The continent of Rhaedwyn is where the outsider factions presented in the Shattered Reach originate. It is the home of the humans, dwarves and the various other races of Eryndor.
The continent is divided into various states, which are described below:
The Human Nations of Rhaedwyn
The Kingdom of Tanir
Ruler: King Nunavar Auvalyr, son of the late King Lauros.
The Kingdom of Tanir, with its eponymous capital, lies on the furthest east of Rhaedwyn. It is one of the younger kingdoms, having been founded just two hundred years earlier, at the dawn of the Age of Cyrathis, when Tan, the founder of the city, led a group of humans, and dwarves towards the river valley where the city of Tanir is set today. The Kingdom was originally a small producer of basic goods, such as wool, fur and iron. It borders the Kingdom of Sobsia to the west, and the Kingdom of Sukhret in the North, and to the east lies the Aetheric Ocean. The Kingdom sits by the end of the Sarsor river, where it opens into a large estuary before ending in the ocean.
In the 215th year, Tanir is a powerhouse of trade from the Shattered Reach, with its EntrepĂ´t on the Island of Thalara, and the most commercially active Rhaedwen state in the archipelago. These days the city of Tanir almost feels like an alien place to what it was forty years ago, before the Great Voyage, as the Tanirans call it, of King Lauros, with dozens of taverns and inns opening to meet the growing population of neâer-do-wells, mercenaries, spies and the oddball here and there that shows up, looking for a crew to join for the Shattered Reach, something which has caused a lot of issues with the local population, many complaining and staging protests against this large influx of people.
The Kingdom of Sobsia
Ruler: King Audral Lumiar and Queen Surayvan Clofer
Ah, how the times change. Sobsia, once the shining jewel of Rhaedwyn, now finds itself playing second fiddle to the young Tanirans. Its capital, the ancient city of Suderaval, a site founded by one of the ancient Sorcerer-Kings, and one of the three remaining cities that survived both the destruction of the Shardspire and The Age of Shadow intact, was once respected. Feared, even.
Now, it has to rely on the good will of Sukhretian and Taniran vessels to bring goods to Rhaedwyn, and its merchants paying the exorbitant premiums these merchants charge. But not all is lost, in Suderaval rests the only High Academy of Sorcery in Rhaedwyn, that dates back to The Age of Magic, and from its storied halls, many of the greatest of Sorcerers of Eryndor have studied, and now, with the influx of the new magical tomes and knowledge from the Shattered ReachâŚ
Suderaval is an old city, older than old, ancient beyond ancient for Rhaedwyn, many of its very foundations are built on top of the older cities, with sharp, inelegant turns, and a rigid, millennia-old plan that is considered sacrilege to diverge from, the city is dying a slow death under its own weight, as it refuses to let the past go.
The Kingdom of Waternaken
Ruler: Autocratorissa Anyse Eldal
Whilst Tanir is the coin purse, and Sobsia is the melancholy of a past long gone, Waternaken is the sword that could cut it all down. The most militaristic state and the closest one to both the Dragon Kings of the Taurus Mountains and the Dwarven swamplands, the kingdom of Waternaken has always been one of strife, of the will to fight and to carry on, despite the odds.
Here, in its capital of Lygos lies the true forge of Rhaedwyn, the heart of the production of cold steel weapons, the state of the art swords and spears used across the continent by the high nobility, and a martial society that is unmatched in its ferocity, save perhaps by the Kuhans of the Orcs in the Great Steppe. Waternaken has sent a few ships to the Shattered Reach, its military instructors observing with great interest the weapons and armours of the Hamura states, already measuring them in comparison.
The Kingdom of Sukhret
Ruler: Sorcerer-King Aurozan.
Sukhret is not the oldest nation of Rhaedwyn, nor is it the richest or the most militaristic, but it is the only one still ruled by a Sorcerer-King that once served in the Luminarchate, and the seat of the only Sorcerer-King to have survived The Age of Shadow.
In the 215th year of the Age of Cyrathis, Sukhret is the centre of worship of the Gods of Eryndor, and where the Temple of the Shard lies, the location where a small splinter of the Shardspire was recovered and made a relic of yesteryear. The Illumination Seminary is located in this city, and it is the foremost priestly institution in the continent of Rhaedwyn.
And Aurozan, despite being over two millennia old, still rules with the same vigour and iron fist as he did in the days of the Luminarchate, and is the only nation after Tanir to have founded an EntrepĂ´t in the Shattered Reach, in the island of Tayuna, after a trade agreement with the local Queen, and regularly sends ships with Priest-Captains to explore the Shattered Reach.
The Minor Human States
All across the continent, there are dozens of city-states and small republics which take part in the vast sway of human civilisation. The ones of note are the Autocracy of Cordibello, an Elective Despotism based on the city of the same name, the rough and cunning merchants of the Republic of Vavirian, the third naval power of Rhaedwyn, and the Kingdom of Etheren, a small pastoral kingdom in the lands on the southeast of the continent, between Tanir and Sobsia on one end, and the Empire of Sagremar in the other end.
The Cities of the Dwarvenfolk
Whilst the plains and meadows that form the human communities and states are densely inhabited and well suited for agriculture, the lands of the Dwarvenfolk are anything but. They dwell within the Rhaedweny Wetlands, a vast expanse of swamps, bogs and flooded woods where the ground itself breathes and shifts with the tides. It is a land of heavy air, filled with the hum of insects, the croak of beasts, and the constant smells of decay. To outsiders, the Wetlands are unlivable; to the Dwarves, they are sacred. Every pool, every reed, and every stone has a place within the divine balance their ancestors spoke of.
Their society is divided in the Great Clans of the Dwarves, each descended from a mythic ancestor in The Age of Magic, and the founder of the current cities, which they call Dwarvenkeeps, and each is self-contained, surrounded by raised dykes and half-submerged terraces of reeds and fungus crops. Beneath the flooded layers lie entire underhalls carved from swampstone and ironwood, where forges burn with gases siphoned from the deep marsh. Trade routes between Keeps are treacherous, marked by stone pylons and floating markers that shift with the waters.
The Dwarvenfolk trade with the humans of Waternaken, exchanging forged metal and aethercraft for dry grain and timber. But even their trade is regulated, not by laws but by the natural rhythm of the Wetlands.
The Bektor Clan of Ironoath
The Bektor, the clan of smiths and metal-singers, trace their lineage to Bektor Kazem, the Dwarf who forged the starmetal bindings that contained the Shardspire after Mythrael was sung into the world. Their Keep, Ironoath, stands where the Rhaedweny Wetlands meet the Aetheric Ocean, a fortress of blackened stone and red runes that glow faintly in the salt mist. It is a grim place, half-forge, half-shrine for the lost and for the until recently lost art of Aethercrafting .
Ironoathâs outer walls are sheathed in layers of iron, pitted and scarred by centuries of salt wind. Beneath its main hall lies the Oathvault, a vast chamber where every sworn vow of the Bektor Clan is cast into metal and stored: rings, chains, spearheads, and even nails, each engraved with the name of its maker and the nature of their promises.
Among all clans, the Bektor are seen as the most severe, their sense of honour closer to a burden than a virtue. Yet their craft is unmatched.
The Oprim Clan of Blackmoss
The Oprim are the clan of fishermen and tide-walkers, the Dwarves who trust water more than stone. They trace their line to Oprim Malvar, a stubborn elder of The Age of Shadow who turned his back on the safer, fertile lands of Rhaedwyn and led his people deeper toward the Wetlands and the Aetheric Ocean. He founded Old Blackmoss, a settlement built on rafts, piled stone and half-drowned roots along the coast. It was meant as a new haven for their kind, a place safe from the Orcish Invasion and the chaos of the fall of the Luminarchate.
Old Blackmoss did not endure. Storm after storm rolled in from the Aetheric Ocean, the tides grew stranger as the work of the Endless Night twisted the world, and in the end the sea took the old city. Its streets and halls now rest beneath murky water, visited only by eels, barnacles and those Oprim who still dare to dive among the silent doorways during rites of remembrance. The Oprim insist this was not a failure of Oprim Malvarâs vow, but its fulfillment. The city held long enough for the clan to learn the sea, to tame the shallows and the currents, then sank when its work was done.
The Oprim are stout, tough dwarves, but where other clans harden themselves in iron and strict ritual, the Oprim harden themselves in patience and kindness. They are known for their maxim, âA life well lived is a life of peace amidst friends and family,â and they repeat it until even outsiders remember it. To many of them, the Bakthruz is not a call to glory, conquest or skill without equal, but a promise to keep their people fed, sheltered and together. Many of their vows are simple in wording and relentless in practice: to bring in the catch each day, to see no friend go hungry, to guide every boat safely home, to raise children who never know the taste of famine.
The Xylir Clan of Mistmourn
The Xylir trace their blood to Aktal Xylir, the only dwarven sorcerer-king of the Luminarchate. Legends claim that when the Shardspire shattered and The Age of Magic died in fire, Aktal Xylir did not perish with the others. Instead, he gathered his surviving mages and apprentices and fled east into the Wetlands, vanishing into a drowned region that would later be called Mistmourn, bog deep in the heart of the swamps.
Mistmourn is a place where the Rhaedweny Wetlands feel wrong even to other Dwarves. A near endless fog hangs over the bog, turning trees into pale pillars and water into black streams, and sound carries in unsettling ways. It is said that a whisper can be heard clearly at a distance while a shout vanishes into the mist. Predators and stranger things move beneath the vapour, drawn to footfalls and heat. The Xylir Keep rises out of this murk, its towers and halls bound in runes and half-swallowed by peat, whilst blue-fire lanterns light the way for the way-weary travellers in the lands of Mistmourn.
The dwarves of this clan are insular and reserved even by Dwarven standards. They speak softly, weigh every word, and avoid open talk of The Age of Magic. Outwardly, they are weary of magic and treat it with stiff suspicion. Inwardly, they cannot agree on why. Some mutter that the clan bears a curse inherited from Aktal Xylirâs last works at the Shardspire. Others insist that the sorcerer-king foresaw something worse than The Age of Shadow and bound his own line to watch for its return. Whatever the truth, it has been long enough that even the elders only repeat fragments, and the original wording of Aktalâs Bakthruz vow is lost or locked away where few now dare to read.
Mistmournâs soil yields little that can sustain a population, so the Xylir import grain, salt and other foodstuffs from human kingdoms and fellow Dwarvenkeeps. In return they offer what almost no one else in Rhaedwyn could for most of The Age of Shadow: Aethercraft. Before the discovery of the Shattered Reach, Mistmourn was the only reliable source of such relics on the continent. Some claim the Xylir retained the secret songs of Aethercrafting from the Luminarchate and still practice it in secret, whilst others claim of a hidden reliquary with thousands of Aethercrafts from The Age of Magic.
The Great Western Steppe
Far beyond the Taurus Mountains lie the lands of the endless sky and the wide open grasses. Here the ground rolls in gentle, sloping hills cut by long rivers and seasonal streams, and the horizon is broken more by horse herds than by trees. In this land the great Orcish Kuhanates took shape, a way of life built on companionship with their animals, with many children learning to ride and draw a bow almost as soon as they can walk.
It is a harsh land, with poor soil for farming and winters that bite hard. The Orcs developed a nomad life out of necessity, driving their herds from pasture to pasture once the local grass is exhausted. Alongside the great mounted hosts move the orcish herders, who tend flocks of sheep and similar stock on the more fragile grazing grounds, helping the land recover after the heavy feeding of the main herds.
Orcish society is divided into Clans, as many in number in their own tales as there are blades of grass in the Steppe, and built on a culture of self-reliance and independence rarely seen in Rhaedwyn proper. Every six months they gather in great Kuhatais, assemblies of clans where feuds are settled, marriages arranged, forges lit and offerings made to the Endless Sky and the animals that keep them alive. From these Kuhatais the Kuhans are confirmed or challenged, and the Steppe decides its direction for the next turning of the seasons.
The Lands of the Dragon-Kings
Between the settled realms of Rhaedwyn and the nomad world beyond, the Taurus Mountains rise in a long, broken wall. For most of recorded history they have served as the shield that holds back the full weight of the Steppe. In this region live the Dragon Kings, ancient beings who claim to have seen the world wake, before the âyounger racesâ arrived in the continent.
The Dragon Kings rule from five colossal fortress-temples that command the major passes through the Taurus. Each fortress is built into the bone of the mountains, a layered mass of stone, terraces, shrines and kill-zones, more citadel than town. Within each fortress lies a central hall large enough for a full dragon to coil at rest and still lift its head above its priests.
Their lands are narrow bands of arable valley and cliff settlements anchored to these fortresses. Their servants tend the terraces, manage trade with Rhaedwyn below and bargain cautiously with Orcish clans above. Tribute flows up in grain, ore and service. In return the Dragon Kings keep the passes watched and, when needed, make war. They remember the Orcish Invasion of Rhaedwyn as an insult and a warning. When the three Kuhans Alostor, Kiraven and Venocht broke the Taurus line with the aid of the Darksworn. In the aftermath the Dragons poured their own blood into the Ritual of Solelichesis, created the first Dragonborn to stand as a permanent garrison in the passes.
The Empire of Sagremar
Blood. Order. Security. Those are the three things the mysterious Empire of Sagremar holds most sacred, or so the Tabaxi who manage to get beyond the Great Walls claim. They describe an ordered realm where logic and reason outrank passion, where every life is weighed against the whole. They speak of vast cities under purple-leaved trees, of straight avenues patrolled by silent wardens, and of eight-legged insects bred as mounts and beasts of burden.
Of all the societies in Rhaedwyn, perhaps in all of Eryndor, none is more secretive than that of the tabaxi and their August Personade of the Heavens, the title of the Empress who has, supposedly, ruled unbroken since the Great Gates of the Wall were closed after the Shardspire was shattered. No foreign embassy is recognised within Sagremar, no map of its heartland is trusted, and messengers who cross the Wall do so under heavy ritual and rarely return. For most of the outside world, the Empire of Sagremar is less a neighbour and more a rumour with borders.
The Uninhabitable North
The Uninhabitable North is less a mapped region and more a line on charts where cartographers simply give up: a wall of humid air, endless rainforest and a thousand things that bite or poison on contact. Sailors and trappers who skirt its fringes speak of trees taller than towers, rivers the colour of bruises, and nights so loud with insect song that no one can sleep. No serious expedition has ever returned with a reliable account from its deep interior, and most who try do not return at all. The only people who claim it as a homeland are the wandering Yuan-ti, who say their âDream of Grassesâ was first whispered in those jungles, but even they treat the true heart of the North as something half-remembered and better left that way.
The Lost Lands of Sharilar
Sharilar, the lost homeland of the elves, sits halfway between memory and a prayer for the future. In their telling it was a land held always in a soft golden sunrise, with long gentle hills, deep rich fields and orchards that never failed. Hunger did not belong to the living there. Rivers ran clear, grain grew tall, and even the wild animals moved without fear, as if the whole land shared one quiet will.
For hundreds of generations the elves say they walked beneath Sharilarâs sun and raised cities of pale stone and high slender towers that caught the dawn and broke it into a thousand colours. They knew no Gods in Sharilar. Instead they honoured the Elven Spirits of Creation, presences bound into earth, sky and sea. Every harvest, every work of craft that did not decay, every child born healthy they lay at the feet of these Spirits.
Then came the Shadowfall. The elves say there was no warning. One day the sun simply did not rise. Light vanished and a thick, clinging darkness settled over field and city. Golden spires stood, but dull and dead, and the colours that once shone bright were gone. Under that weight the Spirits turned inward and spent themselves on a single act: a great working that tore a passage through the Infinitude of Worlds and opened a way into Eryndor.
Through that wound the elves fled, leaving their land to whatever claimed it in the dark. The gate closed behind them, and no one knows if Sharilar still exists in any form that can be recognised. Since then their history has been an exile with a purpose. In every age, elven leaders repeat the same vow: that one day they will find or remake that path, cross back through the worlds, and take their homeland out of the shadowâs grip or die in the attempt.
The RemsousakĹte
The largest of the four elven groups to arrive in Eryndor through the gates six generations ago, the RemsousakĹte, or the People of SusakĹte, are the fair- to olive-skinned race of elves, with a lifespan of roughly 130 years. They are the merchants and the artisans, the criminals and the bankers seen daily. They hail from the Sharilari kingdom of SusakĹte in Sharilar, which according to their histories, is a land of boundless wealth, harmony and beauty. They speak of golden sunsets, of wide willow forests and the peace of ages.
The Rembahsani
The second largest of the elven groups in Eryndor, and the one usually seen amidst the dwarves in their swamps and wetlands of Rhaedwyn. The Rembahsani, or the People of Vahsana, tend to be pale as alabaster, with deep blue eyes many commonly say are made of ice. These are the elves that claim to understand magic, that their homeland of Sharilar was a paradise of floating cities and forests that rose to the heavens, and that in those gentle hills of Sharilar, the elves once even built machines to fuel spells from their very sun.
The Remukshemir
The mysterious Remukshemir, or the People of the Lands of Ukshemir, is the third clan of elves that departed from Lost Sharilar into Eryndor. The old records speak of a clan of golden-skinned elves, that spoke of a land of fire and ash, of the lies of the other clans, and are seen as distrusted, even by the other elven clans. They disappeared three centuries ago, when their entire clan built a large fleet and sailed deep into the North of Eryndor, into the seas of the Uninhabitable North.
The Remporiten
The last and smallest of the Four Great Elven Clans that departed Sharilar six generations ago, is the red-eyed ashen-faced clan called the Remporiten, or the People of Poritin. They are the current mountain-dwelling peoples of Eryndor, living in underground keeps deep into the Taurus Mountains, in a dĂŠtente with the Dragon Kings that neither side has yet shattered. Like their other elven cousins, they live up to around 130 years, and speak of their homeland of Sharilar, as Kaketopos, or the Lands of Eternal Struggle, that the soil was infertile, the winds cold and the wildlife was monstrous. They lived, they claim, in the high mountains of Sharilar, for the lowlands were too dangerous and no elves truly lived there.
The Dhampirs of Eryndor
The Dhampir are a people of the shadow, defined not by a homeland but by the blood-curse that sets them apart. They claim no lands in Rhaedwyn, existing instead on the fringes of society or in direct servitude to the very creatures that created them. As the âhalf-damned and half-mercifulâ, each Dhampir is born from the Curse of Wolker touching a child in the womb. Unlike the full vampires twisted by Wolker Malleusâs ancient betrayal, Dhampir are not bound by the same rules. Their souls, still pure, allow them to walk in the daylight, a trait that makes them invaluable. In Rhaedwyn, many serve their vampire sires as day-walking agents, spies, and enforcers, moving through the world their masters cannot. Others are outcasts, haunted by their heritage and mistrusted by the living, forever walking the line between the hunger of their blood and the world they wish to be part of.
The Sleepers-Touched Souls of Eryndor
The Tieflings are a people of the diaspora, bound by a spiritual inheritance rather than a shared kingdom. They can be found in nearly any human city or town, their lives as varied as any other citizenâs. A Tiefling is a living mark of a bargain, born from a mortal who made a pact with the vast, unknowable Sleepers. This price, often the soul of a child, leaves the child forever âtouchedâ by the Realms Below. In Rhaedwyn, Tieflings are not inherently evil and are, for the most part, entirely normal people. They are blacksmiths, merchants, sailors, and scholars. However, their lineage is often a source of quiet suspicion. Those who know the stories of the Sleepers and the âunsettling bargainsâ they strike look upon Tieflings with caution, fearing the-dreaming power that brushes against their souls.
The Goblinoid Kind
The merry and light-hearted folk of Eryndor, the Goblins, are the hunter-gatherers of the continent, usually inhabiting the regions between the old ruins of Lavellor, the Great Walls of Sagremar and the western heartlands. The Kind is a mostly peaceful group, herding their sheep and hunting the wild game in the land.
Goblinoid society is organized into the Kind, a loose group of the clan chiefs of the various wandering tribes of Rhaedwyn, electing from amidst themselves a single leader to represent them all, generally the one with the least amount of votes, with each of the chieftains having two votes and not being allowed to vote on themselves. The Goblins are known for their festivals and archery contests, as well as for their physical brawling exercises, a very elaborate game called Aauisiir, where each goblin tries to knock out their opponent using only their legs.
Goblins are, in general, seen as a nuisance to farmers, because sometimes they steal the fruits from the large plantations, and thus, large landholders usually either employ guards or pay them off to leave their lands undisturbed, leading many to try and use that reputation to get money from farmers, despite not having the intention of stealing crops.
The Witch-Doctors of the Steppe
The Gnomes, like the Orcs, are not native to or found in great numbers in the lands of Rhaedwyn, originally coming from some rumoured land far to the west, beyond the Great Steppes and the infinite grasses that the Orcs call their home. Of all the races, save perhaps the fera, the Gnomes are the most unknown. Their attire is usually made of large bones and cured leather of animals not common in Rhaedwyn; some theorise it might be from the Great Steppes, others that it might be from their distant homeland, or both.
What is known about them is that they revere a deity they call the Radiant One, a high god that apparently does not show itself, but emanates through various sub-gods that are visible, and they claim all of the Gods are but echoes, emanations of this Radiant One, which is the source of everything. According to some apocryphal texts found in the magical academy of Sobsia, which suppose this Radiant One is Mythrael, though many of the common people associate it with the Endless Night, and the Darksworn due to the nature of the outfits and presentation of the gnomes.
Their central act of worship involves lighting fires at cairns at crossroads, and a feast they call the AlâLatar, the lighting of the Latar candles, a simple wooden triangle with a candle inside, and set upon a river. It is said it is to help the souls of the departed to find their way home.