The Chronicle Opens

A record begins. Not the first — there have been others, scratched into stone, inked onto hide, pressed into clay. But those records belonged to their makers, and when the makers were gone, the records went silent.

This chronicle belongs to no one. It will hold what it is given: names, places, events, observations. It will not judge what is important. It will not decide what to forget.

The world is called Endallen by those who live in the north, though it has other names in other languages, and the land itself has no opinion on the matter.

What is known: the continent is large, imperfectly mapped, and divided by a mountain range that runs east to west. North of the mountains, people trade and build and argue. South of the mountains, things are less certain.

The chronicle is open. Let it be filled.