rituals that make the blood run cold.So, they wait. Bound to cursed magic, surrounded by immortals whose lives hang by the thread of faith, they wait. And in the heart of each cultist lives a dark hope: that one day, they will emerge from the shadows and show the world exactly what they have become.Thorns of the Desert: Where Black Roses Bloom Beneath the Red
Deep within the scorching sands of the Desert of Red Roses, where the horizon shimmers eternally with heat, dwells the Cult of the Golden Rose. They are an order of nomadic mages whose very existence is woven from contradictions, darkness, and borrowed power.Outwardly, the cultists cut a striking, if terrifying, figure. Their skin is as dark as night, blending perfectly with the deep shadows of the dunes at sunset. They traverse the trackless wastes on bizarre vessels propelled not by wind, but by dark mantic power, endlessly searching for ancient dragon graveyards.These ascetics are adorned only with intricate gold patterns forged from rare mountain metals. The gold symbolizes their eternal yearning for the lost majesty of dragons and their connection to these celestial rulers. Their ornaments gleam brilliantly under the merciless desert sun like lighthouses beckoning unwary travelers, yet the mages themselves remain hidden within the dense, unnatural shadows cast by their own bodies.The core of their power lies in a unique and sinister shadow magic. On their own, these mages are incredibly weak, lacking a conventional physical vessel. Their bodies are mere flickering silhouettes devoid of material flesh—ephemeral forms barely able to maintain their presence in the living world.Their survival depends entirely on absorbing the souls of fallen dragons. Cult rituals center on scavenging the remains of these majestic beasts that once ruled the skies. They do not just collect bones; they trap the souls of these mighty creatures, binding them into shadow silhouettes—wraiths eternally enslaved to their dark designs.These dragon shadows, stripped of flesh, can manifest in the physical world only for brief moments to execute their masters' will or strike primal terror into the hearts of trespassers. Empowered by these captured shades, the mages are masters of macabre illusions and psychological manipulation, forcing people to see phantoms and succumbing to paralyzing dread.Despite their grim reputation, the Cult of the Golden Rose has managed to forge surprisingly close ties with royalty. Monarchs are drawn to their shadow lore, viewing them as indispensable allies against foreign enemies and internal rebellions. Cult members are frequent visitors to the palace, where their wisdom and prophecies shape fateful decisions. They act as mysterious court advisors, using their gifts to read fate and manipulate the future. While many at court shun their dark arts, the royal family deeply values their ability to see what remains hidden from ordinary eyes. Thus, the Cult of the Golden Rose thrives at the center of political intrigue, masterfully balancing the bright light of royal power with the heavy shadows of their magic.The Twin Mountains: A Tale of Betrayal and Venom
Deep on the eastern border of the Sompromo range, in the heart of the Acid Mountains and beneath the majestic, gloomy Twin Mountains, lies the Secret Cave. Here, clouds never part, and the rain tastes of bitter acid. It is a realm of eternal corrosion where stone melts into grotesque shapes and the air hisses with venomous fumes. No kingdom dares claim this territory, for it belongs to one being alone: the dragon Legion.Legion is nothing like his noble or magical kin. His scales do not shine; they offer only a dull, sickly reflection in the toxic haze. He is a predator and a strategist whose goal is not isolation, but absolute dominance. Legion believes that dragons were created to rule the world, not hide in peaks or serve as mages' pets.He earned the title "The Devourer" for a unique and terrifying ability: by consuming the energy, flesh, and souls of other draconic creatures, he can temporarily summon their echoes—spectral dragons bound entirely to his will. He does not merely kill rivals; he assimilates them into his army.Exiles of the dragon world flock to the Secret Cave, a lair carved like an open wound into the Twin Mountains. Young, aggressive drakes and solitary dragons cast out for excessive cruelty find their way here. Legion organizes them, drilling them in swarm tactics where the weakness of one is covered by the strength of a dozen. In the caustic subterranean lakes, they lick their wounds, hardening and mutating as they prepare for the coming wars.Luminor legends say Legion was once an ordinary mountain dragon who fell in battle and was resurrected by dark alchemy, binding his soul to the very essence of the acid depths. Now, he lives for a single purpose: to amass enough power to emerge from his cave and unleash "The Great Purge"—a war that will wipe the fragile alliance of magic and machinery from the face of Sompromo. He seeks to restore the ancient, cruel, and absolute order of dragon rule.His army is not yet ready, but scouts from both Mechanos and Luminor are increasingly spotting swarms of silhouettes drifting through the acrid fog. And in the silence of the Acid Mountains, from deep underground, a rhythmic sound like a drumbeat echoes: it is the massive, rust-corroded heart of Legion beating in the depths of the Secret Cave, counting down the hours until his crusade begins...The Murano Reserve: Druids and Nagitsune
Deep within the lands of Sompromo, far from the acrid smoke of Mechanos factories and the overbearing glow of Luminor, lies the Murano Reserve. It feels like a lost paradise: gargantuan trees draped in bioluminescent vines, air heavy with the fragrance of healing flora, and a silence broken only by the songs of exotic birds. Yet behind this idyllic veneer lies a much deeper reality. The true masters of these woods are the Nagitsune.In their standard forms, they are remarkably human-like, though striking in their grace and perceived fragility. They live in absolute harmony with the forest: their homes are not built from felled lumber, but are woven into living, breathing trees. Nagitsune magic is bound to the pulse of nature, allowing them to cast blinding illusions, accelerate plant growth, and heal life forces. To a stranger, they might seem like peaceful forest spirits. But that is only one side of the coin.The Nagitsune are shapeshifters. Their true, feral form, which they call the "Heart of the Forest", is revealed only in moments of mortal peril, during solemn rituals, or on sacred hunts.However, they are not the only inhabitants of the Murano Reserve. They live alongside ordinary humans—or rather, nearly ordinary humans. Unlike the urbanites of Mechanos or Luminor, the people of Murano bear the physical imprint of the forest. Each of them possesses feline ears and long, fluffy tails. These "Forest Folk" are neither mages nor shapeshifters; they simply live in this realm, honoring its laws and calling themselves Druids.The society of the Reserve is built on the principles of equilibrium and camouflage. Both the Nagitsune and their neighbors believe the outside world of Sompromo has become too loud, aggressive, and greedy. Their shared duty is to protect this final bastion of pristine life. They are neither benevolent nor evil. A traveler arriving with peaceful intentions might be gifted knowledge of medicinal herbs or guided safely through hidden paths. But those who bring fire, steel, or a lust for Murano’s resources face a different fate. They are ruthlessly led into infinite mazes of illusions until exhaustion breaks them, after which they are either exiled or, in rarer cases, "returned to the earth"—their bodies dissolved into the forest floor.Even the most powerful forces of Sompromo fear these woods. The Cult of the Red Angel views them as phantom spirits, and the mages of the Golden Rose give the Reserve a wide berth, as their shadow magic falters against creatures of pure, vibrant life.The Nagitsune continue to watch. They see Legion hoarding power in the mountains, the cults hiding in snow and sand, and the fragile peace between Luminor and Mechanos splintering. In their sacred groves, taking the form of rustling leaves and intertwined branches, they consult in whispers: when will the moment arrive for the Murano Reserve to stop merely defending itself, and show the world its true, wild, and unstoppable might?
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