Vaelorien: Era of Fracture

Where silver tears fall into the waves of memory.

Beneath the mists, Vaelorien sleeps. Once the crown of elven grace and empire, its marble towers now lie shattered beneath restless tides, their spires swallowed in the cataclysm known as the Shattering. Elavorn’s Rest—the shining capital—rests at the heart of a drowned plain, its gilded domes visible only when the moon and tide conspire to pull back the sea’s veil.

When the ley lines broke, the ocean came like a living wall. Some say the water was called by the grief of the World-Soul itself; others whisper it was the vengeance of the deep for centuries of neglect. Whatever the truth, the Drowning of Vaelorien was merciless. Whole families vanished into the waves in moments, their voices lost in the roar. Those who escaped found themselves scattered across ragged archipelagos, clinging to fragments of the past like driftwood.

Lady Serelien of the Mist, last scion of House Elavorn, walks the drowned streets as both ruler and revenant. Bound to the waters that claimed her life, she rules with sorrow-etched resolve, her silver hair drifting like seaweed in the fog. She dreams of restoration—of raising Elavorn’s Rest from the seabed—and of vengeance upon those who scavenged her people’s ruins. Her former consort, Alarion Deepwake, leads quiet salvage missions into the sunken heart, retrieving pearls, relics, and shards of lost artistry. Each expedition risks the wrath of Tidewyrms—immense sea-dragons whose loyalty to House Elavorn is fierce but conditional.

Mist-Dragons, melancholy as their name, drift through the mists above, their translucent wings leaving trails of ghost-light on the waves. These guardians are rare sights, emerging only when the sanctity of the ruins is threatened. To see one is both blessing and warning. Sirell the Salt-Touched, a spirit-bound elf, reads the tides for omens and claims the Mist-Dragons’ sanctuary hides relics that could heal the ley lines themselves—if they could be reached without shattering the fragile balance of the deep.

Life in the remnants of Vaelorien is one of endurance and memory. Villages cling to rocky isles, nets heavy with seaweed and pearls. Songs tell of the Lantern Banquets of old, when light danced across mirrored lakes, and every home bore a candle for the souls of the departed. Now, such lights are rare—lit only during the Night of Tears, when the people mourn the Drowning and reaffirm their vow: Only the forgotten truly fade.

Enemies remain even in tragedy. Skyreach Spires, once an ally, turned cold after the Skyfall Concord broke. Their scavenger crews sometimes trespass into Vaelorien waters, seeking relics that the Elavorn faithful will not surrender. Allies such as Itharûn offer occasional shelter and trade, but the bonds are strained by distance and scarcity.

And yet, there is hope in the Flicker of Realms. Temporal echoes shift, bringing glimpses of what lies beyond the fracture—possibilities for crossing into other realms, for finding magic strong enough to mend what was broken. Lady Serelien listens for these shifts, standing at the edge of the tide, eyes closed, as if she could hear the World-Soul breathing beneath the waves.

Vaelorien endures—not as it was, but as it must be. It is a realm of ghost-lit waters and silver tears, of unyielding memory and quiet defiance. The sea may have claimed its body, but not its soul.