Fractured Tales
In the beginning, there was the Verse—the wellspring of all stories, from which all tales, legends, and fables were born. From this Verse, countless worlds were woven into being, each with its own heroes, villains, and "happily ever after." But a blight has fallen upon the Verse. The stories have soured, the endings have been corrupted, and the magic that once gave them form has grown wild and unpredictable. This is the world of Fractured Tales, where the familiar tales have twisted into something darker and more dangerous.
Happily ever after is a lie, a thin, brittle skin stretched over a world of decay and despair. Sleeping princesses don't awaken with a kiss; they languish in an eternal nightmare. Wolves don't just eat grandmothers; they become cunning pack leaders of a ravenous forest. The stories of old are not quaint children's fables but a living history of broken promises, tragic betrayals, and powerful, vengeful magic. The heroes of yesterday are the forgotten ghosts and shattered souls of today, and the villains have only grown in power and cruelty.
Players are not always heroes of these old tales. They can be new threads, unwritten parts of the story who must navigate a landscape of half-remembered legends and shattered dreams. Or, they may choose to embody a familiar figure, a hero or villain from an old tale, now twisted and broken by the Verse's blight. The fate of their own story, and perhaps the fate of the entire Verse, is not predetermined. It is something they must forge for themselves in a world where the old narratives are failing and new, terrifying truths are waiting to be uncovered.
The Regions and Landmarks of Fractured Tales
The Whispering Woods
This was once the quintessential enchanted forest, a place of wonder where stories began. Its paths were clear, its animals spoke in riddles of great truths, and the magic here was a comforting, familiar presence. It was a place of lighthearted fables and quests for those with pure hearts. Now, it is a vast, tangled knot of a forest. The paths shift and disappear, the trees rustle with forgotten secrets, and the magic is now wild, hungry, and unpredictable. The forest floor is littered with the fragments of failed tales, and the once-friendly creatures have become twisted, paranoid reflections of their former selves.
The Gilded Kingdom
The Gilded Kingdom was the shining jewel of the Verse, a city of perfect spires and perfect "happily ever afters" where every detail was a testament to joy and order. It was a place of endless celebrations and noble deeds, where true love and heroic virtue always triumphed. Now, that same perfection has become a curse. The city is a monument to a gilded lie, a fragile illusion of what once was. The magic that once maintained its flawless state has begun to warp, holding the kingdom in a state of unnatural stasis while decay and rot fester just beneath the surface. The smiles of its inhabitants are fixed, and the celebration never truly ends.
The Glass Coast
This region was once a beautiful, sun-drenched coastline of tranquil waters and thriving seaside villages. It was home to countless tales of fishermen, sailors, and merfolk, whose stories mingled with the sound of the gentle waves. The magic here was tied to the sea and the shore, giving life to both. Today, the coast is a place of perpetual mist and silence. The water is unnaturally still, and the magic has become one of shattered glass and broken memories. The villages have crumbled, and the shore is littered with sharp, glittering shards of a failed past.
The Sunken City of Glass
This city was once a vibrant hub of culture and creativity, a city built entirely of luminous glass that sang with the power of its many stories. Its artists and bards wove new tales every day, and its music was said to be the most beautiful in the Verse. It was a place of innovation and hope. Today, it is a labyrinth of razor-sharp glass spires and broken reflections at the bottom of a vast lake, located deep within the Glass Coast. It is a place where a powerful story went catastrophically wrong. The city's magic is now one of illusion and warped memory, where the past and present are difficult to tell apart. The place is quiet, a broken echo of its former self, where the only songs are those of fractured thoughts and forgotten dreams.
The Hinterlands
This is a vast, unremarkable landscape of rolling hills and dense fens, a place that was always the setting for the smaller, less-dramatic stories. It was a region of simple truths and everyday folk, home to villages, farmsteads, and lonely cottages where humble tales of wit and kindness unfolded. The magic here was subtle, tied to hearth and home, and a part of the everyday routine. Now, the Hinterlands are a place of confusion and forgotten purpose. The land itself seems to be built of mismatched pieces, and the magic is no longer subtle, but a strange, desperate force of imitation.
The Patchwork Hamlet
Once, this was a charming, ordinary village, a collection of humble homes and simple lives that formed the backdrop for countless nursery rhymes and folk tales. It was the place where old women lived in shoes, where cats wore hats, and where the everyday was infused with a gentle, predictable magic. Now, it is a strange, ever-changing settlement, built from the salvaged scraps of other, greater stories. The houses are a jumble of mismatched materials, and the streets are paved with broken promises and forgotten nursery rhymes. The magic here is one of construction and imitation, trying desperately to rebuild a sense of normalcy that is forever out of reach, resulting in a community that is both cobbled-together and unnervingly fragile.
The Iron Peaks
This region was once a majestic, powerful mountain range, a testament to the strength and resilience of stone. It was a place where stories of both humble mountain folk and mighty sky-dwellers were told, a realm of deep mines, intricate stonework, and castles built in the clouds. The magic here was one of strength and permanence. Now, the peaks are a desolate and dangerous landscape. The mountains themselves groan and shift, the mines are filled with shadows, and the magic is a bitter, cold force of isolation and decay. The two parts of the region are more separate than ever.
The Above (The Cloudlands)
Once, this was a kingdom in the clouds, a magnificent realm of shining castles and magnificent beanstalks that reached into the sky. It was a place of divine order and great feasts. Now, the clouds are a chaotic, swirling mess, the castles are broken fragments adrift in the sky, and the once-great magic is a fickle and dangerous force of unnatural winds and falling debris. It is a place of endless fog, where the ground is a distant, forgotten memory.
The Below (The Hollows)
This was once a kingdom of dwarves and mountain folk, a place of stunning craftsmanship and subterranean wonders. Its mines yielded impossible gems, and its tunnels were a marvel of engineering. Now, the mountains are a place of crushing weight and suffocating silence. The once-clear streams run black, the mines are filled with treacherous dead ends and forgotten traps, and the magic is a dark, heavy weight that threatens to collapse everything into itself.
