Worlds of LoreFell
The Sphere
​​The worlds of LoreFell are not separate planes but layered dimensions stacked upon one another, forming a vast and intricate stratum within a single world. Each of the 36 worlds exists as a distinct realm, its own ecosystem of life, history, and struggle, yet all are bound together within the same grand sphere. The Skyvault, a construct of sacrifice and power, seals these layers from one another, ensuring that their barriers remain intact and preventing unchecked passage between them.
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Only the Fell, those chosen by the LoreMaster, may traverse these layers, slipping between the veils of reality at the LoreMaster’s discretion. To the inhabitants of each world, their realm is the only existence they know, unaware that just beyond the invisible boundary, countless others thrive, struggle, and fall. The Skyvault’s purpose is both prison and protection—shields against the vast unknown beyond the Sphere, yet also walls that keep the secrets of the layered worlds hidden. The LoreMaster alone holds the key, determining when and where the Fell may cross these divides, guiding them to the places where they are most needed.
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LoreFell has a campaign setting being designed for each of our 36 lineages. We will add them below as we explore and create them, along with links to various podcasts, stories, and live streams.
Valoria​
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Valoria is a Dweller world, a realm where the echoes of ancient power linger beneath the surface, waiting to be reclaimed—or devoured. Once a flourishing kingdom, its lands were woven with potent leyline magic, a force that bound its people to their history, their rulers, and the world itself. Yet, that magic now lies fractured, its essence scattered like broken glass across the land. A great cataclysm, veiled in secrecy and sorrow, tore Valoria from its foundation, unraveling not only its magic but also its very history. Now, reality itself is fragile, and memories wane like whispers on the wind, leaving its people struggling to grasp the truth of their past.
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The world is one of ruins and shadows, where the Veiled Queen's influence seeps through the cracks of existence like an unrelenting tide. The land is fractured, its five great realms now lost to war, decay, and corruption. The forests grow twisted, their trees whispering secrets to the mist that lingers endlessly. The swamps are veiled in eternal gloom, their waters reflecting memories of the dead rather than the sky above. Great cities once stood as beacons of civilization, but now they are half-submerged ruins, their spires grasping at the heavens like skeletal remains of a bygone era. Magic still exists, but it is unreliable, dangerous, and often cursed, as if the very fabric of reality resists being mended. The people of Valoria live in fear—of the past, of the future, and most of all, of the Veiled Queen, whose presence lingers in the forgotten places of the world, waiting, watching, weaving her will into the tattered remnants of existence.
Mireth​
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Mireth is a Fribbit world, a realm where life and death coil together in an endless dance beneath the choking canopy. This jungle breathes with ancient power, its pulse echoing through every vine, every murky pool, every echoing croak in the night. At its heart grows the Xochitli flower, a divine bloom capable of twisting fate and bending life’s fragile thread. Once, these blossoms offered blessings beyond imagining—Petaloom rituals that granted warriors shadow’s silence, sun’s healing, and moon’s grace. The Fribbit, amphibious and fierce, built their entire society around these sacred blooms, their faith and ferocity interwoven like the roots that bind the forest floor. Yet, the flowers now wilt and blacken, their magic slipping away like mist at dawn, leaving behind an unsettling hunger in the air.
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Mireth is a realm of shifting mists and tangled green labyrinths, where monsters stalk in restless silence and gods demand blood and triumph as tribute. Stone cities loom like living cliffs above the swamp, adorned with bone and coral, echoing the primal songs of war and worship. Rivers wind like serpents through the dark, their surfaces shimmering with half-remembered visions of ancestors long devoured by the jungle. The Fribbit people, once joyous in their ruthless dances and ritual hunts, now sense a corruption threading through their gods’ whispers and the quiver of every petal. As the Xochitli groves wither and forgotten powers stir in the dark, Mireth teeters on the edge of transformation—or extinction. The jungle listens, breathes, and waits, as if it too knows that something deeper and older than any god is about to awaken beneath its rotting heart.
Vyrathis
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Vyrathis is the twilight-shrouded world of the Vyrathe, suspended between death and memory, where crimson moons hang heavy above mist-choked forests and abandoned fortresses. Time fractures here, stretching and folding until names are forgotten and entire lineages dissolve into ghost stories. Yet, the nobles persist—dining in crumbling halls, whispering secrets by candlelight as dust creeps beneath their skin and memories rot like old wine. Some know they are already dead, trapped in rituals of power and legacy; most simply stopped questioning long ago, content to haunt their own empty courts.
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Long ago, a leyline deep within Vyrathis was torn open by Discord’s rise, leaving a wound that never healed. The magic that seeps from this rupture is alluring and dangerous: spectral and shimmering, yet fundamentally broken. Ghostlight drifts through the trees like stray thoughts, and the soil itself clings to every betrayal, echoing with the weight of past sins. Here, control is absolute—lifeforce, memories, and even spirits must obey the strict, silent commands woven into the land’s essence. Vyrathis is not a realm of chaotic ruin but a world of deliberate decay, where dominion is dressed in silks and ash, and every act of withering is performed with a chilling, ritualistic elegance.
Sporion
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Sporion is the damp and dreamlike realm of the Capling, where sentient fungi shape the land as much as it shapes them. Its skies hang low beneath a canopy of towering sporewoods and bioluminescent mycogroves, casting the world in perpetual mist and humid twilight. The ground pulses with fungal growth—soft, sponge-like earth broken by gnarled hyphae trees and blooming sporeblooms that hum with ambient thought. Beneath the surface, vast root-mazes and mycelial tunnels connect civilizations like a nervous system, allowing emotion, memory, and even instinct to be shared. It is not uncommon to hear whispers in the roots, or to dream the thoughts of others.
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But Sporion is far from peaceful. The greatest terror of the realm lies in the Mireguts—colossal, sentient fungal entities that roam beneath the land, sometimes surfacing like living dungeons. These organic titans digest towns whole, trapping memories, people, and structures in recursive, half-living simulations. Monsters, lost treasures, and psychic decay linger within, and sometimes… so do those who once escaped. To survive in Sporion is to balance growth with forgetting, community with control, and reverence with resistance. In Sporion, identity is never fixed, and the greatest threat is not being consumed… but becoming what consumed you.