There are places in every city that are never officially mentioned, and yet everyone knows them. In this city, it lies in the lower street. Of course it does. It would not function anywhere else.
“The Burned Maid.” The name sounds worse than the place is. Which is probably intentional. Names in Elyndor rarely serve only one purpose.
I was there once….
There is a road south of Valthera that is considered safe.
That is usually the moment I start to worry.
Safety in Elyndor is an interesting concept. It usually only means that no one has died loudly enough…
I once met a merchant who tried to sell me a “miracle tea.” She said the name as though the word alone justified the price.
She stood in my tavern, very confident in herself, and explained that this tea could do everything ordinary tea could not. Provide energy. Bring clarity. Chase away fatigue. Perhaps even correct bad decisions—though I was never entirely sure whether she meant that seriously or was simply being bold.
I listened. Then I told her …
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…
Kaelen and Seris Thalvaen were born into a world that was never meant to be theirs. Their family, once highly esteemed, had been brought down by intrigue and betrayal. After the death of their parents, a maid saved the children and brought them to the pirates – traumatized and broken, like two lost sparks in a storm.
They grew up on the decks of storm-tossed ships, learning the wind, the salt, the rules of freedom – and what it means to stand up for honor and loyalty.
Kaelen, the brother, learned that morality is worth more than blood. That one must fight for one’s principles, even if the price is high.
Seris, the sister, learned that power and control are the only means to survive. She was colder, more strategic, willing to do anything to take revenge. He was empathetic, justice-driven – an idealist who did not measure the world by its cruelty.
This fantasy short story tells of Morthyrel, the mighty guardian dragon, daughter of Elyndra, who watches over the cycle of life and death. Witness how the worlds of dwarves, elves, and humans fall out of balance, and how Morthyrel guides the fate of the living with wind, shadow, and magic. A tale of power, secrets, and fantastical adventure—drawn from the ancient chronicles of Elyndor.
You find yourself in a forward archive of the Golden Dawn, the not-so-secret secret espionage order of Elyndor.
Anyone seeking information—or wishing someone gone—contacts the Golden Dawn.
They contact you.
This small, dusty archive is dark, the air so thick with dust that breathing feels difficult. By the faint glow of your candles, you make out shelves and tables piled with books and parchment. Countless reports and records are stored here—hundreds, perhaps thousands of spies must be responsible for them.
And now, you are part of it.
One of these records catches your eye, and you take a closer look…
