On the world of Yhdora, memory itself feels frayed. A century ago the archdevil Trammon bled his legions across the land, burning roads to ash, toppling dynasties, and shattering the maps that once bound realms together. Your grandparents might still remember the night skies torn open by hellfire—but they seldom speak of it, except in half-finished stories and the silence that follows.
In the long shadow of Trammon’s fall, the peoples of Yhdora turned inward. City-states walled themselves off, lords “looked after their own,” and whole generations grew up believing the next valley over was a rumour, not a neighbour. Now, at last, the pendulum has begun to swing back. Old trade paths are being cleared, causeways raised over haunted fens, watchtowers raised on forgotten hills. Realm-lords tentatively reach out to one another, weighing cooperation against old fears and new ambitions.
Yhdora stands at a hinge point in its history. The scars of the infernal war are still written in ruined fortresses, cursed marches, and stories told around low fires. But so too are the first threads of a new age: roads that might bind distant realms together, compacts that might outlast their signatories, and heroes—famous or unsung—who will decide whether this world is woven back into something brighter, or unravelled all over again.