Page: Talaniel, Land of the Thin Veil
Talaniel is a coast-bounded realm carved by restless rivers and older magic than any crown. The land remembers—sometimes aloud. On windless nights, names drift across the plains, spoken by no living mouth. In the deep woods, paths move like cautious animals. In the desert, ruins rise and sink as if the sand is breathing.
Talaniel’s borders are not lines on a map but moods:
North: the Northern Heaven Mountains, where dwarf-halls glow like embers behind stone, and dragon-lairs rot with ancient heat.
West: the Elderwood Forest, where the fey laugh at compasses and the trees keep agreements better than people do.
Center: the Elderwood Plains, wide and whispering, dotted with standing stones that were old when the first human prayers were new.
East: the Verdant Rise, sacred groves and forests that grow too quickly, as if fed by a buried heart.
South: the Scorched Expanse and Dead’s Sands, a desert of dormant volcanoes, nomad trails, half-buried temples, and a stirring elemental presence that does not enjoy being forgotten.
The rivers connect settlements like veins—yet offer no safety. Many have spirits. Some demand tolls. A few demand memories.
Talaniel’s history is not a clean timeline but a wound that never fully closed.
The War of Ash and Dawn (known by different names depending on who is speaking) ended without a true victory. It began with sun-banners raised against shadow-pacts, and it ended with treaties written on stone that later cracked on their own. Whole companies vanished in fog; entire villages woke to find their dead standing in ranks beyond the fields.
What most folk agree on:
The sun-faith once unified southern city-states and desert pilgrims.
A catastrophe—part war, part divine withdrawal—left holy places broken and dunes swallowing what was meant to last.
In the northeast, something that should have stayed dead did not.
What the old stones imply (rarely spoken aloud):
The war did not end. It was paused, sealed, diverted—like a river forced underground.
The seal is weakening wherever the veil grows thin.
In Talaniel, magic behaves like weather: local, temperamental, and sometimes personal.
Common signs of a thin veil:
Breath fogging in summer.
Shadows turning “late,” lagging a half-second behind.
Sudden silence in bird-song.
Water reflecting the wrong sky.
Common folk practices:
Iron nails in doorframes (fey-ward).
Salt lines across thresholds (spirit-ward).
Three coins in a river before crossing (toll—real or symbolic, no one risks finding out).
Never speaking your true name at a standing stone.
Hidden truth:
The veil is thinnest where old oaths were sworn: standing stones, battlefields, sun-ruins, and dwarf-forges that burned with runic fire for centuries.
Talaniel’s rivers are roads that move. They connect towns—and carry stories like driftwood.
Known river-behaviors:
Some waters “turn back” at night, flowing upstream without wind.
Some ferrymen refuse certain passengers without explanation.
Some bridges creak with voices when no one is walking them.
The River-Token Custom
In many settlements, travelers carry river-tokens—old coins, carved bones, stamped tin, even knotted reeds—meant as payment to river-spirits. The token matters less than the acknowledgment.
Hidden truth:
Not all spirits want money. Some want promises. Some want names. One river (locals avoid naming it) wants regrets.