Eastern Muitimur

When the elves fled Wordal, they sailed for many days through unfamiliar waters. Many ships were lost to wild storms, or fell prey to terrible creatures that rose from the depths. Praying to Milory and her children, the elves placed their faith in being guided to a new home. The first land they saw was a rugged coastline—reminiscent of Knurden—off their port side, just south of their course. For a time, they followed the shore, searching for a safe place to land. Eventually, they found one, and named it Erlandecen. Here, they founded their first settlement beyond Wordal.   For a while, Erlandecen remained their haven, a place to recover and rebuild. But soon, small groups of elves began journeying inland, curious about this new land and the wonders Milory might have hidden for them here. It wasn’t long before they encountered something they did not expect: humans.   These were not the humans of Wordal—they were slighter of build and spoke a language the elves had never heard before. Yet that language bore traces of something oddly familiar, almost like a distant, forgotten branch of Elvish, and that alone gave the elves comfort. The people behaved differently, too. Where the humans of Wordal had been proud, aggressive, and oppressive, these people were curious, welcoming, and, in a strange way, openhearted.   Elves began travelling southward to visit their villages, though some remained behind—cautious and scarred by the persecution they had suffered back in Wordal.   Those who ventured further south found small villages of wooden houses and richly adorned temples. These temples reminded some of Akamta or Araboatora, shaped like pyramids—but instead of solid stone, they were made of many layered roofs. The locals explained that each roof symbolized a step in spiritual development: the more tiers a temple had, the greater its spiritual importance.   The elves also learned that these people did not worship gods as the humans of Wordal did. Instead, they honoured spirits of nature, sacred places, animals, and their ancestors. When the elves spoke of Milory and her children, the locals assumed she must be a manifestation of many nature spirits woven into one. Fascinated, the elves found themselves drawn into long discussions—exchanging stories, theology, and ideas.   The further south they went, the larger the settlements grew—eventually giving way to sprawling cities built along river deltas, cliffs, and sweeping bays. Each city followed recurring patterns in its architecture, yet every one felt like a new and wondrous place. The elves were enchanted by the beauty of this land, and many wished not only to dwell here, but to contribute to it—to shape it, and be shaped by it in return.   Back in the north, those elves who had stayed behind remained skeptical. They had feared humans for too long to trust them easily, and when those who had gone south did not return, their doubt turned to certainty. Believing something had gone wrong, they prepared to leave. Their journey would be long and bitter, but they eventually reached a distant land they would name Ninwenorë.   Another group chose to stay, holding faith in their kin. They waited in Erlandecen and in the scattered settlements nearby, hoping for word from the south.   Many seasons passed before their patience was rewarded. The explorers returned at last, bearing stories of what they had seen. They spoke of a land called Muitimur—a vast continent stretching far to the south, with much still to be explored in the west. They told of a people who revered the spirits of nature and their ancestors, much like the elves once had, before kings and emperors had forced the faith of The Great Balance upon them.   Centuries have passed since the elves first arrived in Muitimur. Though some still live apart, in small, secluded communities, most have become part of a shared culture with the people of this land. And while their journey began in exile, they have found something here that many feared they would never know again: a place to belong.