Explore the stories, songs, and legends passed from hearth to hall across the lands of Khassid.
“You don’t understand.” Iosef’s voice cracked as he leaned over the tavern table, his hands trembling around his mug. “The forest—it’s alive. It watches, waits, and if you’re lucky, it sends her.” The patrons leaned in closer, the storm outside battering the windows, wind and rain rattling the timbers as though Morgdhav himself strained to…
Oh, gather ‘round and raise your glass, To the wildest soul, our Tipsy Tess! With a wink and a laugh, she’ll steal your coin, And leave you grinning as you rejoin. She stumbles in with a sway and a spin, Her cheeks flushed red, her grin a sin. “Another round!” she cries with glee, “For…
(As told by Itharion, once Dral’Vyrn, now Forgiven) For centuries, I bore the mark—a luminous scar etched upon my very soul, a radiant wound given by the gods whose gaze never faltered. They called me Dral’Vyrn, and they were right to name me so. The judgment was deserved; I had faltered, and the weight of…
The day started in the Felden village of Hearthglade like any other day. Hearthglade sits in the cradle of the old orchard — rows of gnarled apple trees so thick their branches weave overhead like a living roof. It is mid-spring. Bees drift slowly between blossoms. The youngest children play near the hedgerows, weaving little…
“For nearly three millennia, Khassid flourished under our guidance—the gods—and the fragile balance between mortal desires and divine purpose. But balance, Aerlyn, is not immutable. As the pantheon expanded and humanity’s aspirations grew unchecked, cracks began to form. What followed was not simply a clash of power. It was a rupture—a wound that tore through…
They’d shared more cold camps than warm ones these past weeks — frost-bitten brush, roots for pillows, half-burned wood for fire. Each time, Caelithar Veilwarden kept his sword closer than sleep. And each time, Tharan — Dral’Vyrn, traitor, kin-slayer once — stayed on the edge of the flame, eyes on the dark. It had been…
By dawn, the grove was quiet except for the steady breathing of children hidden deeper under roots and old blankets. The mercenaries lay where they fell, already forgotten by the frost. Tharan sat apart, back against a worn boundary stone, bandage pressed to the wound under his ribs. Caelithar Veilwarden crouched beside him, checking the…
They left the grove behind at dawn — frost still clinging to the old stones, the hush of breathline roots wrapping the smallest Echo in a promise no iron could break again. Tharan moved quiet behind Caelithar — a step back, eyes always on the brush, every shadow a threat until proven harmless. The children…
As told by Leris Tavron, Former Captain of the *Wandering Gale* I can still hear the waves. Not the ordinary cadence of the ocean—the soothing ebb and flow I’d grown accustomed to as a sailor—but the sound of something deeper, something alive. That sound haunts my dreams. It was the prelude to death, the tide…
Calen Matisse was a humble blacksmith from the human lands of Khassid, known for his craftsmanship and unwavering sense of justice. He had never imagined that his life would intertwine with the mystical world of the Syl’Aeris, nor did he foresee the heroic deed that would forever change his destiny. One fateful day, darkness threatened…
Stranger, you walk the unpaved roads of Khassid. Not all maps are complete, and not every tale is told — yet. Still, the paths that exist are yours to explore. Tread boldly, for more will be revealed in time.