From the writings of Tarric Vethrin
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.
They are infrastructure.
Most street lamps run on them. Shardbands as well.
Golems. Monocles. Field systems.
Some administrative buildings would probably stop functioning entirely if you removed their crystal cores.
Although I have to admit, some bureaucracies might become more efficient that way.
Crystals store magic. But not only magic. They store patterns. Commands.
Sometimes even behavioral routines.
And this is usually the point where scholars begin choosing their words very carefully.
Nobody likes to say out loud that some crystals start remembering things.
That always leads to discussions. Or religious problems. Or both at the same time.
The foundation of all these systems comes from the dwarves, by the way.
Which is remarkable, considering dwarves themselves cannot use magic.
And yet they create the purest crystal cores in the known world.
I have long stopped questioning how offensive that must be to some mages.
Dwarves call it craftsmanship. Elves call it a science.
Humans usually call it “an opportunity.”
Which is why humans should never be left alone with experimental crystal shards.
Especially not creative humans.
The worst ideas almost always start with: “Technically, this should work.”
Memory crystals are probably the most uncomfortable development in all of this.
A normal crystal stores energy. A memory crystal stores behavior.
That is a difference that is easy to underestimate at first.
Until a golem suddenly begins making decisions nobody taught it.
Officially, of course, that never happens.
Officially, many things in Elyndor are extremely reassuring.
The elven cities have integrated this magic system so deeply into everyday life that people barely notice it anymore.
Administrative systems respond to magical signatures. Crystal assistants organize archives. Some buildings even recognize their inhabitants automatically.
Which sounds incredibly convenient, until you start wondering what happens when a building decides you do not belong there.
I have learned not to ask that question too loudly.
And then there are the shards.
Most people just see small crystal modules. Adventurers see tools.
Smugglers see wealth. And scholars get that look that usually ends with something exploding somewhere.
Shards modify systems. Expand functions.
Sometimes even perception itself.
The better variants are strictly regulated.
Not because they look dangerous.
But because they work.
And anything that gives people (or unwanted neighbors) an unfair advantage eventually ends up either in the military, on the black market, or in the hands of nobles with questionable hobbies. Usually all three at once.
But the fascinating thing about crystals is not their power.
It is how normal they have become in Elyndor.
Most people no longer question magic as long as it works reliably.
And honestly? That sometimes worries me.
Because things nobody questions anymore have a bad habit of eventually starting to make decisions on their own.
— Tarric Vethrin

I, Raven Morrigan Hawke, create Elyndor, a world full of hidden paths, whispering forests, and ancient secrets. Every illustration and story draws you deeper—toward brave adventurers, glowing crystals, and places where light and shadow dance together. Join me on the journey through this poetic fantasy world and discover what waits behind every hill, every tree, and every artifact.

