once saw a golem in the city hall who refused to speak to me. Not out of spite. Out of pause. The clerk beside him explained that he was currently “regenerating.” I asked if that meant he was tired. She didn’t laugh for a very long time.
Golems are no longer a spectacle in Elyndor…
A young adventurer once walked into my tavern. Maybe early twenties. A massive sword on his back. Far too big, of course. The boy had to turn sideways just to get through the door. He probably considered it impressive. The guests considered it entertainment. Poor kid.
He sat down in the middle of the tavern, ordered the most expensive wine he clearly could not afford, and began loudly talking about monsters that were supposedly “no real challenge.” Nobody believed him. What actually gave him away, however, was something else: he was missing a shardband…
I once saw a drunken mercenary try to use a memory crystal as a dice cup.
The explosion was surprisingly small. The consequences significantly more expensive.
Since then, I make it very clear to strangers much earlier that crystals in Elyndor are not decoration.
Most people only understand that when doors suddenly start responding to voices or their shardband refuses to work out of spite.
Crystals here are not a curiosity…
I once met a man who was completely convinced that magic was something special. He stood right in the middle of my kitchen while three plates floated through the air behind him and someone used spirit magic to do the dishes.
Sometimes I really wonder how people manage to ignore their own world.
Magic in Elyndor is nothing rare. It is everyday life. Light orbs in the streets. Fire for cooking. Wind magic to dry laundry faster. Spirit magic so someone can carry five crates at once while still arguing about prices.
Most people think of magic as grand spells or dramatic battles.
In reality, most people use it for back pain and dirty dishes. Not exactly heroic. But probably more efficient…
I should really stop talking politics with people at night.
Yesterday, a merchant sat in my tavern and, after his third drink, confidently explained that Elyndor only works because of the nobility.
That was the moment I realized he was either very rich or surprisingly eager to die. Probably both.
The truly important things in Elyndor rarely happen where everyone is looking.
Of course, the noble houses like to pretend they are the ones running the world. Grand halls. Grand speeches. Grand family crests. Big egos.
And then trade routes suddenly disappear, names vanish from records, or someone unexpectedly falls down a staircase right in the middle of a political discussion. Several times.
Once, this wand belonged to a powerful elven mage whose purpose was to protect the forest and maintain its balance.
Its magic was neither purely creative nor purely destructive.
With the wand’s power, he allowed what had to die to fall, and created new life wherever it was needed….
