World Primer · No Spoilers
Scrawled notes found at a border checkpoint, author unknown. Blood-stained. Date unclear.
Turn back.
I mean it. Whatever brought you here—coin, curiosity, duty—it's not worth it. This land is wrong now. Beautiful and wrong, like a corpse covered in flowers.
But if you won't listen (and you won't, or you wouldn't be reading this), then at least know what you're walking into.
Six months ago, Verdanya was wild but balanced. Ancient forests, hidden villages, gods walking among the trees. The kind of place where you respected the old rules and the land respected you back.
Then Ironhold came.
They said it was temporary. A "peacekeeping operation" to secure resources during their plague crisis. They said they'd leave once they had what they needed.
They lied.
Now Ironhold occupies the western territories. Their soldiers patrol roads that were never meant for boots. Their forts scar the landscape like iron stakes through living flesh. And worst of all, they took something from the heart of the forest.
Sylora's Winter Eye.
I don't know what that means exactly. The locals won't speak of it directly—they get this haunted look and change the subject. But I know this: winter never came. Spring just... kept going. And going. And going.
At first, it seemed like a blessing. Endless growth, eternal bloom. The farmers celebrated.
Then the flowers started screaming.
They call it different names depending on who you ask:
Whatever you call it, here's what it does:
Vines that can strangle a horse in minutes. Trees that weren't there yesterday. Flowers that bloom, wilt, and bloom again in the span of a breath.
Deer the size of houses. Wolves with moss for fur and eyes like lanterns. Rabbits that scream with human voices.
Get hurt by the corrupted creatures? You might sprout thorns from your wounds. Bark-skin. Roots instead of veins. Eventually, you stop being you and become... part of the forest.
They call those ones the Verdant-Born. Some keep their minds for a while. Most don't.
I saw a child yesterday. Antlers growing from her skull. Flowers blooming from her eyes. Still begging her mother for help. Her mother couldn't look at her.
That's Verdanya now.
Don't think Ironhold escaped consequences.
Back in their walled city, Ashlung spreads like wildfire. Victims cough up grey dust. Their skin hardens. Their organs turn to stone. The streets are filled with statues—people frozen mid-scream.
The only cure? Mourning Roses. Rare crimson flowers that grow in Verdanya. For every ten thousand white blooms, one red. Ironhold invaded to harvest them.
Ironic, isn't it? They came to cure their plague and unleashed something worse.
Now both nations are dying. Ironhold turns to stone. Verdanya drowns in green.
And us? We're caught in the middle.
The sun rises for a week straight.
Then sets for a week straight.
Week-long days. Week-long nights. Your sleep schedule will be wrecked. Time feels wrong. People go a little crazy during the transitions—those eight-hour sunrises mess with your head.
The locals say it's always been this way. But it feels connected to the Curse somehow. Like the land forgot how to keep time.
| Faction | Description |
|---|---|
| IRONHOLD (The Occupiers) |
Walled city-state to the west. Desperate, dying of Ashlung. Soldiers are tired, scared, far from home. Some still believe they're the good guys. Most just want to survive. |
| VERDANYA (The Occupied) |
Forest nation, fiercely independent. Wicklings (what they call themselves) vs. Ironhold. Some collaborate to survive. Some resist in secret. Some have been transformed beyond recognition. |
| THE RESISTANCE (The Shadows) |
Guerrilla fighters, saboteurs, true believers. Led by someone they call The Thornwraith. Wear thorn-and-rose badges (crimson on black). Ironhold calls them terrorists. Verdanya calls them heroes. The truth is probably somewhere in between. |
| BRIARCREST (The Desperate) |
Border village, occupied but surviving. Half Verdanya, half Ironhold presence. Tense but functional (barely). Protected by a living thorn wall (failing). If you're looking for work or answers, start here. |
Verdanya doesn't have distant, abstract deities. Their gods live here. In the trees, the streams, the stones. They're called Faint Divinities—small gods with limited power and BIG personalities.
Entity of thorns. Speaks in riddles. Protects Briarcrest village. Demands tribute (stories of deaths-in-thorns).
Lazy bee god. Controls flower blooms. LOVES the Verdant Curse (more flowers!). Inconvenient and whimsical.
Watcher of night-blooming flowers. Only appears during week-long nights. Helpful if you respect the dark.
The big one. The Verdant Sovereign. Goddess of seasons. Ironhold stole something from her. Now she's... silent. Or watching. Or waiting. No one knows.
The Faint Divinities can help you. Or test you. Or kill you on a whim. Respect costs nothing. Disrespect costs everything.
Verdanya will change you.
Maybe literally (if the Curse touches you). Maybe just in your head. This is a place where forests whisper your name and gods judge your choices. Where your enemies might be right and your allies might be wrong.
Where beauty and horror grow from the same root.
Whatever you came here to do—find someone, save someone, stop someone, escape something—just remember:
And it remembers.
If you're still reading, you're either very brave or very foolish. Probably both.
Start at Briarcrest. It's as safe as anywhere in Verdanya (which isn't saying much). Find Elder Rowan, Sergeant Greymark, or a halfling baker named Nessa Bramwell. They know things.
And if you see the Verdant-Born—the transformed ones—try to remember they used to be people. Some still are, underneath the thorns.
Good luck. You'll need it.
~ A Concerned Traveler
Or what's left of one.
This handout can be shared with players before Session Zero