Balamar

Balamar, the Heart of Three Worlds

Sitting at the convergence of the three Prime Planes, the blue-and-white crystal sphere of Balamar spins serenely in the firmament. Its visage is reflected in the ever-turning mirrors of the Feywild and Shadowfell, which orbit it in shimmering unison. Passage between these realms can be deliberate—or disastrously accidental—as the veils that separate them wax and wane with time, emotion, and ancient rites.

Bound to one another by forgotten laws older than memory, the inhabitants of all three planes search for meaning in an existence both beautiful and bewildering. Civilizations rise and fall. Cultures flourish and fade. Each believes itself singular, even as history turns in great, repeating cycles—measured in decades, centuries, or millennia.

Beyond the Material World, this Wheel of Becoming shapes even the immortal domains—whether mirrored in the echoing Feywild, darkened in the Shadowfell, or stirred by tides of belief across the Astral Sea. Encircling it all lies the Horizon of Actuality, a radiant boundary that marks the edge of known existence, glowing like a lantern in the void.

The Living Mosaic of Balamar

The lands of Balamar, like its people, are a tapestry woven from contradictions—heat and ocean, ruin and splendor, freedom and dominion. Nowhere is this more evident than in the wild expanse of its surface, where ancient secrets sleep beneath sun-scorched stones and drifting waves, and where the memory of war lingers in dew-drenched fields.

To the far south lies Khaladar, a crumbling dominion stretched across blistering deserts, tangled jungles, and jagged mountains. It is a place older than most remember, where the line between the living and the eternal is thin. The people speak of the Undying and the Everliving in hushed tones—ageless beings whose secrets are etched into crumbling temples and buried in sand-choked vaults.

Across the vast oceans of Akhimona, life moves with the tide. The Atuiat Tribes ride the backs of colossal sea turtles, following glittering shoals across sunlit waters in a dance as old as the moon. They live in harmony with the sea, guided by stars and currents. In stark contrast, the towering cities of the Thyanian Hegemony rise from coral cliffs and artificial islands. Here, life is ordered by ancient law and layered hierarchy, every soul slotted into a place, every caste bound by ritual and birthright.

To the north and center, the continent of Sunna sprawls in temperate splendor. It bears the scars of a long and bitter conflict—a two-century war between the mortal might of the Isryn Empire and the ethereal forces of the Arcadian Dominion, whose roots reach deep into the Feywild. Though the war has cooled, its embers still burn along the borderlands known as the Verdant Marches. There, amid fertile valleys and mist-wreathed woods, the weary and the wild have forged a fragile freedom—an uneasy peace where both sides watch, wait, and remember.

In every corner of Balamar, life persists. It adapts, endures, and remembers. The world is vast, and the stories it holds are as varied as the people who walk its face.