Elyndor

Elyndor: Ancient Echoes, New Horizons

This is a land shaped by contrast. Emeraldwood is thick with silence, its trees older than memory. The forest feels awake, as if it’s watching, as if it remembers when the world was young. To the north-east, the Rivervale Plains roll out like a blanket of green and gold, dotted with shrines, farmsteads, and the worn paths of merchant caravans. The Celestial Ridge rises like a spine of the world to the south of the Great Dragon River. Few climb it. Fewer return. Beyond those peaks lies the Beastlands, a place of raw wilderness and ancient hunger. It is not tame, and it never will be.

Some still whisper prayers to the Divines. They were once worshiped as creators, shapers of the stars and seas. Now, their names are kept alive by those who refuse to forget. The spirits are older in some ways, or perhaps just closer. They are the shape of wind through canyon stone, the warmth of a hearth in deep winter, the strange hush before lightning strikes. Some are vast and known across the land. Others are small, secret things, worshiped in solitude by a single village or even one devoted soul. To some, they are gods in all but name.

Ruins litter the wilds. Not ruins of recent wars or forgotten outposts, but of something older. Cities swallowed by root and vine. Watchtowers that no longer guard anything but silence. Artifacts still hum with power. Glyphs flicker in places no one should go. The magic left behind did not die. It seeped into stone and soil. It waits, patient and strange.

The Sundering tore Elyndor from itself. It left scars that never healed, and those wounds still bleed in quiet places. Monsters wear familiar faces. Dreams carry warnings. Some towns vanish without a word. Most people do not speak of these things. They tend their fields, light their lanterns, and hope the dark passes them by. But every soul knows, deep down, that something still lingers. Something watching. Something hungry.

Elyndor is not safe. It is not simple. But it is real. And for those willing to walk it with open eyes and a steady heart, there are still stories waiting to be lived.