Lore of Albanor

A Kingdom Forged in Blood, Bound by Lust

The Sealed Pact

Albanor was born from a single, desperate act: the Sealed Pact, a blood-ritual in which a high priestess was offered in ecstatic sacrifice atop a crystal obelisk. Her final orgasmic cry wove the realms together, binding human ambition, elven mysticism, and dwarven endurance against the Shadow Veil, an ancient, sentient darkness that devours light and twists desire into torment. The priestess’s essence seeped into the land itself, granting unnatural fertility to its fields and a primal undercurrent of lust that still pulses through every stone, root, and heartbeat. This fertility is both gift and curse: crops grow thick and golden, but so do forbidden cravings, orgiastic rites, and the slow corruption of the soul.

The Prophecy of the Sorcerer of Light

Etched into the Pact’s dying breath is the Prophecy of the Sorcerer of Light: a single dawn-blooded child will rise to wield starfire and shatter the Veil, restoring balance between light and shadow. Until that child awakens, the land remains locked in a tense equilibrium—lust and liberty entwined, sacrifice and salvation inseparable.

The Major Regions and Their Lore

Eldridge Plains

Rolling golden fields and bustling trade roads, where the Pact’s fertility is most visible. The soil drinks deep of blood-magic, yielding harvests that feed the realm but also fuel secret twilight gatherings—rituals of flesh and harvest that echo the original sacrifice. Beneath the wheat lie hidden stone altars, stained with centuries of offerings.

Sylvandar Glade

An ancient elven forest of glowing fungi and vine-wrapped spires, where time flows like honey and the air hums with enchantment. The trees remember the priestess’s cries; their sap glows faintly crimson under blood moons. Here, beauty and danger are one—love and death bloom in the same breath.

Deephold Ranges (Kharadun)

Towering mountains riddled with dwarven forges that never sleep. The anvils ring with the screams of bound spirits, their essence hammered into weapons and relics. The deeper one delves, the hotter the air, the heavier the lust—some say the mountain itself hungers for the warmth of living flesh.