Though you were sent to us by Warden Inla and are subsequently given leave by Tactical to fully puruse the Archives, not all here will afford you their good grace. Observe our peace, handle our parchment with care, and learn what you can of the world you come from. There is no finer record keeping in all of Erdgard.
The Ryne mountains, also known as The Dark Crown. This is a dominant, interconnected series of ranges to the northernmost of western Erdgard’s landmass. Known for its dark, granite substrate and the looming Kalakshi over the region.
Over a thousand years ago a Trekhin caravan found a way through the mountain to a hidden valley nestled high above, ultimately founding a colony that would come to be known as beginning, or Amona in the common tongue.
Similarly surrounded by the peaks of the Ryne are the Void lands, isolated from the rest of Erdgard, but connected to the Amonian valley by a narrow break in the rock called the Breach. This is the home of Amona's ancient, monstrous, and mysterious enemy, the Sinti.
Skirting the base of the Ryne are the cousins of Amona, the Humma—a diverse, dispersed collection of independent tribes roaming a vast, rolling plain. The border of the Humma Plains marks the end of Humma territory and the beginning of the rest of western Erdgard.
It wasn't mine, but the mountain brought me peace. The unspeakable violence, betrayal, and impossible revelation of recent events forced me far from home. Malaise has clung to me like the Kalakshi itself. I feel like it has reached inside and stained my soul. Sometimes I wonder if you all feel the same, wherever you are.
My companion remains my rock, as Ferno did as my mentor. Mato still tells his jokes and shares his worldly knowledge with all the certainty of stone. Sometimes I'm not sure if to be concerned or in awe of the tribesman's unwavering spirit. Regardless, it helps to anchor me to the goodness of Erdgard, lest I be carried away on the hidden truths we've all come to know.
It was a surprise to me, then, that there, among the ruins of some civilisation that collapsed under its own hubris, under a mountain I had no name for, I found some of his own peace.
The wood at the base of the Ryne is modest enough to house boar for post-Narak celebrations, shelter herds of deer from summer heat, and conceal the stairs to the hidden valley of Amona.
To the East lays Sheadun, the Wastes, and the expansive jungles. To the West are the Humma plains, and eventually, the Fyrnweald. To the South are the Haligernian outlier lands, The Nitherness, and an assortment of independent settlements.
I was so far above it all that not even the eyes and ears of the Trekhin could follow.
I remember the air was crisp and silent like death, but my chest felt tight. In my negligence... or arrogance, I'd foolishly disregarded the sensation as a consequence of the atmosphere. It wasn't until thoughts of Leaf found me that it became obvious what the real culprit was.
I'd expected so much more from my gift. I thought it would bring me closer to belonging, but all it really did was help me move further away. I was alone, and she was far away, and it hurt more than I could admit to himself. I see now that I am fool.
Forgive me.
It is rare that I dream of that place, but it weighs heavily on my mind even with leagues between us. Prior to the events in the other Amona, I had never dreamed of it. Now, when I find myself in that cursed crater I am armed only with a blazing torch fueled by my conviction, battling a fierce wind of foul intent.
Like me, the deep tunnels had changed. Though I should be, I wasn't at all surprised to see the site of my original weakness completely evolved into something new. Like me, the western range had grown to be so much more.
Even in the depths of dreams, I realized they were likely shaped by the Sleeper itself.
I remember a solitary bead of sweat finding its way down my face. I drew Ito, signalling to the army at my back to ready for war.
"... what—oh Rodorstol's ARSES. These old fools—give me more men and I can keep their damned Moorburg from the primitives.
Very well. The nobles will not be happy. Issue the order to abandon the fort."
—Frustrated Tunland commander after a ruling on their expansion efforts onto the Humma Plains.
Charcoal illustration by a Haligernian orphan of the moon over an unknown, likely Fiorgan marsh
The moon rises and falls as the sun, immutable, endless, and just as meaningful; but for all our Amonian might, legacy, and ever-potent conviction to resistance, what do we really know about the connection between the Sinti and the lunar cycle?
Most of my brothers will clamber to common theory, others to apathy in the face of the seemingly unknowable, but the simple reality is that we, like this child that beautifully immortalised the eternal, are naive.
The younger generations are right. Fern, Inla, the Sister Matriarch, and others, are right. We know little, and we have grown complacent.
Risks must be taken if we are to break the cycle.
—Master Archivist Owl-Talon
The history of Western Erdgard is undeniably dominated by the machinations of Haligern. Once a unified civilisation in the western reaches of Erdgard under a ruling monarchy, it now exists as seven, interconnected, but independent city states. The effects of its rapid expansion and fall are still felt today, and the landscape south of the Humma Plains are dominated by Tunland farming and Haligerian fortifications.
The Haligernian collapse, colloquially referred to as the Shattering, is an important turning point for western Erdgard's geopolitics. Six of the modern states retain largely the same ruling structure, replacing the royal court of the Rodorstol with scheming aristocrats, influential men, or wealthy regional players that insularly dictate state policy; the exception being the westernmost port city of Brimdun that employs a system of representation and majority vote.
Haligern culture is known for its heavy emphasis on individualism and commerce. It is by far the most dominant culture group in the region with their language becoming the universal common tongue.
Other significant cultural influences in western Erdgard include the Fiorgan, and by extension the Trekhin. Several cities and towns were allowed to retain autonomy if they swore allegience to the crown and pay tribute, and consequently with the Shattering enjoy uniquely preserved culture groups largely free from Haligernian influence, e.g. the port city Freolic, the peoples of the Stone Temple, and more.
Landmarks and places of interest are plentiful such as the Standing Stones of Oak Hill, the Haligern colonies, Fifell's Fall and the Nitherness, the Fyrnweald, and many more.
Once crippled by reckless youth and made anew by the Mother, the Scholar no longer craved escape, but followed newfound purpose.
He was not alone, for by his side was kin and brother with mighty sword and terrible will.
The Scholar watched on as the very fabric of the world was sundered at the Stones of Oak Hill, leaving only memory to fear and door to unknown.
—Anonymous source via Nodin agent Sky-Thunder
Nestled between the core Haligernian city states and Hafendun by the sea there are the colonies.
Having witnessed them myself, i'll echo the existing Archive's sentiment: the Haligernian colonies are an abomination. There exists honour and virtue among the Haligernian people, and their industrious lifestyle is challenging if not largely desperate. Still, it is a cultural difference that is impossible for me to reconcile. The dubious practice of discarding the old and sick to fend for themselves in these settlements leaves only disgust in my heart. It is as vile as the slaving to the east and otherwise.
It is of no surprise to me that these exiled vulnerables have sought out a pseudo-religion of sorts. By the road to the port city state there is a tree of a species I do not recognise because like the fate of its frequent visitors and by all accounts, it does not foster new growth. What's more, unusual orbs that softly glow through the night without fuel have been curiously fixed to its skeletal limbs. At its base are left offerings of bound parchment with various ideals carefully printed on their covers, such as "enlightenment" or "power".
The particularities of their faith escapes me, but I have become acquainted with a resident that may offer insight in due course.
—Inla, Warden of the Spiral
... there was something about the stifling heat and humidity of the Nitherness swamp that made me think of my ceaseless dreaming, and therein I would soon find the answers as to why. The spiral—your spiral—was shown to me, and so I write to Silverdawn the Smithy for her to forward my experience to you,
Sincere regards,
Conall, of the Burland
... and I'd never seen the like of it before. Strange enough were the odd, little mushrooms that watched, but the ghostly lights and moving fog took the cake. Beautiful, terrifying, and now, my home.
—Conall of Burland, Haligern
As told by Warden Inla in the Fyrnweald memoirs
It is impossible to talk about Western Erdgard without mentioning the Fiorgan, who are the original natives of the region. Their people originally inhabited where Haligern capitol now stands, seeded the cold forests of the Fyrnweald ultimately culminating in the distinct Trekhin culture, who in turn, combined with Haligernian refugees, created another entirely new civilisation in Amona, and finally resulting in the deserters of the Ryne valley making the roaming Humma below. All can trace their blood back to the Fiorgan isle.
Yet, despite their influence and renowned prowess in battle, the Fiorgan never shared the imperialistic mindset of the Haligernians. The secret as to why is within their culture of concentrated refinement. It is a deeply rooted philosophy and spirituality in Fiorgan culture to put great emphasis on the passage of time. To the Fiorgan, time is flowing water and to allow yourself to drift with the current, will mean you'll soon lose control and break on the shore. For the Fiorgan to expand would be to invite ruin, which proved to be the fate of their budding Haligernian neighbours. As such, the Fiorgan islanders choose to instead master themselves and simply observe the fumbling mainlanders wash away in the tides from the home they had to reclaim from Haligernian occupation during the expansionist era; the ancient isle they are now eternally prepared to defend.
Far more influential in modern Erdgard are the direct offspring of the Fiorgan, The Trekhin, who became masterful diplomats to any and all courts that would have use of their talents of tongue.
Despite their secular culture, the Haligernians see both the Trekhin and their progenitors as steeped in an air of mysticism and mystery. These whispered, anxious superstitions are much more concentrated for the forest-dwelling Trekhin, and as such, the Trekhin have enjoyed the benefits of never having had to seriously defend the Fyrnweald from any sizeable force. Talk in the Rodorstol court of a deadly witch in the Fyrnweald and all Haligernian military excursions north being snuffed from Erdgard with no survivors stayed the hand of the kings, then later the various ruling factions post-Shattering. The Haligernians fear the ancient Fyrnweald, but the Trekhin were and are not warlike. Diplomatic relations were established early in the expansionist era, ultimately resulting in a position being made available among the Rodorstol court for a permanent Trekhin emissary, a practice they themselves expanded upon to every significant state in and beyond western Erdgard. By making themselves indispensible as advisors, this soft, but absolute projection of soft power makes the Trekhin extremely influential, to the mistrust of many.
Their home, the Fyrnweald, has stood strong since the beginning of time and in the modern era, stretches from the Humma Plains all the way to the Fiorgan sea. Other than the Trekhin border settlements that entertain interested foreigners, the deeper Fyrnweald is strictly forbidden to any outsider and even to most of their own kin. The reason for this is nebulous, but for as long as the Fyrnweald has stood, so has there been rumours of ancient power and strange intelligence beyond the understanding of common man.
The sea at the border of the secret grove is a force of nature and not at all what I expected. My true people weren't either, but then again, I hadn't known what to expect. I'd spent my life surrounded by the gregarious, sometimes cruel antics of men and women living their last every Narak, yet here I was presented with the same contemplation and secret, intense passion I harboured.
It is strange to admit to you, but they were as odd as I am, and though it is heartwarming to feel a shadow of belonging, there is a small, but significant part of me longing for pyres, ale, and laughter.
Despite their unyielding nature, there was an endearing groundedness about the islanders. I, like many others, originally doubted their involvement with the Shattering, but now I find it undeniable.
Few as they are in comparison to the bloated Haligernian population, there is an infectious quality to their commitment to bending the world away from the lies it so comfortably slipped into to avoid harsher truths. Their way has forced me to lay bare the weaknesses I so desperately tried to bury, and with that, I was born anew.
As I stared out towards the cold, forested expanse of my final destination, processing all I'd seen and heard on Fiorga, I couldn't help but feel like that place had imbued me with new strength.
For all intents and purposes, there is not one single Fyrnweald, but two.
Amonian records are sparse thanks to the reserved nature of the Trekhin, and any favour I earned with the Fiorgan did me no favours with their estranged kin. I learned quickly that the entirety of what is considered the new growth of the forest expanse is the domain of our enigmatic ancestors, but past those borders there are darker and older corners of the Fyrnweald that the Trehkin dare not tread.
These forbidden, ancient worlds are my destination, and what we know as the Trehkin must not discover my intentions for the simple reason of violating their law, and more importantly because they are not what we think they are.
In many ways it felt like walking through the wider world. I couldn't begin to explain how I knew that some regions of the old Fyrnweald were more dangerous than others, but I did. There were invisible borders, contested territories, and battlefields all in plain view if you knew the signs.
The most dangerous of all were breaks in the wild undergrowth that might be considered glades in the tame forests we know. These moments were when I felt the most exposed and vulnerable, like I'd inadvertantly stumbled into a home uninvited.
It was a beautiful and unknowable place. I couldn't help but reflect on how man was so confident of its dominion over Erdgard, but yet here I felt so small and insignificant. Here, I was only a guest. I was no lord, and I had no power.
Above me emerald rays and sprites danced to silent songs, and a lone, dark flower blossomed in spite of the gloom.
Had I not accepted my fate in unfolding events and not found love, I could get lost here. It speaks to a part of me that I try to keep from you, my brothers, because I fear you would not understand.
The atmosphere was close. A musty odour clung in the air. Through the darkness of the suffocating canopy, I felt like I was being watched.
Soon, I found the source. The tree seemed more dead than alive, and had it been in any other environment I would have assumed someone carved the face that stared back at me.
The Fyrnweald isn't entirely forested. There are some sparse records in the Archives of clearer, colder lands with evergreens to the north. Humma wanderers mentioned it when I went to fight in the pits, so I had it stored.
Atsa took me here, north, to a vista of mountains that made the tail of the south-facing Ryne range. It was like gazing at the road home, but without the Kalakshi gloom. It was beautiful.
The sun was high in the sky, and my guide bid me watch and wait. So I did. He made no mention of what I was waiting for, nor what day it was, but it soon became obvious. It was the day of the eclipse.
The brilliance of the sun was slowly snuffed out, and we were cast into a temporary darkness. It was then that Atsa continued our discussion on natural power, specifically the lunar cycle and how it relates to the Sleeper. He closed his eyes, the atmosphere crackled with static, and an island of rock lifted into the air like it was a cloud. I'd only seen such a demonstration once before.
As you might imagine, for me the practice of worshipping the moon as anything but an omen for violence was unthinkable. For us Amonians the lunar cycle brings only death.
Here, on Fiorga, it is a symbol of time and the cyclical nature of all things. At first, I was uncomfortable, but these people seem to read me like I'm an open book and quickly put my mind at ease.
There is power here. Power on this island, in these rocks. Perhaps the moon is not a force in league with our enemies. Perhaps it's simply just a force to be utilized, if you know how.
Our records of wider Erdgard are considerably more sparse by virtue of inaccessibility and our Nodin operative population. The majority of what we know of the jungles to the southeast comes from Rojani Jatin. Information on or beyond the land of mists is limited given the treacherous nature of the frozen wastes, but we are aware of exotic civilisations not unlike the more stable elements of the southeast.
Occasionally bold travellers will find their way to Hafendun and share their tales of men riding ferocious beasts taller than trees, forests of bone, colossal temples and spires to unknown gods, vast cities of glass, and armor like insect carapace, though none of these fantasical tales have ever been validated. Similarly, artifacts and weapons of coloured glass are rare, but do appear in the markets of Hafendun through specialist dealers, assumed to be from the far east.
Instances of more than rumour and stray artifacts are rare, but in recent history an unusual vessel was spotted on the horizon of the Haligernian sea. Ships from Hafendun sailed out to meet it and reported a low profile design without any potential space for the substantial lower-decks of Haligernian builds. The hull's ribbing was fully exposed and seemingly crafted from bleached bone. Similarly, it was lined with curling, tree-lengthed horns decorated in strange, painted glyphs that should have weighed the vessel down, but didn't seem to hinder its maneuverability. At its bow was a carved likeness of an unknown tusked beast. Its crew were fully veiled, wielding spears fashioned from bone. The vessel fled before any formal contact was made, never to be seen again.
The far north is uncharted by all accounts, the Ryne ranges found to be largely intraversible by any and all that try. All current information on these frozen reaches come from Haligernian hearsay, rogue explorer accounts, and Hafendun merchant gossip. With the Sinti charge, Amona itself hasnt had the luxury or inclination to expand our records naturally, and the Humma do not roam into the northeastern wastes.
The cold here cuts to the bone. A thin, brittle layer of frost covers my entire person, and my robes behave like the old parchment Owl-Talon has the novitiates restore. I had to warm my ink well in my armpit before use. If it were not for my new... gifts, it would surely have succumbed.
I found a sea we don't have a name for, but given its proximity to the wastes, I suppose I'll take the liberty of naming it the Wasting Sea. I admit, I wish one of my friends were here to witness it.
—Archivist Fern's memoires
Near the bones of the beast where they still worshipped in the old way, a grim totem stood without nation nor army to claim it.
Fire without source reached to the heavens on absent winds, always billowing away from the corpse as if repelled by it.
"From below, I cudnt tell fir t'life o'me. Thur's a waterfall y'see. Misty like. But whun it cleared t'was plain as sin. Lie a skull t'was, carved int'rock itself and a door as tall as this pub 'ere..."
—Haligernian traveller in Hafendun docks pub speaking of the far east
"Ship took a wrong turn. Uncharted waters. Normally we'd be stopped before we got that far, but the natives were off fighting a neighbour was my guess. Cap'n didn't say. T'was a strange job. Had the impression we were there for a reason. Cap'n looked like he was searching for something.
Anyway, what we found made Cap furious. Made the rest of us spooked. We docked, went in on foot, and t'was like a marsh or bog, but none like I've ever seen. Seemed to choke itself thick with smoke, but it wasn't smoke. Made the ground look like both land and sea... at the same time. Long-legged things walked in the shadow. Whole place was impassable, and I had the distinct impression it was like... artificial, or something. Like someone was trying to keep us away from something. Gave me the forgies
Cap'n didn't stick about. Ordered us back to the ship, back to Hafen, and here I am. Crazy, eh? Weird world out there, let me tell ya."
—First mate of the Rodorstol's Decree