A Land of Many Facets

Before the names of villages were etched into bark, before the old maps faded at their edges, there was Wendmor.

It was never a kingdom in the traditional sense — no single crown ruled it, no capital claimed its center. Wendmor was shaped by movement: of people, of stories, of seasons. It was not settled all at once, but gently filled in, like ink soaking through a long-forgotten page.

The earliest peoples — Owlkin, Lorekeeper Fae, Trollkin, and others now remembered only in songs — did not conquer Wendmor. They listened to it. They made pacts with the soil, mapped the stars through the forest canopy, followed the rivers not to divide the land, but to understand how it connected.

Some say the name Wendmor comes from an old phrase meaning “path beyond memory.” Others argue it refers to the moors themselves — the winding, wild spaces that once divided regions and now stitch them together.

But one thing is clear: Wendmor has always been more than just a place. It is a living quilt of tongues, trades, and quiet agreements. A land where stories outlive stone, and even the most unremarkable road may carry echoes from an age no one remembers clearly — yet no one dares forget.

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The Story Is Still Waking

The roots of Wendmor run deep. What follows are only the first threads. More will surface — when the time is right, and the right question is asked.