The Wayfinder’s Coil is a refined yet adventurous establishment, its polished wood floors and precisely placed furniture betraying the obsessive order of its owner, Minessa Vellwind.
The Broadbeam Timber Yard is a bustling workshop of sawdust and craftsmanship, where the scent of freshly cut pine mingles with the faint tang of linseed oil.
The Silent Line is a place where the written word becomes art, and every brushstroke carries weight.
Set within thick stone walls and timber-framed charm, this dwarven-run taproom is both rustic and refined.
Not all curses are shouted or scrawled in blood. Some are stitched into thread, woven with malice, and wait patiently… beneath your boots.
From the stone it watches—not with rage, but with purpose. The stalagmite was not there yesterday. Now it waits, tendrils twitching with hunger and something older still: memory.
It clings to walls, ceilings, and the scent of ancient death. Vlekkth is not a creature you see—it’s the thing that sees you melt from above.
Beneath the ruined temple, where light dare not reach and time forgets, it lingers—a glistening cube of sludge and secrets. But this one watches.
Gribbleshank lurks in the crypts of ancient ruins, expertly mimicking a worn but glittering treasure chest. Unlike common mimics, he possesses a biting wit, a nasty sense of humor, and an obsession with “deserving” tribute from those who enter his domain.
The right pair o’ boots can change your life—or at least how far you can run from it.
The land keeps no secrets. It just takes patience to read them.
Any fool can break a wall. Takes a craftsman to build one that holds through storm and sorrow.