Worldweaver

The morning mist clings low between the thatched rooftops, curling around the timber frames of the village well. A rooster crows somewhere beyond the baker's smokestack. The cobblestone path is damp — last night's rain left puddles catching the pale light breaking through the clouds.

The kingdom stretches far to the west, but here on the continent's edge, life moves at its own pace.

Where are you, Fallin Eclipse? What do you see from where you stand?