Tamlin

Tamlin is a dying world of low fantasy and long memories. Magic is rare, feared, and often mistaken for disease or madness. The great wars that once shaped the realm — like the Lutvian War — have left the land scarred and the people faithless. The church bells have long rusted in their towers. The air itself feels heavy with heat, flies, and guilt. Technology sits somewhere between medieval stagnation and the beginnings of crude industry. Blacksmiths whisper of machines that move on their own; in richer lands, small alchemical lamps burn without flame. But in the outlands, like Jennings, torches and superstition remain the only light. The defining traits of Tamlin are decay, exhaustion, and memory. Nothing new is born that doesn’t carry the stink of something older. Spirits and demons still gnaw on the edges of reality. The people know this but prefer not to speak of it. Even when confronted by horrors, they simply add them to the long list of things they’d rather forget. This is not a world of heroes. It is a world of survivors.

The Principality of Farkinde A once-prosperous border province now forgotten by its rulers. Its cities rot in the swamp heat, its rivers run black with the runoff of dead industry. The Lutvian War left its veterans broken, its towns abandoned, and its soil poisoned. The few roads that remain are carved through rock and mire, crawling with insects and ghosts. Jennings – A swamp-choked mining town built in the shadow of cliffs. The tin mine collapse three years ago killed most of its men. Those who survived now drift between the Sunken Inn, the General Store, and Salty’s Parlour, living off rotgut and the narcotic Scoot, a gum-rubbed concoction that erases memory and pain. Jennings is ringed by cliffs on three sides and the Badmire Swamps to the north. Food caravans arrive twice a year from Falling Bay, always heavily armed. Falling Bay – The coastal cousin of Jennings, all coral-stone buildings and salt wind. Traders and smugglers dock here, selling tinned food, rum, and slaves from the eastern archipelagos. The upper tier is ruled by merchant princes who believe in nothing but coin. The Badmire Swamps – A vast inland mire of stagnant green water, broken trees, and impossible humidity. Beneath the surface lie the remains of the Old Empire of Tharn, a civilisation swallowed whole by the bog centuries ago. Locals swear the mud still breathes. The Badmire is home to warped beasts, exiled cults, and the Foreseer, a being of impossible age that slipped through a planar wound during the collapse of Tharn. The Rankar Pass – The only exit from Jennings, a ten-mile gorge flanked by vertical slate cliffs. During the Lutvian War, it was used as a kill-zone for deserters. The bones still rattle when the wind runs through. The Northern Reaches – Beyond Farkinde lies Caldrex, a cold, hilly region of small fortresses and dead kings. It’s said that the noble families there made pacts to outlive death itself — and succeeded. The Western Marches – Endless grasslands where ruined siege towers lie half-buried like tombstones. Nomads and ex-soldiers form warbands that prey on merchant caravans. The Marches are ruled by no crown. The Eastern Archipelagos – Chain of humid islands ruled by pirate monarchs and old bloodlines. Some say the first humans of Tamlin came from there before the seas rose.

The world is dominated by humans, but others linger like ghosts of forgotten ages. Humans – The majority, scattered into fractured principalities. They speak many dialects, pray to dead gods, and live by cruel necessity. Most humans distrust magic, foreigners, and hope. Dwarves – Dying out. Once they mined the mountains that ring Farkinde, now their holds are flooded or collapsed. The few that remain drink themselves into oblivion in human taverns. Elves – Rare and pitied. The elves of Tamlin are not immortal; their lifespans shortened by centuries of interbreeding with humans. They are pale, and their eyes flicker like candlelight. Most live in exile in Caldrex. Halflings – Few remain outside the riverlands. They survive by trading and scavenging, often enslaved by the merchant lords of Falling Bay. Beastfolk & Otherborn – The result of ancient war magic; warped hybrids living in the swamps and ruins. Some worship the Foreseer as a god. Others eat the corpses of miners. Culturally, Farkinde is a mix of southern gothic filth and military trauma. Every town has a war memorial, but none remember who the enemy was. Addiction, fever, and faith blend into one.

Aftermath of the Lutvian War: A generation of broken veterans, haunted by what they saw, now serve as mercenaries or beggars. Collapse of Jennings Mine: The mine disaster left the town destitute, sparking small revolts and banditry. The Missing Cargo: Sash Beldritch’s lost red box has awakened planar forces beneath the swamps. The portal opened by the Foreseer is just the beginning. Rising Cult Activity: Symbols of the Foreseer have appeared as tattoos, carvings, and hallucinations. Some believe a new god is gestating in the Badmire. Political Rot: Farkinde’s nobles grow paranoid, tightening control while their people starve. They fear something older than rebellion — a curse spreading through the soil. Adventure thrives where desperation meets belief.

Magic is a sickness — feared, mistrusted, and mostly forgotten. The few spellcasters left are hedge-witches, ex-priests, or scarred survivors of contact with other planes. The Foreseer’s portal has begun reawakening traces of true sorcery, warping minds that touch it. Religion has fractured into cults and local saints: The Pale Mother – A goddess of mercy and disease, worshipped by the sick and the dying. The Saints of Iron – Once soldiers of the Lutvian War, now venerated as martyrs. The Foreseer’s Church (emerging) – A heretical sect forming in secret. They see the Foreseer as the true god of understanding and pain. The Old Pantheon – Forgotten names etched into stone: Tamash, Rukel, The Bright Serpent. Their priests still mutter prayers over graves. Magic follows no school. It leaks through portals, bloodlines, and cursed relics. Casting is dangerous — every spell risks mutation or madness. In Tamlin, power always costs flesh.

Planar Influences The material world of Tamlin is thin. Between it and the other planes are webways — rifts carved by beings like the Foreseer. When a portal opens, reality bends. Colours bleed, time slows, and memories rearrange themselves. Travellers describe tasting sound and smelling light. The planes include: The Endless Web – A void-network of interlinking tunnels between worlds. The Foreseer’s domain. The Astral Mire – Where the dreams of the dead ferment. Sorcerers claim to draw power from here. The Black Garden – A planar jungle said to be the birthplace of the world’s insects and plagues. The Silent Crucible – A molten sea where gods go to die. Most mortals who glimpse these planes never return intact.

Tamlin remembers three great ages: The Age of Stone and Bone – When mortals lived alongside giants and named the mountains. Ended in flood. The Age of Brass – Rise of the Tharn Empire; the first true civilisation. They mined deep, found something alive, and vanished beneath the swamps. The Age of Suffering – The present era. A time of endless wars, pestilence, and despair. Every nation is a dying echo of its former self. Scattered ruins of Tharn still hum faintly with otherworldly energy, drawing scholars and madmen alike.

Coinage has lost value in the provinces. Trade is done in salt, liquor, Scoot, and labour. Scoot – The addictive salve of Jennings, now exported illegally through the swamps. Tin & Iron – Once the pride of Farkinde; now stolen from ruined mines. Relics & Bodies – Grave-robbers sell corpses and artefacts to sorcerers in the cities. Caravans from Falling Bay bring dried fish, black bread, and gunpowder. Few make the return journey.

There is no central justice — only the law of proximity. Whoever holds power enforces their own version of order. Jennings – Law is kept loosely by Gerald Hindart, the store-owner mayor. His guards are ex-miners too slow to swing their clubs with precision. Falling Bay – Run by merchant councils and hired killers. Adventurers – Seen as madmen, grave-robbers, or mercenaries. Most towns despise them but still need them when things crawl out of the water. Execution is public, often accompanied by sermons about sin and decay. Necromancy is outlawed, but the bodies of the condemned are quietly sold to anatomists.

The world’s horrors are not born of chaos — they are born of neglect. The Foreseer – An ancient fiend from beyond the planes. Seeks to open the webways fully, turning Tamlin into a crossroads for suffering. The Swamp Choir – A congregation of mutated followers who drink swamp water to “hear the hum of the god.” The Iron Saints – War veterans turned zealots, worshipping their own trauma. The Corpse Lighters – Bandits who burn villages to “release their souls.” The Pale Insects – Huge, ghost-white locusts that emerge every seven years to devour everything warm-blooded. The Rotting Angel – A celestial remnant, still alive, buried beneath the Badmire; its blood keeps the swamps from drying. Even the land itself is a kind of villain. In Tamlin, the soil remembers.