Leng

Leng is a realm of surreal contradictions. Mountains float above seas of glass, forests bleed into deserts of endless dunes, and cities are carved from black stone with no record of their builders. The land itself seems alive, subtly changing with the will and fears of its travelers. Journeys across Leng can take hours or years depending on the dreamer’s state of mind.   Though often entered through dreams, Leng can also be accessed via rare rituals, artifacts, or through weakened barriers at sites of great magical significance in Ronia. Many who enter willingly find themselves lost, unable to distinguish dream from truth, and some never return to the waking world.  

Ruler of Leng

  Leng is believed to be ruled—or at least overseen—by an unknowable presence. Legends describe this power as a god, a voice, or even the dream of something far beyond mortal comprehension. Its name is never consistent, and its form is said to shift with the perceptions of those who encounter it. Though mortals have glimpsed fragments of this presence through dreams and visions, none can agree on its true nature.   Scholars of the arcane maintain that this entity has long sought ways to exert its will upon Ronia, though whether its designs are conquest, corruption, or something stranger remains a matter of fear and speculation.  

Significance in Ronia

  Leng has long fascinated mystics, prophets, and sorcerers. Ancient texts suggest that some of Ronia’s greatest magical traditions originated from secrets whispered in the Dreamlands. At the same time, many tragedies and calamities have been linked to mortals who delved too deeply into its mysteries, becoming pawns of its unseen ruler.   The plane serves as both a source of inspiration and terror, for within its shifting landscapes lies knowledge not found anywhere else in existence—but also the risk of being forever consumed by the dreams of another.

The ecosystem of Leng is unlike any other plane connected to Ronia, existing in a perpetual twilight where natural laws appear distorted. Time flows inconsistently, and the cycle of growth and decay takes on an alien quality. The land is capable of sustaining life, but much of its flora and fauna exhibit dreamlike or paradoxical traits that blur the line between illusion and reality.   Plant life in Leng is sparse but resilient, consisting largely of twisted fungi, pallid grasses, and crystalline growths that hum faintly when touched. Some groves contain black-barked trees with silver leaves that seem to shimmer even without light, while other areas are dominated by creeping vines that move of their own accord, as though aware of travelers passing by. Many of these plants are not strictly biological, but half-formed concepts made tangible through the dreamlike nature of the plane.   Animal life is similarly strange and often predatory. Herds of horned, shaggy beasts wander the mist-filled plains, though they can vanish into smoke when approached, reappearing elsewhere moments later. Packs of lupine predators with too many eyes stalk travelers, hunting not only flesh but also dreams and memories. In the higher plateaus and crags, winged creatures resembling both bats and moths roost in colonies, their wings trailing streams of mist that can disorient the mind.   At the top of the food chain are the more intelligent denizens, including the enigmatic Men of Leng, who are believed to farm, trade, and occasionally herd the horned beasts. Beyond them, monstrous beings from deeper realms sometimes manifest, warping the balance of the ecosystem with their intrusion. The entire plane seems to exist in a state of fragile equilibrium, sustained by forces not entirely natural.   While scholars of Ronia struggle to classify the ecosystem of Leng, many agree that the realm is shaped as much by thought, dream, and fear as it is by any physical law. What endures in Leng does so not because it has adapted to a natural environment, but because it has adapted to the shifting, surreal rules of a world where reality itself bends.

The cycles of life in Leng are governed not by seasons in the conventional sense, but by the alien radiance of the star Althuun. Unlike Ronia’s sun, Althuun waxes and wanes in irregular intervals, casting its violet glow upon Leng in periods known as the Ascendancy and the Recession. During the Ascendancy, Althuun burns bright in the skies of Leng, saturating the land with strange energies that cause rapid growth among its fungal forests, crystalline flora, and chitinous creatures. Beasts grow restless and aggressive, their forms swelling in size as if the star’s light feeds them directly. Colors grow sharper, landscapes shift subtly, and dreamers wandering into Leng during this time often experience vivid, uncontrollable visions.   The Recession, by contrast, brings a dimming of Althuun’s power. The skies take on a deep, bruised shade of indigo, and many of Leng’s organisms retreat into dormancy. The fungal blooms release spores that settle into the soil and lie dormant until the next Ascendancy, while predators descend into caverns and crystalline dens. Dreamers who enter Leng during this phase often describe it as eerily quiet, with time seeming to stretch and fold in unnatural ways. Yet, despite its stillness, this cycle is vital, allowing the ecosystem to reset and prepare for Althuun’s next surge of energy.   These cycles are unpredictable to mortals, varying in length from mere weeks to years, and their irregularity ensures that Leng remains forever alien, unmoored from the natural rhythms of Ronia. Scholars who study the Dreamlands believe that the waxing and waning of Althuun may not be a natural phenomenon at all, but rather tied to the will of an unseen power that rules over Leng from the shadows. Whatever the truth, the life of Leng remains inextricably bound to the strange pulse of its violet star.

Leng is renowned for its shifting and often incomprehensible phenomena, which scholars struggle to categorize as either natural, magical, or entirely alien. Travelers often report that the landscape itself resists cartography; mountains migrate subtly over weeks, rivers reverse their course without warning, and valleys seem to vanish overnight, replaced by endless plains or labyrinthine forests. The shifting geography gives rise to the belief that Leng is not bound by the same physical laws as the mortal world.   One of the most striking features is the Dream-Wind, an intermittent current of air that sweeps across Leng without regard to terrain. The Dream-Wind carries whispers in languages both known and forgotten, lulling mortals into trances that draw them deeper into the plane’s unreality. Exposure for too long often results in waking nightmares, leaving victims unable to distinguish dream from truth.   Another phenomenon is the occurrence of Mirrored Skies, where the heavens above reflect the landscapes below rather than stars. During these nights, travelers find their reflections in the sky acting independently, sometimes performing actions moments before they themselves do. Many cultures interpret this as an omen of fated doom, though others see it as a path to hidden knowledge.   Leng is also plagued by Temporal Drifts, in which time flows unpredictably. Some visitors claim to spend days wandering only to return and find centuries have passed in the waking world, while others lose mere minutes despite experiencing long journeys. Records suggest entire expeditions have vanished into these distortions, leaving only fragments of journals scattered across unrelated regions of Leng.   These localized phenomena contribute to the peril of exploration, as they make navigation, survival, and even sanity precarious endeavors. Combined with the alien ecosystem and the oppressive sense of being watched, they ensure that Leng remains a realm few dare to enter willingly.