The World of Elanril
Elanril is a world shaped by roads, roots, and the quiet pull of places that refuse to be forgotten.
It is a land where ancient forests press close to young settlements, where the past lingers just beneath the soil, and where travelers learn quickly that destiny rarely announces itself before knocking.
Some come seeking fortune.
Some come fleeing history.
Most simply follow the road… and discover too late that Elanril has been watching them all along.
A Land Known by Many Names
To the elves, this world was once called Elanthiril — The Fertile Ground.
A name not for crops alone, but for ideas, peoples, and the strange mingling of fate that occurs when many paths cross.
Humans, never fond of long syllables, shortened it over generations. What survived was Elanril — a softer name for a land still sharp with mystery.
Other peoples call it different things still. Dwarves speak of stone that breathes. Orcs name it for the strength it draws from blood and soil. Dragons remember an older word entirely — one tied to awakening rather than growth.
All are correct.
Elanril is a place where things begin.
The Whispering Wood
At the heart of Elanril lies the Whispering Wood, an ancient forest so vast and old that maps grow unreliable near its borders.
The trees do not speak in words — not usually — but in impressions, instincts, and half-remembered dreams. Travelers report hearing their own thoughts echoed back to them… sometimes altered. Paths shift. Clearings appear where none existed before. What the forest gives, it also takes.
Some believe the Wood is alive.
Others insist it is merely listening.
Few deny that it remembers.
Roads, Crossroads, and the Shape of Fate
Civilization in Elanril clings to roads.
Trade routes stretch from the capital toward the forest and beyond, threading through frontier towns, abandoned watchposts, and settlements that survive mostly because the road refuses to forget them.
Where roads cross, stories gather.
One such place is Edgewood, a small town built where the east–west road from the capital meets the north–south route skirting the forest’s edge. It is not large. It is not powerful.
But it is important.
Every traveler who passes through Elanril eventually learns this truth:
nothing truly important happens far from a crossroads.
A World in Motion
Elanril is not static. Kingdoms rise and fray at the edges. Old magic stirs where it should remain buried. New songs are written to replace the ones lost to time.
Adventurers walk the roads because something in Elanril calls to them — a sense that the world is unfinished, and that their story might be one of the threads still waiting to be woven.
Some answer that call with courage.
Some with curiosity.
Some with regret.
Elanril accepts them all.
Stories Yet Unfolding
The world you see here is not complete — and it never will be.
New places are discovered.
Old truths are questioned.
Songs are written, forgotten, and sung again.
The inn at the crossroads keeps its doors open not because it knows how the story ends…
…but because it knows stories are better when shared.
Whether you walk the roads of Elanril in boots and cloak, or glimpse it through a scrying window from the beyond, you are welcome here.
The world is wide.
The fire is warm.
And the road is always waiting.