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A world bible
A single, wide, unmapped land of forests, reefs, canyons, volcanoes, sky-peaks, copper cities, sun-temples and twilight gardens — which once sang with eight great voices.
The eight voices
Everything in the Everwild moves in cycles: things grow, bloom, tire, rest, and return to the roots to be grown again. The Wyrms tended those cycles — and the deepest one, rest itself, was tended in the Well of Endings beneath the twilight vale. Every hero carries a spark of one Wyrm's element, the way a talent shows up in a family. Fight beside friends and that element answers more strongly: that is the Bond gauge, and it is how a party of four can call down a Wyrm.
Warmed the forges. Chained in cooled magma beneath the Hearthforge, in Emberforge Caldera. Proud, quick-tempered, quick to forgive; loves the sound of hammers.
Turned the tides. Sealed beneath the Tidebell in Coral Shallows. Patient, playful, old as the sea; speaks in waves of feeling rather than words.
Woke the spring. Curled in stone around the Sleeping Stone in Fernwood. Gentle and sleepy — and fiercely protective of small growing things.
Held the mountains still. Fossilised in the Amber Anvil. Slow, deep and kind; takes a year to finish a sentence and is always worth the wait.
Carried seeds and songs. Her breath is caught in the Windharp's strings, atop Skyreach Peaks. Restless, curious, a gossip — every rumour eventually passed through her.
Cracked the storms that cleaned the air. Coiled inside a copper cage the Tinkers built to protect him, in Stormspire. Brilliant, excitable, funny.
Brought the dawn, dimmed now in the Sun Lens above Sunspire Sanctum. Serene, honest, a little stern. She cannot abide a lie.
Brought the dusk, and with it rest. Bound in Nocturne's Cradle in Gloomroot Hollow — the first sealed, the gentlest of eight. Dark here is rest, not evil.
Home
Your village is built in, on and around the largest tree in the world: stairways spiralling up the trunk, houses in the roots, lantern-bridges between the branches. The Blight cannot climb these roots — the Wild Accord was sworn here a thousand years ago, and the cycles still turn: leaves fall every evening and grow back every morning. That is not decoration. Grovehaven is safe because a hundred different folk keep choosing each other.
Expeditions leave through the Rootgate, a living arch of the Oak's roots, and fallen heroes come home on the lanternbugs' wings. Between runs you'll meet the folk who tend it:
An ancient tortoise, kind, unhurried, wry. Remembers everything except where he left his spectacles. He narrates your journey and calls you "little squire", whoever you are.
Tiny, solemn, ceremonial. Takes pack openings very seriously, and gasps audibly at every Legendary.
Fussy, meticulous, secretly sentimental. Files every card by element, rarity and "how brave it looks".
Cheerful master smith with forearms like logs. Measures twice, hammers once, hums sea shanties.
A grizzled, gentle quartermaster with a wooden cane. Knows every hero's tea order before they do.
Tall, graceful, mysterious. Reads the Rootgate's paths like tea leaves, and speaks of routes as if they were moods.
An enthusiastic over-seller who keeps his stock in his beak pouch. Honest about prices, dramatic about everything else.
When the wild has been befriended, the tavern's back table turns to rivals: Quick Match, Friend challenges, ratings and six-week seasons.
Infinite wild lands
Every land below has its own palette, wildlife, music and guardian. Its battle boards are generated fresh from the land's own blocks each time you set out: reef terraces and tide pools, canyon mesas, lava fields, root-choked hollows. Learn a land, never a map.
How expeditions work →The oldest forest in the Everwild, grown from the Hearth Oak's first fallen acorns; its ferns are tall enough to shelter houses. The Thornwardens have kept it for centuries, and it is the closest land to Grovehaven — the Rootgate's first path always opens here. Fernwood was the last biome to fall to the Blight, because Verdalis held the rot back by sleeping harder. Where the Blight has taken hold: violet petals drift among the ferns, and some fronds curl black at the tips.
A chain of warm lagoons, reefs and sandbars strung together with stilted boardwalks. Driftmoor, the stilt-village, is the Everwild's busiest market by sea and home port of the Sweet Kelpie — "officially merchants, unofficially heroes, occasionally pirates to pirates." Since ancient times the Tidebell rang at every turning tide, and each ring was Maretha breathing. When the bell went silent, the tides stopped making sense — and the Barnacle Brigade moved into the confusion.
A maze of mesas and slot canyons where ancient amber oozes from the rock and catches the sunlight, and great dinosaur herds have roamed since before the Accord. Gravok sleeps so deeply in the stone that some say the canyons are him. The Dustwhistle Caravanserai is the crossroads where traders, Tuskrunners and Sunscale clans meet under a strict truce — now strained. Violet veins thread the amber, and the dust storms glow.
A living volcano whose crater holds a town of chimneys, forges and bridges. The Everwild's finest smiths — human, bear-folk and red-panda alike — worked here in Ignara's warmth, while the Wyrmkeepers of the Dragonheart family sang her to sleep with forge-songs. When she was sealed, the forges went cold and the smiths fled to Grovehaven. Lava is crusted with violet glass now, and the kiln bridges burn down behind you as you cross them.
A range of floating crags and needle peaks linked by rope bridges and wind-stairs, with eyries and monastery terraces clinging to the cliffs. The Stillwater Monastery trains its monks here ("Move like water. Stand like stone. Eat your vegetables."), and the Lantern Post's kite-couriers launch from its cliffs. Zephyrine loved gossip — every breeze in the Everwild eventually passed through the Windharp so she could hear the news. When her breath was trapped in the strings, the winds turned sharp and the couriers were grounded.
A city of copper towers on a thunderstorm plateau, where the Tinkers' Guild catches lightning in jars to power everything from music-boxes to street-trams (and at least nine kinds of exploding tea). Voltaris adored the Tinkers; when the Blight began to spread, they built a great copper Cage around his roost to shield him, and the Clockwork Colossus to guard it. It wasn't enough. The Blight came up through the Cage's foundations, and the shield became a prison.
A cliff-temple of golden terraces where dawn comes first in all the Everwild. Seat of the Dawnguard and its infirmary; Solenne dwelt in the great Sun Lens and sent dawn out through the Everwild every morning. Five years ago, Ser Galen Dawnmantle came home from the twilight kingdom silent, climbed the Lens, and wrapped it in shadow. Most of the Dawnguard left to search for answers. The light falls grey and wrong now, with violet shadows that move on their own.
This was Evenmere, the twilight kingdom of night gardens — silver roses, moon-lilies, lantern-moss that bloomed only after sunset. The last gardener-king, Mathias Duskmere, loved his queen's pale rose for twenty years, and when she died he closed the Well of Endings so nothing he loved would ever end again. The Blight is what festers behind that dam, and it is strongest here. The silver roses are gone; roots as tall as towers have broken the paths, and lantern-moss glows violet instead of silver. In the centre stands the Rotting Court. Beneath it, the Well, woven shut. Below that — the Blightheart.
The pool where forty years of refused endings gathered. Fire, tide, bloom, stone, gale, storm, dawn and dusk — everything Rotcrown drained from the Eight Wyrms — tangled together with the festering endings of the world, and grew a body: a vast patchwork dragon whose scales are eight colours of bruised light, held together with violet rot. Folk who have glimpsed it call it the Unending. It has no voice and no words; it only roars, and its roar sounds like eight different storms trying to happen at once. It is not the king's servant. It is what his refusal became. Even if Rotcrown were to stop, the Dragon would keep the dam shut — because it is the dam.
Wild lands without end, Eight Wyrms, one grieving king, and a village that stays safe because its people keep choosing each other. The game's rule: every victory lets something rest.
