Game Setting

Elandra was once so beautiful.

A land resplendent with life, rich in culture, and brimming with magic. The Three Realms, each unique yet intertwined, were governed well. The Crownlands, The Commonwealth, The Sanctuaries each bringing their individual strengths to the alliance. For generations, peace endured as did cherished harmony between mortals and their flawed, yet revered, Gods. The divine watched over humanity, guiding them through trials and triumphs, and in return, the Gods were adored, their influence ever-present in the thriving realms.

Then came the corruption.

At first, it was but a whisper on the wind – voices raised in anger, fueled by unseen forces. Noble people, once righteous, began to change, empowered by corrupted strength and driven to bloodshed. Dark murmurs filled the air, sowing unrest and suspicion. As the corruption spread, bizarre transformations became more frequent: crops sprouted flowers with mouths lined with sharp, thorny teeth, and herds of livestock grew violent and grotesquely warped, their eyes glowing with a wicked light as they bellowed in torment, half-alive but utterly corrupted. What began as a trickle soon became a tide.

Then came the surge… and our many defeats.

For fifty years, the Three Realms have been locked in bitter war against a foe of unimaginable evil. The great enemy came not with honour or warning. Verdant lands were consumed by a suffocating miasma, and creatures twisted by the enemy’s foul magic rampaged across the Realms. Cities once filled with light and laughter fell into shadow – the miasma mysteriously robbing their very memory from the minds of the people.

Despite their valour, our people were unprepared. The best minds among us laboured in vain to understand the true nature of the enemy, but its insidious groundwork had been carefully laid.The enemy’s advance was swift, methodical, and brutal.

The Three Realms have been reduced to a fraction of their former glory. Entire kingdoms now lie in ruin, vast stretches of the land now under the grip of corrupting forces. The air itself feels poisoned, heavy with despair. Survivors retreat to the edges of civilisation, and defeat seems all but certain.

Exhausted, the people of the Realms turned to the Gods for salvation. A year passed in darkness and silence. The Gods – once so present in the hearts of mortals offered no comfort, no signs, no miracles. The faithful prayed until their voices grew hoarse, but still, the heavens gave no answer.

Hope’s new melody…

A song began to spread through the inns and taverns of the weary nations – a melody of hope, hummed by travellers and carried on the wind. The song tells of a place, mysterious and wondrous; Haven, they call it. A place of sanctuary, of power. Drawn by a force they cannot fully understand, adventurers feel compelled to seek it out.

Between two territories of the Three Realms an area of around two miles has appeared. At its heart lies a shard of the Great Menhir, through which magic flows like a river. Strange tools and ancient artefacts have also been spoken of. 

The Gods’ mark is unmistakable here, even though their voices remain distant. The people are certain – this can only be their work. To all who make the journey here there is an unshakable sense that Haven is a place of hope, a place from which the fight to reclaim the Three Realms can begin anew.