Welcome to Wildemount!
The year is 835 P.D., or post-Divergence. The continent of Wildemount in the land of Exandria is divided both by jagged terrain and political powers. The Menagerie Coast, a collection of city-states united under the Clovis Concord, monopolizes the southwestern shores and ports, thriving on open trade and cultural freedom. Further east and over the Cyrios Mountains lies the massive region known as Wynandir, bisected by the Ashkeeper Peaks. Eastern Wynandir houses the expansive wastes and turbulent badlands of Xhorhas, overrun with all manner of beasts and terrors, relics from the final battles of the Calamity that ruined that scarred landscape. In the far north, you would find the Greying Wildlands, a lawless realm harboring a curse that has kept it unconquered by human hands.
This story begins in the center of Wildemount, in the territory known as Western Wynandir, within the boundaries of the
Dwendalian Empire. For thirteen generations now, the Dwendalian Empire has slowly spread to encompass the surrounding societies of the region, absorbing the peoples of the Zemni Fields and the Marrow Valley, before finally conquering the Julous Dominion and taking the entirety of Western Wynandir for the Empire. Under the rule of the current King Bertrand Dwendal, now in his 68th year, most citizens are left to their own devices. The crown takes an annual tithe from what the citizens produce and earn. In return, the Empire protects them from the chaotic horrors and shadowed evils that stalk the edges of the civilized lands. As long as they follow its laws, worship its gods, and submit to its installed local leadership, life carries on as it ever has. This accord has led to a prosperous century for the Empire, or at least for the political elite. But tensions brew beneath the chafing watch of the Crown’s Guard. Every temple in the Dwendalian Empire is government-owned and run, and worship outside the approved idolatry is met with imprisonment. Rumors of military clashes at the eastern border near Xhorhas have many common folk on edge.
Our story, however, begins much smaller. Here in the southern reaches of the Marrow Valley lies the small rural town of
Alfield, nestled into a scattered patch of trees near the Amber Road, the main north-south thoroughfare of the Dwendalian Empire. The old mines winding beneath the nearby hills yield a fair amount of tin, copper, and quartz that supplement the town’s economy. Small in size compared to the surrounding townships, Alfield is regarded by most travelers as a stop on the route to more important business elsewhere. Today, though, the roads into Alfield are uncommonly busy, for this is the Highsummer festival, the celebration of Pelor, the god of the sun and agriculture, and one of the Prime Deities whose worship is allowed here in the Dwendalian Empire. And it is here that a handful of wandering destinies slowly begin to converge...
