Nhalmera

Nhalmera, the equatorial cradle of Sitagus, stretches across the heart of the world like a continent still unfolding. Its land pulled wide by the world’s oldest wound, its rivers fed by the tides of a continent still stretching. Split by a vast triple-junction rift and surrounded by monsoon-fed coasts, Nhalmera is a land shaped by motion and moisture, where tectonic breath and seasonal rhythm create one of the most biodiverse regions on the planet. To those who dwell here, Nhalmera is not a place to conquer, but a place to listen to. The land shifts subtly, like breath in the lungs of a sleeping giant.

The central rift basin forms an immense inland sea, ringed by terraced highlands and weather-carved escarpments. Great rivers cascade down from the sky islands—floating landmasses suspended in storm-heavy currents—feeding waterfalls that plunge from sheer cliffs into lowland deltas. These cliffs are home to wingrider cultures, who use gliding harnesses and wingsuits to navigate the canyon thermals, travelling from city to city on the breath of the land itself.

The continent’s interior is dominated by expansive savannas, where tall grasses ripple in golden sheets beneath scattered groves of umbrella-shaped trees. Herds of megafauna migrate along ancient paths, trailed by mounted centaur war-parties, nomadic leonin caravans, and the silent trackers of minotaur hunting clans. These beastfolk are native to Sitagus, not the fey realms—born of its earth, blood, and evolution. They have deep ties to the rhythms of the land, forming loose alliances and seasonal traditions around rain patterns, flowering cycles, and storm migrations.

To the south and east, the savannas rise into montane forests and cloud-wreathed plateaus, with storm-ringed peaks and highland glades inhabited by skybound giants, druidic orders, and weather-keepers. These sky islands, whether levitating through natural magic or anchored atop tectonic spires, collect atmospheric moisture, creating rainfall that flows down in winding ribbons to the basin sea. Waterfalls become arteries of commerce and ritual, linking cliffside cities carved directly into the stone with floating market rafts below.

Around the Basin Sea’s lowlands and along the warm coasts, thick tropical rainforests give way to swamp forests, mangroves, and brackish river deltas. These wetlands form vast, interconnected ecosystems—fertile, humid, and humming with life. Amphibious communities live in stilt villages among the roots of towering fig trees or move between islands of vegetation on woven reed platforms. The forests teem with creatures both mundane and magical: crocodilian behemoths, gliding serpents, thunderbirds, and herdbeasts the size of siege towers.

Nhalmera’s economic and cultural life flows along its waterways. The Basin Sea serves as a trade heart, ringed by terrace cities and canal networks, with stone aqueducts and cliff bridges connecting the highlands to the fertile coasts. Every season brings shifting stormfronts, reshaping migration, planting, and conflict. Nations here are less often defined by hard borders and more by catchment zones—territories tied to watersheds, rain patterns, and river control. Power flows not just from armies, but from weather-readers, floodbinders, and wind-adepts who predict the storms and tame the skies.

Unlike the hidden enchantments of Dalmakren or the arcane battlegrounds of Zegaath, Nhalmera wears its life openly. It is a continent of visible abundance, constant growth, and moving boundaries. It is not only the breadbasket of Sitagus—it is its lung, its floodplain, and its thunderhead.

“To live in Nhalmera is to run with the rain. If you stop moving, the land will pass you by.”
— Saying among the lowland river-folk