Expand all - Collapse all

Previous Index Next

Waverider Story - Campaign - Author's Notes

# Sylvaranith

An elven kingdom with a spirit problem.

Story
The rain had just ended when Lyren returned to the grove. Drops clung to the wide leaves, dripping like beads of glass, and the air was heavy with the smell of wet bark. He walked slowly, his feet sinking into the soft earth, until he reached the tree.
It was tall and pale-barked, older than his grandfather had been. At its roots lay the simple stone that marked where his mother rested. Lyren knelt, placing a garland of woven ferns on the ground.
At first there was only silence. Then the leaves above began to stir, though no wind touched them. A voice slipped into his mind-soft, cracked like dry wood.
"My son."
Lyren swallowed hard. "Mother. I... I don't know what to do."
The voice was gentle at first, asking after his health, his sisters, the state of their home. He felt warmth in his chest, comfort in her presence. He told her everything, and she listened. But as the night deepened, other voices pressed in.
"Your mother is wrong."
"Remember what your grandfather said."
"No, no, it is I who know the truth..."
The chorus swelled, dozens of voices crowding his head. Lyren clutched his temples, shaking. His mother's voice grew fainter, drowned in the clamor. Some voices wept, others demanded, and some urged him to act-terrible acts.
He fled from the grove before dawn, stumbling through the undergrowth, the whispers still clinging to him. Behind him, the trees murmured endlessly, never letting go.

Too many voices

Story
The river shone like molten silver under the moonlight. Eryndel sat at the base of the willow that held his father's spirit. He carried no offerings, only his harp.
He strummed softly, the notes tumbling out into the night. For a while there was only the sound of strings and water. Then the leaves above him began to tremble, though the air was still. A familiar voice touched his mind.
"You still play too fast."
Eryndel laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "And you still complain."
The two of them talked as they had when his father was alive. They argued over old hunting stories, teased about who had the better hand at carving, shared quiet memories of meals long past. The harp played on, and at times his father even hummed through the branches, the tones blending with the music until it was as if they played together.
When dawn came, Eryndel rose to leave. The willow's leaves brushed against his shoulder, a last caress. He felt no grief as he walked away. His father was still with him, rooted in the earth, watching the river flow.

A friendly voice

# Description

The kingdom of Sylvaranith lies deep in the southeastern Yelthara Jungle, where towering trees and heavy mist form a near-unbroken canopy. For centuries, it was the idyllic image of elven peace: music drifting through green glades, bright halls woven of living branches, laughter around river-stones. To outsiders, it seemed unchanging, untouched by the chaos of the wider world. But within, the kingdom is unraveling.

## The Whispers of the Dead

For as long as anyone remembers, and the elves have long memories, the Sylvarani have buried their dead beneath trees. The departed spirit sinks into the roots and joins with the living tree, which whisper telepathically with their voices. At first, this was seen as a gift: the beloved were never gone, and their wisdom was always near. Families would speak to their ancestors for guidance, councils would consult with past rulers, and lovers could still hear the voice of one long buried.

But centuries of this practice have filled the jungle with countless whispering trees. The forest is alive with voices: murmurs, cries, warnings, and arguments, all overlapping. The whispers do not fade with time, and some insist they are growing louder. Children are born into a world where thousands of dead demand to be heard. Some elves become unable to distinguish their own thoughts from those pressed upon them by the whispering trees. The weak-willed go mad. The strong-willed risk possession. The few who embrace it entirely become something else, half living, half dead, their eyes pale as ash.

Yet to end the practice would mean cutting the dead adrift, a crime worse than murder in the eyes of the Sylvarani. So they continue, and the jungle becomes ever more haunted.

A man possessed

## Society and Rule

Sylvaranith is a hereditary monarchy. Its queen, Elyndra Veyraeth, is a woman of grace and beauty who once embodied the kingdom's ideal. Now, however, rumors spread that she wakes at night screaming, clawing at her ears as if to silence voices no one else can hear. Some whisper she has begun to see her mother, the late Queen Maerith, standing at her bedside, though Maerith has been buried for fifty years.

The royal line is supported by the Council of Roots, composed of nobles from the ancient houses: House Ilthariel, House Vaelthyn, and House Corunth. These houses are fracturing under the pressure. Assassinations have begun to occur, shocking a people who once thought themselves above such crimes.

Crime, once nearly unknown, now festers in every settlement. Murders are committed by elves who later swear they heard their ancestors commanding it. Others wander into the jungle and are never seen again, claimed by the whispering trees. The Sylvarani Guard, led by Captain Thalanir Deyth, is woefully unprepared for this surge in violence.

Marriage is still seen as sacred, for to take a partner is to entwine spirits that will whisper together long after death. Many couples now fear what their partner's voice might become once they are gone.

## Faith of the Three-Faced Goddess

The Sylvarani worship Aelthira, the Three-Faced Goddess. She is one yet three, a single body with shifting faces:

- Nivora, the Child, represents birth, innocence, and play.
- Serenya, the Woman, embodies love, work, and the joys and struggles of life.
- Deythra, the Crone, watches over death, pain, fear, and final release.

Her temples are grown from living wood, their roots coiling into burial groves. Priests of Aelthira, known as the Veilwardens, serve as mediators between the living and the whispering dead. But even they are not immune, more than one Veilwarden has been driven mad by too many voices clamoring for their attention.

### Rituals and Festivals

#### Rootbinding

When a loved one is buried, family members wrap the roots of the chosen tree in woven garlands of hair and vine. As the last strand is tied, the first whispers of the dead are expected to come through.

#### The Leaf Offering

Each new moon, families gather beneath their ancestor trees, laying fresh leaves and carved wooden charms at the roots. The leaves are burned in bowls of scented oil, the smoke rising as an offering to the spirit within.

#### Whisperfast

When the whispers grow too heavy, an elf may take a silence vow. They go into the jungle for three nights without speaking, listening only to the trees, hoping to learn which voices are truly meant for them.

#### Festival of Three Faces

Once a year, the Veilwardens lead a procession carrying three masks: one of a child, one of a woman, one of a crone. Each elf touches all three, pledging to honor all stages of life. Children play games, adults exchange gifts, elders tell tales of their dead.

#### Branch Carving

On each anniversary of a marriage, the couple each carves a symbol into the same living branch of a tree, binding their spirits together. That branch is left to grow, so that when they die, their voices will rise side by side.

#### The Night of Ancestors

During the longest night of the year, the elves sit in silence while lamps of river-glass are set at the base of every spirit-tree. It is said that for this one night, the whispers are clearest and the dead can speak without distortion.

## Foreign Relations

Sylvaranith's isolation has long shielded it from outside powers. Traders from the Empire sometimes brave the jungle to exchange steel and silks for dyes, herbs, and carved ivory. Pirate raids strike now and then, but Sylvaranith's hunters are deadly ambushers, and such ventures rarely end well for raiders.

To reach Coralwyn, one must march for weeks through choking vines and mist. Few traders risk it, and fewer still return with enough profit to justify the danger. Attempts to trade with Tideforest and the Children of Nazhira ended poorly, the dangers of the trek and the trade partners outweighing any profit.

Of Solanthar they speak little. The shadowed elves of Solanthar do not welcome visitors, and Sylvaranith does not press them.

## The Breaking Point

Whispers say the queen herself is failing, and if she collapses, Sylvaranith may fall into madness. Already there are factions. House Ilthariel seeks to purge the oldest groves and burn the whispering trees, no matter the sacrilege. House Vaelthyn wishes to embrace the whispers fully, allowing possession to become the norm, believing this is a new step in elven evolution. House Corunth argues to exile the mad into the deep jungle, leaving only the strong of mind.

Once, Sylvaranith was bound together by trust. Families relied on the wisdom of their ancestors, villages turned to the Veilwardens for guidance, and all gave loyalty to the queen whose bloodline had never faltered. That trust is breaking.

When whispers can drive a hunter to kill his own kin, neighbors begin to eye each other with suspicion. When a noble claims the voices urged him to embezzle grain, the people no longer believe justice is possible. Even the Veilwardens, who were once seen as protectors of balance, are distrusted. Many say the priests hide knowledge, keeping cures for themselves or feeding their flocks false guidance.

The Guard is stretched thin and resented for their failures. Some villages refuse to open their gates to royal patrols, fearing they bring more trouble than safety. Others whisper that the queen herself is mad, and if the crown cannot master the voices, no one can.

Daily life frays. Families argue over which ancestor to heed, and neighbors accuse one another of murder, theft, or betrayal. Once-proud Sylvarani now bar their doors at night, fearful of both the jungle and their fellow elves. What was once a nation of harmony now teeters on the edge of civil collapse, every whisper another wedge driven between kin.

And all the while, the voices of the dead grow louder.

## Possible Secrets

### The Queen's Madness

Elyndra Veyraeth does not just hear her mother's voice. Maerith speaks to her in full conversations, urging her to tear down the Council and make Sylvaranith into a kingdom of the dead.

### Whispering Roots

Some spirit-trees have grown so entwined underground that their voices bleed together, creating a hive-mind of the dead that no longer recognizes individuals.

### The First Burial

The very first spirit-tree, said to hold the founder Sylvaran herself, is no longer benevolent. Her whispers are commands, not advice, and they grow stronger each year.

### Possession Rites

The Veilwardens secretly perform rituals to allow chosen elves to become vessels for ancient rulers. These vessels are strong, but their own minds are destroyed in the process.

### Murdered Ancestors

Some of the most violent whispers are not natural madness but the cries of murdered elves, whose killers remain unpunished.

### Empire's Role

A generation ago, Imperial sorcerers may have tampered with Sylvarani burial rites during a raid, cursing the spirits so they could never fade.

### The Silent Grove

Deep in the jungle lies a patch of trees where no whispers are heard at all. Some say it is a blessing. Others say the spirits there are gathering strength for something worse.

### The Goddess Speaks

One of the Three Faces of Aelthira, perhaps Deythra the Crone, is using the whispering trees as her mouthpiece. The madness is divine in origin, not mortal.

### House Vaelthyn's Bargain

Certain nobles of House Vaelthyn already allow themselves to be possessed, and the ancestors guiding them have begun weaving plans of conquest beyond the jungle.

### The Coming Storm

Some spirit-trees no longer whisper but scream. When enough begin to do so, they will merge into one deafening chorus that could shatter the minds of every living Sylvarani.

### The Dead Grow Hungry

A few spirit-trees do not just whisper. They drink from the living, stealing thoughts, dreams, and even life itself from those who linger too long.

### Royal Blood

The royal family's line is uniquely sensitive to the whispers because their ancestors were among the first buried. Queen Elyndra is not cursed, she is simply the most receptive vessel.

### The Child's Game

Some children are born already whispering, carrying the voices of long-dead ancestors within them before they can even speak.

## Adventure Hooks

### The Missing Patrol

A unit of Sylvarani hunters led by Captain Thalanir's nephew has not returned from scouting the coast. Their families beg for help in finding them before the whispers claim their minds.

### The Broken Marriage

An elf noble of House Corunth is accused of murdering his mate in a violent fit. His family insists he was driven to it by ancestral whispers, but others demand justice. Adventurers are asked to arbitrate, or hunt the fugitive if he flees into the jungle.

### The Singing Idol

A carved stone idol is found washed up on a riverbank, humming with a low voice no one recognizes. Some claim it is a lost relic of Aelthira. Others say it should be destroyed before it brings ruin. The Veilwardens are divided, and someone must decide its fate.

### The Jungle Fire

A fire has started in the dry season, spreading through both villages and groves. Some cry out that to let the fire burn is sacrilege, while others argue it is a blessing to cleanse the whispers. The players may be pulled into fighting the flames, or fighting those who would use the chaos to raid and loot.

### The Envoy's Guard

An Imperial envoy arrives in Sylvaranith under a banner of trade, though few trust his motives. The queen demands a neutral escort to guard him through the jungle to ensure no "accidents" occur that might spark war.

### The Disappearing Children

Children in one village have begun wandering off at night and returning unharmed, though with strange symbols drawn on their skin. No one knows what calls them into the jungle, but parents are desperate for answers.

### The Festival of Three Faces

Once every twelve years, the elves hold a grand festival to honor Aelthira. This year's festival is tainted by fights, vanishings, and sabotage. Someone is trying to disrupt the rituals, and the adventurers are asked to find out who before the celebration turns into bloodshed.

Previous Index Next