Session Prep Bundlesettlement-starter

Nestled between the colossal spines of the Twin Titans—two mountain ranges that claw at the heavens, their peaks shrouded in eternal mist and rumored to house storms that birth lightning serpents—the Valley of Immortal's stands as a bastion of fragile harmony. Stretching for hundreds of leagues from east to west, the valley is a verdant ribbon of life, its fertile soils nourished by rivers that cascade from the Titans' melting snowcaps. To the east, the Endless Desert sprawls like a sun-scorched corpse, a wasteland of crimson dunes that swallow travelers whole, where sandstorms howl with the fury of vengeful ghosts. To the west, the Endless Sea roars against jagged cliffs, its depths teeming with leviathans and pirate fleets that prey on unwary ships. The valley itself is a tapestry of rolling hills, dense forests, and sprawling farmlands, dotted with cities and villages where humans and non-humans—elves, halfling's, beastkin tribes having sought sanctuary when war visited their homeland, and more—coexist under the watchful eye of the crown. The valley's eastern border is sealed by the Great Wall, a monolithic marvel of stone and sorcery that rises over 300 feet high, its parapets patrolled by the Iron Legion, the kingdom's elite army. Hewn from the very heart of the Titans by dwarven masons and enchanted with wards that repel desert invaders, the Wall shimmers with faint, ethereal light during sandstorms, turning aside arrows and catapult fire. Soldiers in leather armor etched with runes march its length day and night, their boots echoing on the stone. Watchtowers, manned by archers with enchanted crossbows, pierce the sky, connected by a network of signal fires and messenger doves. To the west, the naval fleet—the Stormguard—cruises the Endless Sea, their swift galleons armed with ballistae and cannons forged in hidden forges. They hunt pirates with ruthless efficiency, boarding vessels in bloody skirmishes where the clash of swords mingles with the crash of waves. This dual vigilance has kept the valley safe for generations, allowing farmers to till fields without fear of raids, merchants to trade along winding roads, and scholars to study in grand libraries. In the valley's heart, the capital city of Joerin ( Joe-Erin ) thrives—a labyrinth of spires and markets, where elven artisans weave silk from spider-silk threads, orc smiths hammer weapons that sing with power, and human scribes chronicle the kingdom's lore. Taverns buzz with laughter, festivals celebrate harvests with feasts of roasted boar and spiced wine, and children of all races play in sunlit squares. It is a place of relative peace, where the air hums with the songs of bards and the clang of forges, a testament to the rebellion that forged this unity. But beneath this tranquility lies the Underdark—a labyrinthine underworld carved into the Mountain bowels, a realm of shadows and forgotten horrors. Mineshafts and caverns plunge miles deep, navigated by dwarven prospectors who unearth veins of glowing ore and ancient artifacts. These depths hold secrets: cities lost to time, like the crumbling spires of Eldrathor, an elven metropolis abandoned centuries ago, its halls now haunted by wraiths that hunger for flesh. Other pockets reveal remnants of the Great Cleansing War—rusted war machines, fields of skeletal remains, and chambers sealed with blood-runes that warn of plagues unleashed by desperate mages. Hidden civilizations persist in isolation: tribes of subterranean orcs who worship stone idols, forging alliances with fungal beasts that crawl through the undergrowth; enclaves of rogue dwarves who hoard forbidden knowledge, experimenting with alchemical concoctions that twist flesh into monstrous forms. Rumors speak of vaults containing weapons from the war—cursed swords that drink souls, or golems that awaken at the scent of non-human blood. The Underdark is a wild, untamed frontier, where explorers vanish into sinkholes, and echoes of distant tremors hint at things better left buried. Only the royal family dares delve too deep, seeking relics to maintain the valley's fragile balance.

Recipe: Settlement Starter

New
Contextual Narrative

Joerin: The Gilded Lid of the Abyss

Joerin rises from the valley floor like a crown of white stone and spider-silk banners, its spires catching the dawn light before the mist even clears from the Twin Titans. In the sunlit squares, the air is thick with the scent of roasted boar and the rhythmic chime of orcish hammers on singing steel. It is a city of impossible harmony, where the diverse races of the Valley have woven their cultures into a single, vibrant tapestry of trade and celebration. Yet, for all its surface beauty, Joerin is a city built upon a graveyard. Beneath the polished cobbles, the deep shafts of the old mines hum with a resonant vibration that many locals have learned to ignore. While the Iron Legion watches the Great Wall and the Stormguard patrols the Endless Sea, the citizens of Joerin try not to think about the ancient elven city of Eldrathor rotting miles below their feet. As the royal family pulls more 'relics' from the lightless depths to fuel the city's prosperity, the shadows in the alleys seem to grow longer, and the whispers from the ventilation grates sound increasingly like the voices of the long-dead.

Archivist Thrum, Last Words Before Disappearance

The Titans protect our borders, the Wall shields our backs, but only our ignorance protects our souls from what breathes beneath the cellar floor.

Joerin
Settlement

Joerin

Joerin is a vertical masterpiece where elven towers of white glass are bolted directly into ancient orcish stone. The city is famous for its Silk-Ways, shimmering bridges of enchanted spider-silk that span the chasms between districts. While the wealthy enjoy the high sun and fresh breezes of the upper tiers, the lower levels are choked by the Iron Legion patrols and the heavy gates of the Old Mines.

42,000Population
View
The Copper Vein
Tavern

The Copper Vein

Patrons are required to strike a small copper anvil at the entrance with a hammer for luck before being served. The air smells permanently of ozone and wet stone.

TavernView
The Gossamer Wing
Tavern

The Gossamer Wing

The translucent floors emit a low, harmonic chord that changes pitch based on the weight and rhythm of those walking across them, creating a continuous, unintentional symphony.

TavernView
The Salt & Scale
Tavern

The Salt & Scale

The entire tavern is built on a slight, intentional tilt to make it feel like a ship on the water. Additionally, whenever a new barrel of grog is tapped, the tavernkeeper rings a ship's bell and every patron must toast to 'the monsters below' or face a round of jeers.

TavernView
The Obsidian Reliquary
Shop

The Obsidian Reliquary

Drim constantly dabs his singed eyebrows with a damp rag and suspects every customer is a spy from the Iron Legion.

Shop
View

Key Personas

High Captain Valerius Drakenburg

High Captain Valerius Drakenburg

Valerius is a study in stoicism, appearing cold and mechanical to the recruits he commands, yet he harbors a frantic, burning anxiety for the valley's safety. He is famously generous with the common soldiers, often paying for their medical care out of his own coin, but he treats the Joerin nobility with a biting, barely-veiled contempt. He is a man of absolute duty who nonetheless believes that sometimes the law must be broken to preserve the spirit of the kingdom.

Drim Singe-Beard

Drim Singe-Beard

Drim is a man of professional paranoia balanced by a desperate need for intellectual validation. He is gregarious and flattering to anyone who shares his fascination with alchemy or the deep veins of the world, but he treats his own family and fellow dwarves with cold, transactional suspicion. He believes everyone is out to steal his formulas, yet he cannot resist showing off his cleverness. In the face of danger, he is a pragmatist who would rather buy his way out of a fight than raise a fist, though he is fiercely protective of his inventory.

Lyriel Aeravaris

Lyriel is a study in sharp edges and soft materials. She treats her customers with a terrifyingly efficient hospitality, offering tea and fine fabrics while calculating their worth with a single glance. She is fiercely protective of other non-human artisans in Joerin but acts with a cold, transactional distance toward anyone she suspects of being a sellsword. Beneath her professional veneer is an obsessive, burning desperation regarding her missing brother that occasionally causes her to snap at those who waste her time.

Bundle Contents

08Items

Generated entities

Regional Effect

Echoes of the Cleansing

Residual magic from the Great Cleansing War vibrates through the valley floor, specifically keyed to detect non-human heritage.

Mechanic

Any creature not of human descent must succeed on a DC 12 Wisdom saving throw every long rest or suffer from vivid, intrusive nightmares of the war, granting no benefit from the rest.

Connections

High Captain Valerius Drakenburg

RECRUITS_ATThe Copper Vein

Drim Singe-Beard

PROPRIETOR_OFThe Obsidian Reliquary

Lyriel Aeravaris

WORKS_NEARThe Gossamer Wing

Lyriel Aeravaris

FREQUENTSThe Salt & Scale

Drim Singe-Beard

HAS_DIRT_ONHigh Captain Valerius Drakenburg

The Copper Vein

LOCATED_INJoerin

Quest Objectives

Retrieve a 'Crying Relic' from the uppermost tier of the sunken city of Eldrathor for the Royal Scribe.

The party is paid handsomely and granted 'Seeker' status, allowing legal entry to restricted dig sites.
The relic awakens, emitting a psychic wail that alerts the Iron Legion to an 'unauthorized breach,' leading to the party's arrest.

Investigate a string of 'blood-rust' poisonings in the Market District, rumored to be linked to a rogue dwarven alchemist.

The source is neutralized, and the party earns the favor of the Orc Smith's Guild.
The rust-plague spreads, causing the Iron Legion to quarantine the district and seize all metallic weapons.
Nestled between the colossal spines of the Twin Titans—two mountain ranges that claw at the heavens, their peaks shrouded in eternal mist and rumored to house storms that birth lightning serpents—the Valley of Immortal's stands as a bastion of fragile harmony. Stretching for hundreds of leagues from east to west, the valley is a verdant ribbon of life, its fertile soils nourished by rivers that cascade from the Titans' melting snowcaps. To the east, the Endless Desert sprawls like a sun-scorched corpse, a wasteland of crimson dunes that swallow travelers whole, where sandstorms howl with the fury of vengeful ghosts. To the west, the Endless Sea roars against jagged cliffs, its depths teeming with leviathans and pirate fleets that prey on unwary ships. The valley itself is a tapestry of rolling hills, dense forests, and sprawling farmlands, dotted with cities and villages where humans and non-humans—elves, halfling's, beastkin tribes having sought sanctuary when war visited their homeland, and more—coexist under the watchful eye of the crown. The valley's eastern border is sealed by the Great Wall, a monolithic marvel of stone and sorcery that rises over 300 feet high, its parapets patrolled by the Iron Legion, the kingdom's elite army. Hewn from the very heart of the Titans by dwarven masons and enchanted with wards that repel desert invaders, the Wall shimmers with faint, ethereal light during sandstorms, turning aside arrows and catapult fire. Soldiers in leather armor etched with runes march its length day and night, their boots echoing on the stone. Watchtowers, manned by archers with enchanted crossbows, pierce the sky, connected by a network of signal fires and messenger doves. To the west, the naval fleet—the Stormguard—cruises the Endless Sea, their swift galleons armed with ballistae and cannons forged in hidden forges. They hunt pirates with ruthless efficiency, boarding vessels in bloody skirmishes where the clash of swords mingles with the crash of waves. This dual vigilance has kept the valley safe for generations, allowing farmers to till fields without fear of raids, merchants to trade along winding roads, and scholars to study in grand libraries. In the valley's heart, the capital city of Joerin ( Joe-Erin ) thrives—a labyrinth of spires and markets, where elven artisans weave silk from spider-silk threads, orc smiths hammer weapons that sing with power, and human scribes chronicle the kingdom's lore. Taverns buzz with laughter, festivals celebrate harvests with feasts of roasted boar and spiced wine, and children of all races play in sunlit squares. It is a place of relative peace, where the air hums with the songs of bards and the clang of forges, a testament to the rebellion that forged this unity. But beneath this tranquility lies the Underdark—a labyrinthine underworld carved into the Mountain bowels, a realm of shadows and forgotten horrors. Mineshafts and caverns plunge miles deep, navigated by dwarven prospectors who unearth veins of glowing ore and ancient artifacts. These depths hold secrets: cities lost to time, like the crumbling spires of Eldrathor, an elven metropolis abandoned centuries ago, its halls now haunted by wraiths that hunger for flesh. Other pockets reveal remnants of the Great Cleansing War—rusted war machines, fields of skeletal remains, and chambers sealed with blood-runes that warn of plagues unleashed by desperate mages. Hidden civilizations persist in isolation: tribes of subterranean orcs who worship stone idols, forging alliances with fungal beasts that crawl through the undergrowth; enclaves of rogue dwarves who hoard forbidden knowledge, experimenting with alchemical concoctions that twist flesh into monstrous forms. Rumors speak of vaults containing weapons from the war—cursed swords that drink souls, or golems that awaken at the scent of non-human blood. The Underdark is a wild, untamed frontier, where explorers vanish into sinkholes, and echoes of distant tremors hint at things better left buried. Only the royal family dares delve too deep, seeking relics to maintain the valley's fragile balance. | Session Prep | CharGen