visits
A brief telling of where Elusion begins — and how much deeper it goes.
It starts in town, where the streets are safe and the coin is honest. Then there's the portal. No one agrees on what it is or where it goes — only that it's open, and that it pulls. Step through, and the world past it does not welcome you: the farther you go, the harder it gets — stranger ground, meaner things, less room for a single mistake.
The first great thing past the portal is the Crowned Behemoth — a beholder: one great eye crowned like a king, ringed with lesser eyes on restless stalks. It does not chase. It does not need to. It hangs in the air and turns the ground itself against you — rings of spikes that erupt where you're about to stand, walls of them that close the room to a single gap. Every eye watches a different death. Read the telegraphs and live; miss one and don't. And it is only Layer 1.
The Crowned Behemoth is not one enemy but six, each bound to an element that colors its patterns and its patience. They are the same eye seen through six different lights.
The way down is not empty. Slimes that split when struck, sprites that spit fire and lightning, mages that raise thorns from the dirt and snipers that punish a careless step — six families of them, in dozens of elemental variants. Clear them, and the world gives back: loot, coin, pets that fight at your side, and quiet things to do between fights — a fishing line, a cook-fire, a fair trade with another player.
Every coin in Elusion is real — earned, spent, and tracked on a server no client can lie to. Wealth can't be conjured; it comes from somewhere, and it can leave you just as fast. Carry gold into a fight and lose, and you lose the gold — only what you bank is safe. Money you can lose is money that means something.
And the kingdom takes its cut. Every trade between players is taxed — but the tax isn't pocketed by anyone, it's burned. The gold leaves the world entirely, and that is the whole point: it's the only thing that keeps coin scarce and worth carrying, where a fee that simply changed hands would leave the realm exactly as rich as before. The shops work the same way — buy a potion or a blade and the coin doesn't line a merchant's purse, it's gone from the world for good, the everyday sink that keeps gold flowing out as fast as you earn it. So spending isn't loss — it's a contribution. The Kingdom Board keeps the tally: not what you hoard, but what you've given the realm, ranked for all to see. Whoever has fed the kingdom most sits at the top of it.
Beating the Crowned Behemoth is not the end — it's the way down. Past it the world keeps going, and stops being a solo climb. The deep doesn't play fair: its monsters hit harder, move smarter, and never come one at a time. These are raids — fights no single player walks out of, that demand a party who read the room, spend cooldowns like currency, and keep each other alive. Every layer cleared feeds the kingdom's score. Go deeper, stay efficient, come back richer — or don't come back.
You arrive as one of four: a Warrior who closes the distance, a Mage who never wants it closed, a Healer whose light comes ten times a second, or a Tank who simply refuses to fall. However you're built, the portal asks the same question four ways: how far down can you get, and can you get back?
The world is still being written. This is where it stands today.