Kilmoryn has no safe ground.
Hold the land. Wear the crown.
Every province in Kilmoryn has exactly one holder, and most change hands by force. Guilds plant Heartwoods, raise armies and fleets, and lay siege to one another's cities — and a city that loses its Heartwood is wiped from the map. Nothing you hold stays yours unless you can defend it.
Five hulls, from the humble Cog to a rowed war galley with a bronze ram. Sail by the wind, ram, grapple and board — and salvage what floats up when a ship goes down.
Raise spearmen, archers and cavalry from your own barracks. They march and fight while you sleep — or take command in the field, set the line and choose the formation.
Plant a Heartwood and raise a city that runs itself: citizens who need homes, bread and ale, farms with real herds, and workshops that arm your soldiers.
Declare a siege by planting a Warstone, then bring catapults, rams and siege towers. Fell the Heartwood and the whole city is wiped from the map.
Every province has one holder. Push your border out with outposts, seize mines in their daily window, and run caravans home along roads anyone can raid.
Directional melee where the blow lands where you aim it, a crosshair for every bow — and magic that thins, or dies, on the wrong ground.
Coming The Deep, where death is final and the rewards match it · a haven for new arrivals · siege camps and supply carts for the long campaign
Choose your Path. Define your Class. Master your Disciplines.
The first weight you are taught to carry standing. Holds the line. Heavy armor turns a fatal blow into a survivable one.
Assumes the door is locked and the ground is watched. Reaches the place that was closed, opens the moment, and arrives small and late. Every shot is physical and dodgeable — aim is the whole stat.
Kinning done out loud, with the failures written down. Fire aimed like a thrown spear. Devastating in high-magic regions, mute in the no-magic wastes.
Recorded as an obligation, not as a belief. Answers for what it is sworn to — mending, warding, or burning what the enemy anchored. Tab-target wards mean you never stop reading the fight.
A character is one of 13 Races, trained under one of the four Paths, grown into a Class beneath it, and sharpened by whichever Disciplines it takes on after that.
Progression is flat. At the level cap of 75, a veteran in the best gear is only about a fifth stronger than a newcomer in the best gear — what they have is more choices. Skill is the only true stat.
Roll a character, join a guild, and build a nation. No one holds ground alone — the strongest alliances win the war.