Lore

Spyndelmere

A storybook land of green hills, enchanted forests, crumbling towers, and gallant heroes.

When you hear of the land of Spyndelmere, it sounds like a storybook tale has come to life. The land is full of green hills, winding dirt paths, dark enchanted forests, crumbling towers forgotten by time, gallant heroes, and wise beings with sound advice. The land is also full of stories. The tales of Spyndelmere’s four founding heroes twine together at the origin of the nation and promise happiness ever after for its citizens. In these first adventures are the origins of Spyndelmere’s knights, rulers, enchanters, wanderers, and unexpected heroes. From them, modern residents have gleaned a vast array of traditions that honor the past and assure the continued happiness of their children and grandchildren.

Even though the rulership in the Compass Rose has grown stagnant and the Knight’s Mark has not illuminated in some time, it is still possible for townsfolk to pretend that the Thorn Trees’ shadows are not growing longer, and the sea is not rising on the stones, and that a strong heart will still win out over darkness. The creeping sense of discomfort is not too strong yet, and surely will lead only to another great adventure for ready heroes, full of tricks and turns, with a fine and satisfactory end. Somewhere among the orphans, tailors, apprentices, and sheltered noble children will be the ones who come along and make everything all right again.

Geography, History, and Climate

The footpaths and forests of Spyndelmere are interconnecting and vast. The Waxing Crescent forest lines the northern coast of the land, and provides the greater share of Spyndelmere’s lumber. This forest is characterized by its sunny glades, flowering meadows, and idyllic trails, and is generally regarded as a friendly forest so long as one stays on the path.

On the southern coast, the Lockfall forest looms dark and grim over the nearby villages. Some lumber is gained here, but the prevalence of Thorn Trees and the ornery nature of the woods themselves have encouraged the locals to find other means of gaining resources. For all that it lacks in exports, the Lockfall is infamous in Spyndelmere for hosting a vast number of difficult-to-find components for casting and breaking curses. Mushroom gatherers and woodcutters live along the edges, but no Purposed folk live in the deepest parts of either forest.

In the high, uninhabitable parts of the Mistbound mountains lie mysterious valleys, fathomless lakes, and openings to the caves beneath. The sharp craggy eastern peaks soften as they roll westward, where villages begin to pockmark the landscape.

Spyndelmere’s only big city is the capital, known as Thornwen. Embervale Castle sits as its centerpiece, a city itself within its walls. Those who call Embervale home know not to poke in the shadowed corners or to get lost in the maze of hallways. While they’re supposed to be empty, wailing can sometimes be heard from the dungeons far below. The center spire is off limits to all but the most trusted. It is within the ancient halls of the castle that the current members of the Compass Rose and their families reside.

Alongside Embervale Castle is the stalwart Brumesward Citadel. When a Mark of the Knight appears on someone they go to Brumesward for the basic training they will need on their Path. Paths for knights are highly personalized, depending on the new knight’s age and many other factors. The old fisherman who found the Rainbow Scaled Sea Slime may not want to disrupt her daily life, while the street urchin who is hit by a careless cartsman and whose mark comes after the bruise heals may have wished for nothing more.

The history of Spyndelmere begins with stories. Long ago, there were four adventurers who would end up bringing great prosperity to the land that would become Spyndelmere; Ignatia, Skylar, Nira, and Ferris. These four adventurers were the original members of the Compass Rose. Those who are said to be kindred of the Rose bear one of four marks related to the heroes of old known as the Mark of the Knight. The likenesses of the Original Compass Rose and their stories are immortalized within the Fernfallow Halls, along with others of great renown from the stories of Spyndlemere’s colorful history.

Politics, Government, and Economy

From the lofty halls of Embervale Castle, the Four Regents of the Compass Rose watch over the land. Their emblem, a golden compass with a pink rose bloom at the center, tells the people that they are there to guide them in the right direction, even when hope seems distant and the way unsure. Regents are not chosen by the people but by the magic of the land itself, for when their Knight’s mark burns bright, they know their time as Regent has begun and when the light fades, they must step down to make room for the new Regent. While the Regents tend to the stuffier parts of ruling, their children and grandchildren, the Princes and Princesses of the realm, wander the halls of the castle and do what they can to aid the people with daring deeds, tall tales, magic stories and of course balls and tournaments.

Most towns are guided by the gentle hands of the local Compass Coriander, who yield to the Compass Iris. Appointed by the Regents of the Rose, the seats of the Corianders and Iris are filled with others who bear the Mark. These officials are on hand to tend to marriages, disputes, and minor magical mischief such as the baker who accidentally cursed the delivery boy with biting shoes so he would move faster. Of course in Spyndelmere, sometimes the magical mischief is out of control, and the Compass may call to rally the garrisons of the Knight’s Guard.

The Guard is composed of those who bear a Knight’s Mark and those who do not. A Rally Call is rare, and would usually only be heard when one of the morphoses is causing a stir. When a wildling bull knocks down a barn, or a free-fire sets light to a tavern, the Knight’s Guard will be on hand to battle and to give aid.

It is considered an honor to have a Knight’s Mark, certainly, but there is no social class division between those who have marks and those who do not. Many qualities are honorable in Spyndelmere, including the Knight’s Mark, great wisdom, proficient curse breaking, and a well-known family title such as the Shadowseekers. In fact, social hierarchy in Spyndelmere mainly consists of the nation’s belief in good noble royalty and steadfast, gallant knights.

Travelers to Spyndelmere come away remarking on something that the residents themselves hardly notice - their habitual, ingrained honoring of traditions. Some traditions, such as always walking a complete circle around any cluster of exactly seven dandelions, are known and common across the whole country. Others are localized to particular places based on which of the many tales are important, and which are less known.

Notable People:

Regent Berkeley Evers: Berkeley is the longest-serving regent in Spyndelmere’s history. He bears Nira’s mark, and it illuminated when he broke the Depthless Goblet at age twenty-four. Sixty years later, the glow has not faded and he still sits on the Compass. Berkeley is a compassionate, involved leader who has been forced to cut back on his activities due to age.

Regent Sage Ashfall: Sage is the youngest Regent on the Rose. Sage’s mark, the one born by Ferris, illuminated only a couple of years ago. She bears the family title of Ashfall along with her siblings from their paternal grandmother, Linden Ashfall. Linden was also a Regent of the Rose and had hoped Sage would follow in her footsteps one day.

Louis Wenform: Embervale castle has always been the place where the ruling bodies of Spyndlemere resided. But there came a time when there was more needed than the castle and the grounds. And when that time came, someone was needed to step up and help tame the lands around the castle and plan the emerging city. Louis Tinker, as he was then known, decided to use some of his contraptions to help tame the wilds around Embervale. They were so effective that in short order the plans for Thornwen were laid and he was granted the title “Wenform” because without him and his devices the city could never have been built.

Agnes Shadowseeker: One of the great titles and places in the Fernfallow Halls, given in the last century, was to a woman originally known as Agnes Fletcher. She and her brother Oliver traveled into the southern forest with other Knight Guards in search of some pigs that were taken by unknown monsters. It is said the creatures she fought were twice as tall as the tallest man, with fur the color of fire and eyes that were cast over with shadows. They were able to breathe lightning from their gaping jaws and had hands large enough to snatch away a large swine in one grab. The stories say she climbed atop a monster while Oliver distracted it and pierced it through the eyes with her daggers, collapsing the monster swiftly. The other monsters fled further into the forest after this, leaving behind most of the swine. It was at this time, unfortunately, they also kidnapped Oliver. While many of the swine and Oliver were never found, a whole herd worth was returned to their owners deftly. For this heroic deed and the loss of her brother, she was given the title and name of Agnes ShadowSeeker. This name has been passed onto her family and many know that those who bear the name ShadowSeeker should be held in high regard.

Everyday Life

Growing up in Spyndelmere, children often remember living in a plain, ordinary town wherein their own role as the Miller’s Daughter, Orphan, or Hedge Witch’s Son was unique. Traveling around, it seems impossible that any plain, ordinary towns truly exist, so it may be that this is all part of the magic of the realm. On a map, it seems clear that the great forests line the northern and southern edges of the country, and yet living in Spyndelmere it is known that following the mushroom path can get you there in short order, no matter your starting point.

The common folk of Spyndelmere often settle into a comfortable, happy routine. Jane Weaver’s day at the loom or market is very different from Sam Hunter’s daily trek into the forest looking for wildlife. In these routines, time is left for their dreams and aspirations. One common tale is that of Lilane Forestfell, descendant of Reese Forestfell the defender of Darkstone Manor (the one in the south), who spends her days studying sword play hoping that she will find the Path or that her Knight’s Mark will appear. Most towns have their local wise people for odd cures and prophecies and because it is Spyndelmere, it is assumed that these wise ones spend their days gathering herbs or studying things only they can see.

One of the highest regarded professions are those of the mushroom farmers and gatherers; two very different but equally important jobs. Mushrooms are well known and liked within the community, for they represent the ability of the community to grow even when they have been struck down by daily life. Many enjoy eating a variety of mushrooms, and even those who do not will still adorn themselves with representations of the valued hearts of the country.

While Cremini mushrooms are farmed, mushroom gatherers use swine to find the wild fungi that appear sporadically within the land and its forests. A well trained swine is hard to come by and they are able to find mushrooms that can be sold for great value to Princes and Princesses of the land or exported. As such, it is a sign of great opulence to have a swine in one’s household, and even more opulent for the swine to be a pet rather than a service animal.

Much like mushrooms are an integral part of the land, so too are the varieties of tea. Mushrooms are an ingredient in many teas, alongside various herbs and other elements. Spyndelmere teas are known to be used for something as simple as a beverage or as mystical as the gateway to another world.

Current Events

Rumors have been heard in taverns and inns across Spyndelmere.

“Be careful when walking in the forest, we’ve heard rumors that there are stranger than usual things going on. Some have whispered they were hit by multiple falling branches when there was no wind. Others can’t seem to find any hunting.”

“Oh, we know that only two of the Regents are active. One is said to have been called by the Path and hasn’t come back yet, one caught some kind of illness. But the two sitting Regents are doing a fine job, we aren’t worried.”

“Morphoses are all around, more than usual, keep a sharp eye for the portents of mischief.”

“I just came from the west. I heard a loud heartbeat near this little village. When sunup came, I investigated. It was completely abandoned, as if the townsfolk had got up and left in the middle of the night.”

Notes for Players

Spyndelmere players should expect plot that is steeped with tropes from western/european fairy tales, plus a few outliers, but without any of the specific characters of those tales. In addition, a concerted effort has been made to ignore or change the poor stereotypes and gender roles that sometimes accompanied those early works. In Spyndelmere, we firmly believe that we can conjure the wonder and optimism of fairy tales without relying on the negative ideologies and suppositions that have too often gone hand-in-hand with the genre.

Players are encouraged to make up local traditions and superstitions for their home in Spyndelmere.

Ignatia’s Tale

Once upon a time there was a low and hungry land, full of low and hungry people. Many of them were good people whose time and willingness to do good had been worn away. The rocky soil grew more miserly each year. The snows came earlier. The nights grew longer, and the night-hunters grew bolder.

In this low and hungry land lived a lonely farmer by the name of Ekrem. He sat by his fire each night, and wished that he might have a child to care for and who might help him with the difficult work of the stubborn farm.

One especially dark and cold night, a loud knock sounded at the farmer’s door. Now, a wiser man would have ignored it, but Ekrem was known to be generous, not wise. The visitor was a bedraggled, stooped woman wrapped in a weatherworn cloak. Ekrem brought her into his home and gave her food, tea with traveler’s honey, and the warmest place around the tiny fire. When he woke in the morning, she was gone.

The following night, as he once again sat near his pitiful fire, wishing that he might be warmer, the fire began to burn brighter. It was so warm and comfortable that he wished he might have a bit of sweetbread to enjoy. No sooner had he thought this than he realized that the poor crust of bread he had left on the plate by the fire had grown warm and soft.

He chewed it in great contentment, and watched the flames jump and whorl like dancers on a stage. The warmth of his skin and the fullness of his belly made him very sleepy. He watched one of the flames closely, one dancer. It looked like a young woman spinning and flourishing with joy. “I wish,” he said, “that I had a child to care for.” He fell asleep before he heard the fire answer him with “I wish that I was a girl.”

So it was that on the very next day, he found Ignatia among the embers of the fire.

The farmer and the child spent every day together, and quickly grew to love one another. He cared for her, as he had always wished to, and she found great satisfaction in the hard work farming crops.

Even though she loved her father, Ignatia began to grow lonely as she got older. You see, she had wished to be a girl, but she was also still a fire. Her hair was dark like coal and smoke. Her skin was warm like cinnamon. Her eyes were golden-orange and flashing like a spark, and her touch was burning like a flame. She could not hug her father or pet a cat without wearing gloves to protect them from her fire.

One day as she worked the field nearest to the forest, she pulled up a carrot, but instead found a mushroom in her hand. She looked in shock at the next carrot and saw instead a trail of small glowing mushrooms. What wondrous little things! She followed them and soon found herself going deeper and deeper into the forest.

Deep in the woods, in a blue-green glade, she found a well-dressed young man in a chestplate and pauldrons, with his ankle trapped beneath a fallen thorn tree. Working the farm had made her quite strong, and she lifted the great trunk just enough for him to wiggle free. His steed, he said, had run away, and was the only one who knew the way back home. She laughed delightedly, and offered to lead him to the farm.

Now, a wiser prince would have said absolutely not, but Prince Esper was known to be open-hearted, not wise. He accompanied the fire woman back to her home, and on the long walk they had many adventures, and fell deeply in love with each other.

Ekrem the farmer welcomed Prince Esper as though he were family, and the three of them worked the farm for a full season before the prince revealed who he was, and that he must seek his home. He asked if Ignatia would accompany him.

She enthusiastically agreed before thinking of her father, and the hard work of the farm. Ekrem waved her onward, though, and she and the prince promised that they would return after Esper’s neglected business was tended to. Little did any of them know that this promise could never be kept.

During the winter while Prince Esper and Ignatia stayed at the castle, a terrible illness took the valley, and took Ekrem with it. Both of them were heartbroken at his loss, and it only increased their longing to embrace and comfort each other. This they could not do, though, because the Prince was still as susceptible to her burning touch as any other.

Once winter passed, they vowed that they would find a way to hold each other. Ignatia told Esper the story of how she came to be, and they agreed that they would try to seek out the old woman. Surely, she would be able to help them.

The lovers wandered the land in search of the enchanter. They risked the depths of the Grickleback forest, and the heights of the Mistbound mountains. It was deep in the Studded Cavern that they found her. She was just as Ekrem had described, stooped over a bubbling cauldron, wearing a weatherworn cloak clasped with a metal mushroom.

The enchanter welcomed the travelers, and listened to their story as though she did not already know it. When they had finished, and pleaded for her help, she told them the same thing that she had whispered to Ignatia’s sleeping father so many years ago. “I can give you what you wish for, but it brings a price beyond my control.”

And like her father, they eagerly agreed. Whatever the price, they were sure it was one they could bear. The enchanter gifted them a small object, a trinket of no remarkable qualities. “Hold this,” she instructed Esper, “and you may choose to take on an element as well. Wish for it, and it will be so.”

The lovers thanked her, and rushed aboveground to use the trinket and embrace each other for the first time. After a hurried conversation, the young lovers made their choice. Esper held the trinket and stared with excitement into Ignatia’s eyes. “I wish to be air,” he said aloud.

In a moment, it was so. He was still the prince, but he was also air. His hair was cooling colors like the evening sky. His skin was white like the refracted sun. His eyes were pale grey like the springtime clouds, and his touch was light and wondrous like wind. A sort of quiet whistling sound came from him, as the whirling air passed over the space between his chestplate and pauldrons.

Overjoyed now, the lovers embraced at last. Ignatia found that finally she could pour out all that love through her strong arms, and hold on as tightly as she wanted. Esper felt elation, a powerful updraft of joy that left him dizzy and his heart pounding. Air did not burn, and so they could touch.

Ignatia only realized something was horribly wrong when she heard his strangled gasp. Her burning touch had turned to fire that blazed off her shoulders, raging with great strength as it consumed the sudden gift of air. They both realized their mistake, but it was too late. Ignatia released her lover and jumped back in horror. As his apparently empty clothing and chestplate clattered to the ground, she heard his voice one last time. “EARTH,” he cried out hoarsely.

From that day on, Ignatia and the Blooming Prince were together always. And then, when the prince’s mother passed on, the two ruled together until their own deaths, wisely and with much heart. Children were born to them. They traveled many places, made the greatest of friends and allies, and had many adventures. The trinket that had caused them so much pain was eventually lost. Their subjects would claim that the king and queen knew all of them by name, and would sing of their generosity, and the love they bore for each person and animal in their demesne.

It was almost so. But truly, there was one that they could not make space in their hearts for, and that was the old enchanter who had given them the trinket. They blamed her for what had befallen them, and perhaps that blame was well placed. The ways of the morphose are their own.

When they passed, a memory stone to each was erected near where the southern forest touches the mountains. Around the stones, there is scorched earth surrounded by lush blooms of every flower from the meadow and the garden. The stones exact location has been lost to time, but legend says that by their request, a last curse upon the enchanter was carved into the rock.

Ferris’ Tale

Hello there, friend. Come this way. I wish to tell you the tale of how Ferris found his path. Much of his story is well known, but the further we get along the more cobwebbed it gets as many people cannot agree with the exact details as it goes on.

Ferris had a childhood like many children. He lived with his mother and grandmother in a small fishing village to the north of the Dark Forest. He spent much of his childhood playing with his friends and learning to cook with his grandmother. His favorite pastime, though, was sailing the water with his mother. When he was out in the strait on their boat with the wind sweeping through his hair, he felt the most alive. His mother taught him how to feel the temperature of the water, follow the currents and read the wind. During the hottest days of the summer, they would sit on the rocks overlooking the water and search for crabs and other critters to bring back to his grandmother.

In the evenings, while his mother was resting from her long day fishing, Ferris would help his grandmother make dinner. Dinner was a family affair, and they always had someone over for the meal. While his grandmother had the shortest temper out of everyone in the village, there was never any doubt about her loyalty to the village and its people. When she wasn’t helping his mother around the home, she was out in the village helping others who needed it. Whether it be tending their garden, or patching up an injury, she stayed busy throughout the day. In the evening, come dinner, she would always bring home someone who she helped earlier in the day.

His mother on the other hand, knew many people but mostly kept to herself. Though the day she was out on the water fishing and trading her goods across the strait. She worked hard and kept the family afloat by providing where she could. When he was with his mother, she seemed to have endless patience for him and all his questions. Each question he asked she would hold him close and wave her work-worn hands and everything would suddenly make sense. He never felt he had to question the love she exuded for him out of every pore.

On the outskirts of the village resided The Path. The Path was a well-known walking road which traveled into the forest. Ferris knew traders would go there and come from there throughout the day. The Path itself was lined with small mushrooms. He always remembered being so enthralled by the glow of them that his mother would let him poke them and feel their textured skin as a toddler. It was at this age he was taught he should never get too close to the forest at night where there was no path. The mushrooms were said to be placed by someone generations before and helped ward the path by soaking sunlight and holding the light until nightfall. The areas without the mushrooms were dangerous areas where monsters of the night could reach out and grab you and you would be gone before anyone would even notice.

During the summer Ferris was finally taller than his mother, he noticed the rustling of leaves from the edges of the forest any time he would go near. The noise made him nervous, for at this age he knew better than to go towards the forest. He had lost at least a couple of youngling friends to the forest previously. They were gone, without a trace and never to be seen again. He spoke to his mother about it only to be greeted with a horrified look and a quickly placed warning to never get too close. He was safe here, safe near the water. The water would keep him safe. It was this summer that his mother taught him more about her trade. More about how she moved the water, lived with the water and controlled the water. It was this summer he began to learn about magic.

Learning that you could control nature around you with nothing but your will was enlightening for Ferris. It was a simple form of magic. His mother did not know much and wasn’t able to show him anything powerful, but he did learn to feel the earth and water around him. Any time he asked his mother where she learned this, she would simply tell him that when she needed it the most, it came to her like a breath of fresh air. As his knowledge of magic began to grow, so did the noise at the edge of the forest. After a whole summer of hearing rustling, his mother began to get more and more cautious about going outside.

During the winter of that year, his mother caught a sickness that was plaguing the village. People would suddenly get sick; their skin would feel like fire and their lungs would expel a dark substance. It was said it came into the village after a strange man came to visit from the forest who had similar symptoms. Unable to fight off the mysterious sickness, his mother was lost at the end of winter. As Ferris mourned with his grandmother at the foot of his mother’s pyre, the sounds from the forest began to turn into a more recognisable sound. Slowly sounding more and more like a voice. A voice telling him to come into the forest, promising safety and wealth beyond measure.

After his mother’s passing, his grandmother’s health began to wane. No matter what they did, she was not getting any better. It was only a few years after his mother’s passing that his grandmother also passed, her heart broken from seeing her only child pass before she did. The same day his grandmother passed, the voices stopped. Ferris knew loneliness for a whole moon-cycle before a man came to the edge of the forest. It was said he walked out of the darkest part of the forest and seemed to be made of the trees themselves. They say he had skin made of leaves and hair of thorns. His eyes were closed and never opening. He waited at the edge of the forest, never moving for days, until someone asked what he wished for. “Ferris,” he said, his voice sounding like wood scraping against itself. It took two days for Ferris to gather the courage to speak to the man. When Ferris finally got the courage to speak to him, the Man Made of Leaves told him his father had been looking for him for years. His mother stole him away as a child, and hid him from his father.

This brought Ferris pause, his mother never liked to speak of his father. What he was told was his father lived far away and left his mother to die while she was with child because his father had wanted to keep the child from inheriting anything. Could it be that his mother had lied to him, for his whole life? The Man Made of Leaves was clever though, always interrupting Ferris’ thoughts and assured him that he would be welcomed with open arms into his father’s land and that his father loved him unconditionally. What followed was a week of the Man Made of Leaves telling fantastical tales of the forest and its beauty as he tried to convince Ferris to leave the village. As he spun his tales, the village came to sit, listen and became enthralled. As the man made of leaves started to run out of tales, the village began to tell tales of their own. Many of which Ferris had never heard of before. Speaking how strange his mother and grandmother were, how unlike the rest of them they were. The elders spoke about how suddenly they came into the village with a small child, strangely alone and unwilling to speak of the past.

Ferris listened to the great stories during the day, and went home at night only accompanied by the cold loneliness of the loss of his family. After a week of listening to the stories of the Man Made of Leaves, Ferris decided to head into the forest to meet his father. His long-lost father who yearned to meet his missing child. Ferris turned his head away from the water and stepped over the treeline following the Man Made of Leaves and disregarding everything his loving mother had taught him through his life thus far.

The trek through the forest was not an easy one for Ferris. His legs were strengthened for water and not for land. Within the dark forest, Ferris was unable to tell the passage of time as sunlight did not leak through the dense forest canopy. He relied heavily upon the sound of the rustling leaves of his guide as Ferris made his way along. It could have been a day-long walk, or a week-long trek, but Ferris felt that it lasted forever. The brambles along the forest floor scraped his legs and feet tearing his clothing as he went along. He stumbled often, falling to his knees only to be picked up by the Man Made of Leaves and pushed to continue. His legs ached, bled and threatened to give out but he continued his march towards his father’s home. He kept telling himself that this was for his family, this was for his future.

Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness just as he reached a glade within the forest. His eyes settled upon a shallow well in the middle of the area. As Ferris stepped into the glade, he found that the ground in the glade was covered in soft grass which felt like a blessing upon his battered feet. He fell to his knees, weary of his travels. When he looked skyward, he realized he did not see any light. No clouds, no stars or moon. Where the sky should be, he only saw darkness. Turning towards his guide for assurance, the man gestured him forwards before rapidly decaying into a pile of dirt. Ferris scrambled back in horror. As he stumbled to his feet and turned around he was greeted with the sight of a tall looming man, his eyes glowing yellow in the darkness. He spoke in a deep timbor, “Welcome back, son.” He offered Ferris a hand, pulling him to his feet. With a wave of his other hand, the glade changed.

Before him now was a small stone tower house, which looked incongruous in the middle of the forest. The building was barely taller than the trees and looked so very new with its white stone and freshly cut wood work. It housed a small door that looked steepled in such a way that caused your vision to trail towards the pinnacle at the top. His father pulled him towards the house, slowly helping him along. The building seemed to start leaning one direction as Ferris walked up upon it, causing his vision to spin and blur the closer he got to it. His father placed a hand upon the door and welcomed Ferris into the building. The room was round on the inside with a fire roaring in the back. A stark contrast to the cold darkness of the forest. His father eased him into a chair, bringing him food and tending to his wounds. As he ate, his father spun him the tale of lovers gone awry. His father loved his mother deeply, only to have her turn her back upon him during a time of great need. When Ferris inquired about the story further, his father explained that he was still quite young, and he would explain more when he was a bit older. Ferris learned that his father was a magic user of the forest, deeply in tune with what he called the ‘true nature of the forest’. He grew up in his own village and eventually traveled into the forest to learn of it’s beauty and nature. What many would call dark and revolting, he called inviting and incredible.

For many days Ferris spent time with his father, learning about his father’s past and how he lived when he was barely Ferris’ age now. They spoke over tea and soup, enjoying each other’s company. Ferris was never able to tell when it was day or night, so his father informed him of such each morning. For the first few weeks his father would take him outside in the morning and teach him a bit about the forest and gather food. Ferris learned which plants were edible, which ones were poisonous, and which ones would help him find his way home. In the evening, his father would leave him home alone to go hunting. Over the next few weeks Ferris was with his father, his health began to wane. It started with his vision, just like when he first arrived. Everything slowly grew blurry and unfocused before going dark. His father assured him it was a temporary feeling of being within the darkness of the forest, and would soon pass and lighten. As the days grew on, his legs began to grow numb. He was assured again it was just because he was not out on the water all the time, his legs were adjusting. When he began to lose feeling of his fingers, Ferris began to feel paranoid about his choice to go into the forest.

Ferris was forced into the seclusion of his room, his newly-acquired father placing him on bedrest to recuperate. One day, after Ferris’ father had bought him his tea and soup and left, Ferris found a funny shaped mushroom in his soup. It was at this moment he decided he was not hungry and poured the food out the window near his bed. As the liquid touched the beautiful wood of the windowsill, it promptly burned into the surface, turning it a muddy blackened sludge. He began to remember things his mother told him about staying away from the forest and the darkness within. Ferris then made the decision not to eat for two days, which angered his father. His father told him he needed to eat to get better and would often slam the door on his way downstairs when Ferris refused to eat. Slowly, over the course of those couple days, Ferris began to feel better. His hands stopped tingling and he began to gather strength in his legs again. When his vision came to him, so did the realization that the food was the cause of his illness and this became his new grief. His father had been poisoning him.

Over the next few days kept his eyes closed and his legs immobile as much as he could while his father was nearby, though he continued not to accept any food from his father. For the rest of the week, each morning his father would head out to gather food, just like before, and then bring it to him a short time later. Ferris learned that this time in between the visits was his chance to practice walking again. The days began to pass and Ferris used these next days to strengthen his legs. However, he began to grow more and more hungry. At the end of the week, while his father was gone, Ferris decided to sneak down stairs carefully. He didn’t think he could last much longer without food. He headed towards the cellar door with the single thought of stealing some food. He opened the door and slowly crept down the stairs, only to find there was no food in the stores. No matter where he looked, everything was empty. He could have sworn the cupboards were filled to the brim only last week.

Ferris began moving empty crates in the pantry to search behind and around in frustration. It was in this fit of desperation that Ferris discovered a door hidden behind a shelf. Its wood looked new and freshly carved, just like the rest of the house. Inspecting the carving, he found it to be a rendition of a withered tree with a woman sleeping below it in a puddle of water. With his stomach still rumbling, Ferris pushed on the door in hope of finding food. Opening the door was a task within itself, due to the loss of his strength over the last week. Peering in, he saw nothing within the room. He stepped in trying to get a better look and found that the room felt as if he walked into a pool of cold water. His skin pricked causing him to shiver. It was in this moment he heard steps behind him. He turned around quickly only to see his scowling father pulling the door shut with a slam.

As the door rattled it’s foundations Ferris’ vision warped and changed drastically. The newly carved woodwork of the door began to wither and rot, the stones cracking and falling from their perch on the wall. As Ferris reached for the door and wrenched it open, he found the door to have been suddenly bricked shut on the other side. With no way out, Ferris turned in fear only to find the whole building to have changed around him. No longer was the space completely empty, but half collapsed, covered with dirt and a shallow well in the middle. The same well he saw upon entering the glade. He collapsed against the door feeling defeated; he was alone once again.

When Ferris found he had no more tears to cry he slowly lowered the rest of his body to the floor, lying upon the grime that now resided upon the once clean surface. His eyes stared unblinking towards the wall ahead of him. With each passing moment despair wound tighter around his heart. How was he supposed to escape this new anguish.? He was betrayed, by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally. He thought back to his mother and grandmother whom he had also turned his own back on. Was this the world’s way of condemning him for abandoning his family’s memory? For turning his back on his mother and the water that protected her? Ferris closed his eyes and willed away his ability to be in the land of the awake. Hoping and praying this was all just a nightmare.

Ferris was pulled awake by the stabbing pain of his hunger some time later reminding him of how he got into this current situation. He stared blindly at the stone ceiling hoping something would happen. Nothing did. Eventually, Ferris pulled himself up just enough to use his arms to crawl towards the well in the middle of the room. His arms felt as heavy as stone as he pulled himself forwards with the last of his strength. His legs were barely able to move to help with the movement. His breath was ragged by the time he moved a few feet to the well. With great effort, he managed to get up above the lip of the well only to find the well Filled to the brim with crystal clear water. He reached his hand eagerly as water was better than nothing. As he reached his fingers out to touch the water, this strength began to give out and instead of scooping the liquid out, his hand splashed against the surface creating severe ripples. He braced himself with both hands on the lip of the well, trying to regain his balance. Bringing his eyes back up to the water’s surface he was startled back as a face met his gaze. He fell backwards off of the well and back onto the dusty ground.

He found himself staring at the ceiling once again. Ferris took a deep breath upon realizing nothing, or rather no one, came out after him. With similar effort as before, he hauled himself back up to the well’s edge to see who was under the water. His vision spun for a moment when his eyes met with his mother’s eyes. As the vision in the water continued, he saw his mother speaking to him as a small child. The memory came flooding back to him as he watched. She spoke that his father was a being of the deep forest and held great power over the trees, bending them to his will. When he had realized Ferris’ mother was with the child, he was enraged. Only his own child could take his powers. For once the forest accepted his child as its own, all the powers the forest had granted him would be transferred to his child Instead. His mother bowed her head to kiss his hair as she reminded him once again to never go near the forest. It was at this moment in the vision that the well then showed Ferris the ritual his father had used to bind himself to the trees. Ferris now knew what he had to do to survive.

Unfortunately, my friend, this is where the story begins to turn to wisps in the wind. The truth of how this was completed was lost to time, but all agree that this process brought Ferris great physical pain as the earth molded itself within his person. It’s even said that Ferris himself never spoke of what exactly took place for him to tie himself to the trees and take his father’s powers. Many tales agree that Ferris then used this new found power to tunnel his way out of the cellars and under the forest as the tower that his father created crumbled around him.

Ferris traveled through these tunnels he made under the forest until he found himself lost within the caverns of the mountains to the east. It was within this cave that Ferris found nutrients in the form of mushrooms. All along the inside of the cave were large outcroppings of grey mushrooms with a soggy flavor that sustained him for many days as he tried to find his way out. Some scholars assume these were a type of oyster mushroom as they are commonly found in the caves of the Mistbound mountains now.

Ferris was not safe yet though, for the way through the caves was twisting and unrelenting within its depths. Ferris lived in the dark for ages unknown. While he was able to move dirt through the ability of the trees, there was nothing he could do against stone. Ferris had not seen any monsters within the caves, but the dark began to seep into his mind creating things in the shadows. Whispers from the dark spoke to him and beckoned him to hide himself away. Stay hidden, stay safe, don’t let the things of the darkness find you. Come to us. This way. Deeper. Deeper. Ferris soon began to lose himself as his mind started to leave him all together and wander away to follow the whispers. It was another age before he was saved from the darkness by an unsuspecting cause.

It was deep within these depths that Ferris eventually found a man trapped. With that little mind Ferris had left he realized the desperate shouting he had begun hearing was not in fact the strange whispers but a man trapped in the caves. Ferris rushed to his side, only to find that the man was stuck under what appeared to be a cave in. The man at this time, upon seeing Ferris stopped shouting for help and fell silent. Ferris desperately began to dig the man out, his mind solely focused on saving him. He had to save this man, he would not let him die down here. This place was not a place for anyone to be. His hands ached and bled from moving all the rubble by himself. He had to save him. He had to. Eventually, Ferris was able to pull the trapped man free and see that he was gravely injured. He found that the man, while no longer conscious, was at least still alive. He dug through the man’s pack quickly looking for something to help. He ended up finding cooking supplies and many herbs that he recognized. He began immediately on cleaning the wounds and creating a poultice to help stave off infection. Through his powers, Ferris was able to stretch the meager amount of herbs the man had into copious amounts. This was undoubtedly what helped save the man’s life.

After many sleepless nights, when he was sure the man was in the clear, he began cooking his first hot meal since he had eaten with his father. While it was barely more than a plain mushroom stew with simple herbs, it invigorated him so suddenly his mind began rushing to him in full force. It was as if the sun was just rising over the treetops and his memories began accumulating like dew on the leaves in the morning. How could he have forgotten? How could he have gotten lost from his path again? His heart ached from the loss.

The man eventually recovered enough for the two of them to make their way out of the caves. The man was a mushroom hunter and had come down into the caves in search of a mysterious mushroom said to help cure those who were cursed and sold for a lofty amount. This was not the first time the man had been down here and had marked his path and the two of them were able to follow these markings back out of the cave. They reached the surface as the sun was setting and they camped just outside the entrance. It was at this moment the Mushroom Hunter gifted Ferris a trinket for his help in saving his life and spoke of the small mushroom farming village that he was from, explaining the exact path they would take tomorrow to get there. Ferris and the man then fell asleep under the stars, dreaming of better days.

The next morning, the sun shone its warm rays over the treetops and onto sleeping Ferris. He woke to a calming feeling as he opened his eyes… Only to find his new friend gone, and his belongings left behind. Ferris searched for ages to find his new friend but was unsuccessful. With dismay, Ferris gathered up all the belongings and headed towards the village the mushroom hunter had spoken about in depth. With luck, Ferris found it easily due to the instructions the man spoke of the night before. However, when Ferris spoke about this man to the village, the villagers were shaken with surprise for the man had passed away months prior due to a similar accident Ferris spoke of. Even stranger still, before the man had passed, he had left his home and his belongings to a neighbor with an unopened note that was addressed to Ferris himself.

No one knows what was in the note, but it is said that this village is where Ferris finally settled down happily and eventually found his calling as a healer; keeping all those who traveled to him healthy and happy with his magic and knowledge of the nature around him.

Friends, now that you know the tale of Ferris, let this be a lesson to you. Be sure you keep reminders of those you care about to ground you to their memory. Never follow strange people into the forest. Be sure you check your food for poison by using wooden utensils or sticks. Keep herbs on you, just in case you are the one that needs to be healed later. And always, always don’t believe whispers you cannot see the source of.

Skylar’s Tale

Once upon a time there was a child named Skylar whose parents were always working and never seemed to have time for them. It wasn’t that Skylar’s parents didn’t take care of them or love them. It was more that they were so busy taking care of Skylar’s worldly needs that they never seemed to have time to do things like play games or read stories or sing songs or any of the other things Skylar desperately wanted to do.

So while Skylar’s parents were off working hard to provide a good life for the whole family, Skylar would explore the nearby woods. Everyone said that many strange things happened in the woods, both wonderful and terrible; but those fanciful stories are what drew Skylar into the woods instead of wandering around the town and playing with the other children where it was safe and known.

Over the days that turned to weeks then to months then beyond, Skylar ventured further and further into the forest. As Skylar ventured they learned important lessons. Like which tracks to follow to find the rabbits, which ones lead to the deer, which ones lead to the good berry bushes or the tasty mushrooms. But also things like where the hunter’s traps were, how to unsnare the animals that were caught, how to set traps for the overly greedy hunters.

The more time Skylar spent in the woods, the more time they felt like they were a part of them. Skylar’s parents didn’t notice the subtle changes to their child or more they didn’t place any more importance on the changes than Skylar growing up. The shifting of their eyes to green, the darkening of their hair, all things that helped Skylar blend with the forest, but also showed the impact the forest was having on Skylar.

One day, Skylar was following a trail into one of the deeper parts of the forest that they had never visited before when they came across the most fantastic mushroom they had ever seen. It had a faint glow in the darkening woods. Skylar wasn’t sure what made them keep going along the path that seemed to open before them and close behind except that those glowing mushrooms seemed to be leading somewhere. It felt to Skylar as if the forest wanted to share a secret. Finally after criss-crossing, switch backing, Skylar was very turned around but there seemed to be a large clearing ahead of them.

When Skylar finally was able to see what was in the clearing, their breath caught. There was a large lake, surrounded by trees on all sides. Spanning the lake was a magnificent bridge with multiple points skimming the water only to rise gracefully again to the sky. And what was even more spectacular was the forest path had emptied Skylar out to very near one of the two points the bridge met the shoreline of the lake.

As Skylar approached the bridge, they knew instinctively that there would be no going back once they began to cross the bridge. That realization made them stop and look around. There was nothing in the forest that seemed out of place other than the bridge itself. And then Skylar realized, there was no sound of wildlife around this lake. The light breeze that shifted their hair didn’t disturb the water either. So Skylar did the only logical thing a young person would do, they approached the lake and looked into the depths.

The stillness of the surface made the lake reflect the world like the most perfect mirror. Upon closer inspection Skylar realized that something wasn’t quite right about the reflection. Like the bridge across the lake was made of wood, but the one in the reflection seemed to be covered in flowering vines. The sky seemed purple in shade in the reflection versus the bright blue of the current sky. Then Skylar looked at themselves, the image was them but not. Almost a more extreme version of what they already looked like. Sharper angles in the face, darker hair, greener eyes, slimmer build even what could almost be called tattoos that looked like leaves and vines. More like a spirit of the forest. And that is when Skylar understood, crossing the bridge could bring about changes, they might be what was reflected in the lake, but maybe not because reflections can change with as little as a puff of wind.

Skylar approached the bridge again, excited yet scared for what would follow if they crossed. They stopped at the base where there was a small plaque.

Be warned ye who pass this point. Reflections can give you a different point of view but they can also change you. Should you cross the Pool of Reflection, you will be changed; maybe for the good, maybe for the worse. What you make of the Reflections that are brought to you as you cross will guide your change.

Skylar wondered if they should continue. What they would leave behind would be loving, though absent, parents but they never really understood Skylar or felt like family. What was ahead was the unknown, but wasn’t that life in general? After reflecting on what would be left versus what could be achieved, Skylar began their journey across the bridge.

At each point where it skimmed the surface of the water, Skylar was given a hard puzzle to ponder about their life; like why they had gone into the woods originally and what did they wish for themselves. At each peak, they were shown what could happen given various choices in life and how things could have led them away from being at this bridge at this time in their life.

As Skylar reached the other shore, they knew that they were not the same person that they had been when they started across the bridge. As they looked back at the bridge there was another plaque:

Be aware, you have crossed the bridge. While you can go back to the beginning you will never be the same as when you first laid step on the bridge. Every time you cross the bridge you must reflect on your decisions and be changed by those reflections.

Skylar looked around where they were, and while the lake still looked the same, something felt different. So they followed the path in the woods that opened before them, marked by the magnificent mushroom, and left the forest. When the path emerged from the forest Skylar realized they weren’t anywhere near their home town. But deep down they knew that didn’t matter anymore. They were not the same scared and lonely child that had originally taken refuge in the forest so many years before.

So Skylar decided to see where life would take them and adventure. Using the lessons they learned in the Pool of Reflection, Skylar did what they could to help those in need. One day while walking between towns and wishing for more adventure, Skylar saw one of the fantastic mushrooms at a fork in the path. Remembering what had happened the last time they had followed the mushrooms, Skylar eagerly took the fork in the road.

The path again was full of twists and turns and there was little way for Skylar to know exactly where they were going, but they were filled with anticipation at what would be at the end of the path. One thing that they noticed was that the path seemed to be going uphill. Strange since the mountains were far away from where they had been traveling. Skylar knew better though, this would not be the first time they had been in one portion of the land they called home and then found themselves in another. The difference was, Skylar had never delved into the trails in the mountains. Strange things happened in the mountains, stranger than a person changing bridge or glowing mushrooms guiding you along the way. Skylar had heard tales of people going into the caves that dotted the mountain side and never returning. Or worse, those who did return from brief stints in the caverns and reporting back the misshapen things that they found there, or the magical forces they felt, sometimes there were even tales of the mystical beings that were said to live in the deep grottos of the mountains or the darkest sections of the forest.

While the forest and all of its inhabitants didn’t scare Skylar, something about going into the mountains sent a shiver through their veins. Skylar was stubborn though, once they had set their mind to do something they usually did it. And they had set their mind to follow the path that the mushroom had started them on.

Further up through the wooded mountain side, the shadows grew colder and deeper. There was something around them that wasn’t quite the normal feel of the woods they were used to. Then ahead, not on the path, but up an incline, a glowing mushroom. Their excitement began to build as they scrambled their way to it and crested a small hill on the mountainside. Then the excitement drained into dread when they looked in the gully below them.

Cornered by the most enormous boar Skylar had ever seen were two children, maybe 10 or 11 in age. One boy, his face caked with mud, his knees bloody. One girl, the ribbon around her waist torn, the hem of her petticoat in tatters, the ringlets of her hair adorned with leaves instead of ribbons. The children were holding hands and facing the beast in front of them. The boar, pawing at the ground, looked as if it were about to charge the two children. Skylar didn’t know what to do, if the boar ran for the children, one or both of them would be grievously injured if not killed; but if Skylar made a noise it might spook the animal into charging them anyway. There was no guarantee that Skylar could get the animal to charge towards them and not the children.

Then something glinted in the sparse sunlight making its way through the canopy of the trees. On the hoof the boar was pawing at the ground with, something shiny was sticking from the fur covered flesh. Then a flash of color waved by the animal’s hoof, matching the girl’s tattered belt but mud soaked so it was hard to make out. And it wasn’t caught in the hoof, no, as Skylar looked closer, they saw that the ribbon was tied in a way to make the glinting item push further into the poor animal’s leg.

Then Skylar saw the other hand of the boy, the one that wasn’t holding the girl’s. There was a dagger in it. Normally, Skylar would have thought that the dagger would be no match for any boar, much less one of the size in front of them, but there was something about the glint in the eye of the boy as he watched the boar paw at the ground with its injured foreleg that made them wonder.

Without a second thought, Skylar drew their bow as the children crouched to run. They notched an arrow as the children jumped to start. Loosed the arrow as the children began to run at the boar. And as the boy brought the dagger to bear, fear in the boar’s eyes, the arrow knocked the dagger from the boy’s grip.

Shocked at the unexpected attack, the children whipped their heads around to see where the arrow had come from. But Skylar knew better and as soon as they had loosed the arrow had begun the swift descent into the gorge where the boar and children were. Notching another arrow, aimed at the girl, Skylar approached the group, their breath fast with anticipation.

“Leave now, and no harm will come to you,” Skylar stated with more resolve than they actually felt. They weren’t sure they could actually fire at children to harm, even if it appeared they were not innocent.

“This is our kill, we trapped it fair and square,” the girl’s voice was uncommonly deep for one so young. Skylar looked closer into her eyes and a fierce realization hit them, this was no ordinary girl. A swift look at the boy’s eyes confirmed their suspicions. They had heard of twinlings, marked by the matching star shapes at the corner of their eyes. Creatures of the deep parts of the mountains and woods that always appeared in pairs. Twinlings were known to change a person and then hunt them for sport. The sport only ending when either the twinlings or the changed had been destroyed.

Skylar had to think fast or they too might be changed and hunted. Then they remembered some of the stories about twinlings. They could only kill a changed one with one weapon: the dagger that Skylar had knocked out of the boy’s hand. They could see it glinting nearby. A quick dive and roll would get them to it, but how to do the move without alerting the twinlings before it was started.

The boar must have known what Skylar was thinking, or it was tired of waiting because at that moment it decided to run around Skylar and at the twinlings. The distraction was enough for Skylar to dive, roll and scoop up the dagger and get back on their feet facing the twinlings.

“Give us our dagger little one,” the boy said sweetly, “or suffer the consequences,” he finished with a much deeper tone. But there was one other thing that Skylar had remembered about twinlings when they had remembered about their weapon. They were defeated by cutting their link to each other as much as they were defeated by killing one of them.

Slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion in the twinlings, Skylar moved towards them, dagger out as if they were going to hand it to the twinlings. As they approached, Skylar noticed that around the linked hands of the twinlings, was a ribbon that matched the color of the one around the boar’s leg. That HAD to be the link that needed to be cut. As soon as they were close enough, Skylar swiftly flicked the dagger between the ribbon and the linked hands of the twinlings.

A shriek to bring down the mountains around them echoed through the air from the throats of the twinlings. They clutched their now burning ribbons around their wrists, trying to put out the flames but to no avail. The shriek continued until the fire engulfed them and all that was left was ash in the leaf litter. Rattled by the result of cutting the link, because the stories didn’t mention the death of the twinlings or the sound they would make, Skylar looked at the boar. It pawed the ground delicately with its injured hoof.

Slowly Skylar approached the boar, but it didn’t charge them or run. Shoring up their courage, Skylar knelt by the large animal and looked closer at the injured leg. The glinting item that they had seen was a blade, the twin of the dagger in their hand, but had a ribbon tied to the hilt and around the leg, making it dig deeper with every step the animal took.

Not sure if it was more for their sake or the boar’s, Skylar said “this is going to hurt but I am going to remove it. I need you to stay put so I can bandage the wound after I remove the blade.” Skylar thought they saw the boar, the changed they reminded themselves, nod. Maybe, some intelligence remains, Skylar thought. But they had delayed long enough, it was time to unwind the ribbon and remove the blade.

As soon as the blade was freed, the boar danced away from Skylar, a sound that was unidentifiable coming from its throat. And then, something else happened. The boar shifted to its hind quarters, then stood on its back feet. And were its front legs elongating? Was the snout shortening? The tusks were definitely gone. Within a few blinks of their eyes, Skylar was no longer looking at a boar, but an old woman, covered in the hide of a boar, her long grey dress dusting the forest floor.

Stunned, Skylar just stood there. The old woman spoke. “Thank you dearie. Those two had been chasing me for so long. I didn’t think I would ever be free.” The old woman picked up the dagger that had been in her arm from where it had been dropped and handed it to Skylar. “You did well, you know. Seeing below the surface of what was there.” A knowing look passed in her eyes, “You learned the lesson of the Pool well: that not all is always what it seems on the surface. Sometimes you have to look beyond the surface to find the truth. Remember that as life takes you on its course. It will serve you well. Now, take these daggers, and use them for good. They are but mere trinkets, but you never know what they could bring you.” The old woman looked as if she were about to leave and then turned back to Skylar, “your adventures are not over yet dearie. What you wish for, a family that understands and loves you, will come to you. But make sure that you take the lessons you have learned to heart or you might destroy the very thing you want most.”

And with that, the old woman walked away and faded into the mist that suddenly surrounded the gorge. Skylar looked at the two matching blades in their hands and didn’t know what to think. For sure, the future would be interesting. Now they just had to find a way out of the mountainside forest.

Of note, while Nira is an essential and honored founder, the specifics of her tale have been lost to time.

Cultural Plot and Themes

Growing up or living in Spyndelmere means coming to terms with the idea that anyone you are speaking to could be an enchanter, a monster, a transformed animal, or a charmed inanimate object. Most of them are just people, of course, but you just never know. That is why a greeting of looking a person in the eye for a few seconds followed by a head bow is commonplace. Similarly, any unfamiliar objects might have a consciousness of some kind. Most don’t, but one can never be too careful.

Curses, personal villains, and family secrets are welcome aspects of character histories and are likely to be encountered as part of cultural plot.

There will also be plot elements regarding the slowly growing sense that something just isn’t quite right, something that threatens the things that make Spyndelmere unique, and make its inhabitants assured of a happy ending. Some elements of Spyndelmere plot may be laced with despair, obstacles, and hardship, but there will always be an underlying torrent of optimism, and the option for a happy ending.

Costume and RP Themes

More than any other culture, those in Spyndelmere purposefully dress in a way that sets expectations for others, using dress as another language. Their villains tend toward sharp edges and malevolent insignia, their heroes toward shining armor, and their urchins toward raggedy neutral clothing. Even when dressing to deceive, Spyndelmerians can’t seem to help but leave at least one clue as to their true nature.

One common element in Spyndelmere costume is an homage to mushrooms either by imagery, texture, or the familiar colors and patterns of favorite mushrooms.

Spyndelmere heraldry is not often worn but does appear sometimes on banners, flags, bags, and other carried items. It consists of symmetrical mushroom-lined paths leading to the profile of a bridge over water. Above the bridge is a castle framed by paired ivy vines.