Vaelorien: Era of Twilight

Where silver tears fall into drowned dreams, and hope drifts on the tide.

The mists lay thick over Elavorn’s Rest, curling around half-sunken spires like the fingers of some ancient, unseen hand. Vaelorien was once a kingdom of starlit courts and crystal bridges, its name spoken with reverence across the seas. Now it is a realm of ghosts, both living and dead, clinging to what remains above the tide while the ruins of their greatness slumber beneath. The Drowned Spirits, born of a pact in an age long past, still guard the submerged vaults and temples. They do not forget. They do not forgive.

House Elavorn, led by the enigmatic Tidecaller, seeks to raise Vaelorien—not merely its stones, but its soul. “The tide will turn again,” the old motto says, whispered by shipwrights and salvors as they drag barnacle-crusted relics from the deep. Yet even within the capital’s mist-laced halls, unity is fragile. The living elves debate the path forward, while the Drowned Spirits act with a will of their own, bound to memories and oaths that no longer match the needs of the present.

The Age of Twilight has not been kind. Across the realms, the mists of Duskfall whisper to those willing to listen, promising power for a price. The Last Sky War scarred the heavens, dragons clashing with Thar Zûl’s firelords in storms of light and flame. Vaelorien’s own Mist-Dragons and Tidewyrms—once symbols of strength—now emerge rarely, called only to defend the dead or shield the living from ruin. Sirell the Salt-Touched, a spirit-bound seer, claims the dragons mourn the world as much as its people do.

Legends persist of The Fading Flame, the last ember of the World-Serpent’s breath, hidden somewhere beneath earth or wave. Some whisper it lies in a forgotten ruin deep below the sunken vaults, others in a place no tide can touch. Tidecaller believes finding it may be the only way to bring Vaelorien back from the brink; others fear such a force could as easily end the realm as restore it.

Threats press from all sides. Scavengers and memory-harvesters slip through the shrouds, seeking to plunder relics of immeasurable worth. Skyreach Spires views Vaelorien as weakened prey, its strained relationship fraying further since the collapse of the last high isle. Even allies like Itharûn, bound by the secret Pact of Tides, have their own quiet agendas. The sea offers no refuge from politics, and every relic recovered risks drawing more eyes to the ruins.

Still, life persists amid the waters. Naelira Tideloom, keeper of fading histories, weaves memory into song so it might outlast the stone. Alarion Deepwake, stoic protector of the refugee enclaves, sails at dawn to guard the salvage crews. And somewhere in the deep, the Mist-Dragons circle in the cold blue dark, waiting for a moment worthy of their return.

Vaelorien’s fate is a tide neither fully ebbing nor flowing, caught in the still water between loss and rebirth. Whether the tide will turn again depends on whether its people can bridge the gulf between the living and the dead—or whether both will be pulled under together.