4.2 KiB
Where Spirits Walk and Crowns Break
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Long ago, the gods did not perish or fall silent - they left. In one final act of grace or desperation, they raised the Veil, sealing the world of Vaelora from the vast and terrible cosmos beyond. What remained was a land cut off from the stars, its divine lifeblood severed, its wounds left to fester or heal without guidance.
And nowhere does the legacy of that severance echo more deeply than in Mentralin.
Once the central bastion of the ancient Tul-Dar Empire, Mentralin is now a continent divided - a quilt of kingdoms, cults, and war-born frontiers, stitched together by memory and mutual mistrust. It is a land haunted by history and shaped by spirits, whose influence permeates city and wild alike. No corner of Mentralin escapes their whisper - whether in wind or flame, oath or nightmare.
To the northeast, girded by iron ambition and naval supremacy, stands the Temerian Empire - a realm of cold logic, strict order, and brutal expansion. Its legions stare south across the Inner Sea, ever eager for conquest, ever wary of the world’s disorder. Temeria does not ask for land. It demands it.
Slightly northeast of center, across the misty strait known as the Mistpatch, lies Setting/Realms/Mentralin/Annwyn/Annwyn - a realm of spirits and song, ruled by Queen Aeryn of House Caerwyn Calwain and guided by the ageless wisdom of the Myrddhin. Here, The Old Song is both religion and law, and champions walk the land bound to living pacts with the spirits of the isles.
To the west, the continent opens into the vast and fractured expanse known as The Reaches. It is a land of highlands, wind-wracked plains, and stubborn frontier cities - unruly, unclaimed, and thick with spiritbound oaths. Here, old blood feuds mix with new ambitions, and the distant shadow of the Shatar Mountains the mountainfolk tribes descend from their peaks.
The Mentralian Kingdoms, at the continent’s heart, hold fast to ideals of honor, sovereignty, and noble tradition. Seven proud dominions, bound by a fractious history of betrayal and alliance, still cling to the memory of unity. It is a land of chivalry and code, but beneath its castles and banners, the spirits of its past whisper louder than the voices of its kings.
To the southeast, glittering like a crown upon the shore, lies the Golden Coast. A crescent of rival city-states and sun-drenched ports, it thrives on bold trade, mercenary valor, and whispered betrayal. Here, art and vice dance hand-in-hand, and every festival might end with a duel. The Spicewater Gulf churns with the sails of traders and corsairs alike, and freedom is as prized as passion is dangerous.
Across the southern mountains, beyond the White Peaks, broods the Kyourin Shogunate - a scarred realm forged from the husk of a fallen empire. Ruled by the Immortal Shogun, its people walk the razor’s edge of spiritual fusion, binding fractured souls to hungry spirits in desperate equilibrium. Pain, discipline, and devotion define its bloody harmony.
Far across the Shattered Sea, on the eastern edge of the world, lies Lao-Shan, a realm of philosophers, calligraphers, and silent enforcers. Governed by Philosopher-Kings who revere the The Balanced Scale, Lao-Shan appears tranquil - but beneath the still waters lies a society where spiritual perfection is demanded, and discord is quietly erased. Harmony, here, is enforced like law.
Aalong the border between civilization and dream loom the Setting/Realms/Mentralin/Ashenvale Woods/Ashenvale Woods. Shrouded in bioluminescent mists and strange fungal beauty, it is home to the Myou, a people of memory and decay. Outsiders whisper of haunting songs, stolen lovers, and verdant groves where time forgets to flow. The heart of the Ashenvale is sacred - and forbidden.
Mentralin is not just a continent - it is a memory, half-buried and burning. Here, the past bleeds into the present, and every step is taken in the presence of the spirits who once walked beside gods. Kingdoms rise, empires fall, and still the Veil holds.
But nothing holds forever.