Faydwer

The Loping Plains occupy the central area of Faydwer. Once a healthy habitat for a large variety of Tunare's creations, the Loping Plains has become cursed and twisted by the influence of dark powers. From the south, the dark forces of the Bloodmoon tribe creep out from Bloodmoon Keep threatening to consume the land, while the curse of an angry god pulses from the northern coast and the Hills of Shade.

Little is known about this new tribe of orcs, but they are believed to be a splinter group from the Crushbone clan led by Ralkor Bloodmoon also known as, "The Prophet". Several rumors that these orcs are lycanthropic have drawn Norrath's most famous werewolf hunters, the Fangbreakers, to the Plains. Larquin Fangbreaker and his band of hunters have come in hopes of whipping out this new curse before it can spread beyond the plains. An unlikely ally has also emerged from the depths of Darkhallow to combat this new curse, but their ultimate goal is as yet unknown.

Along the north coast lies the Hills of Shade, a once lush landscape cursed by the fury of an angry goddess. Damned spirits of Humans and Elves roam through the ruins of their once beautiful cities, cursed to replay the fateful actions of their final days for eternity. The powerful energy of the curse has drawn several visitors to the hills. A holy order of paladins hopes to cleans the curse and free the damned spirits from their torment. Nearby, a conclave of necromancers hopes to harness the power of the curse and use it for their own malicious plans.

Meanwhile, in a dark crypt beneath the hills, the Soulbleeder continues to amass the power of thousands of souls and an army of undead. Soon the Soulbleeder will run out of spirits to consume in the Hills of Shade and certainly head south to begin the culling of the living.

Other Secrets of Faydwer Lore Articles Released:

Journal: A Preservation of Truth by Vergeth Jawcrush, A loyal son of Crushbone

I must write this quickly. It won't be long before I am branded a traitor and locked away, or perhaps subjected to some worse fate. But I cannot remain silent while my beloved empire crumbles around me.

There was a time when Clan Crushbone was pure. We could stand against any of the races that challenged our rightful rule of Faydwer. But little by little we have been corrupted from within, and now that corruption threatens to destroy our way of life.

What do I mean? I wonder if, by the time someone reads this, it will even matter. The damage could have already been done, and the glory of Clan Crushbone may only be a memory. But I must try.

The Teir'Dal came to us long ago and established a kind of alliance. It made sense, for we shared a common foe in the light elves. Our mutual interests even resulted in them sending an ambassador to stay with us. That is how the usurper came to be here.

D'Vinn was ever near to Emperor Crush, whispering in our great leader's ear of plans and promises. The emperor had proven his divine right to lead us through countless battles against our enemies. What had D'Vinn ever proven? Nothing, except his ability to deceive.

Long ago, the elves say, before even they walked this land, all of Faydwer was a single great forest that stretched from shore to shore, covering all the land. The trees were great and fair, their trunks smooth as silk and leaves golden.

This was the Suntouched Forest, so named because the sun’s light suffused every inch, turning the bark to gold and the leaves to fire, and covering the spaces between the trees with a thick carpet of golden-green grass. Animals lived here peacefully, and trees and bushes provided fruit and nuts enough for all.

Though the elves had not yet arrived in the Suntouched, the forest was not devoid of intelligent life, for here dwelt the Woodkine, an ancient race. Tall as giants, they were not cast in flesh — instead the Woodkine were great plants, their skin like that of the trees and their hair and beards like leaves and vines. The Suntouched was their home and their charge, and the Woodkine wandered it freely, tending to plants and animals alike and ensuring that the forest prospered. These gentle creatures were one with the land, and could move swiftly through even the densest thicket — some say they swung from tree branches rather than setting foot on the ground, and others that they leapt from bough to bough.

Certainly the Woodkine possessed powerful magic, yet it was magic of the land, a power focused on healing, growth, and assistance. These creatures, to hear the elves speak of them, were akin to gods, but without any arrogance — their lives belonged to the Suntouched, and all their actions were intended to aid the forest and its inhabitants. Then the Dark came to Faydwer.

No one knows how or why the darkness arrived, but suddenly the sun vanished from the sky, hidden behind heavy clouds for weeks on end. With the shadows came creatures the Suntouched had never known, ogres and orcs and trolls, dark creatures full of hate and malice and greed.

To them the Suntouched was a rich land waiting to be plundered, and they tore into it, chopping down trees to build forts and slaughtering animals for both food and amusement. They landed first in the south, and soon much of the southern portion of the forest had been cut down, leaving only stumps and grass where once had stood ancient groves.

The Woodkine were initially horrified, then angered. The land was under their protection, and for the first time these gentle creatures deliberately sought to do harm. First they struck against the intruders, knocking them aside with powerful limbs and crushing them under splayed feet. To their enemies, it seemed as if the trees themselves were attacking, and they fled to the areas they had already cut down, seeking safety amid the stumps and the darkened sky. But the Woodkine’s terrible anger, slow to build, was equally slow to abate. Yes, they had driven the intruders out, but their precious forest had been violated, and large portions of it destroyed. This could not be allowed to happen again.