In Tavindia, the sea doesn't merely kiss the land—it stamps it with salt and sass, leaving behind traces of wild gorse and honeysuckle that tangle together like old friends sharing secrets. The kingdom sprawls across its windswept cliffs and bracken-covered hills with a careless sort of grace, as though it couldn't quite decide where to end and simply kept growing. Hedge-lined paths meander through fields that seem to hum with life, their nettles and foxgloves leaning conspiratorially toward travelers, as if ready to divulge the latest gossip of the countryside.

At the heart of the coast stands Birchport-by-Penvery, a town whose very timbers seem to groan with fishy tales and barnacle-covered history. Here, the docks are alive with the squabbling of gulls, the creak of weathered boats, and the muttered curses of sailors wrestling with nets that seem to grow heavier by sheer obstinacy. The air is rich with the smell of salted mackerel, chamomile ale, and a peculiar aroma that locals call “dock-foam musk” but which outsiders often describe as “questionable at best.”

High above, the alabaster turrets of Castle Alujenia loom like a disapproving relative, watching over the kingdom with a sternness befitting its newest occupant. King Hedrok Rescorla, 5th Duke of Alujenia, presides over Tavindia with a shrewd eye and an ever-so-slight smirk, the kind that suggests he's just outmaneuvered everyone in the room and might not mind telling you so. It’s whispered in taverns (where whispers tend to echo rather loudly) that Hedrok’s rise to the throne involved more than a few raised eyebrows and clenched fists. But who could argue with results? Certainly not his loyal Constable Arthek Pengelly, who has an uncanny ability to appear wherever he's least expected, his sharp eyes always gleaming with unspoken warnings.

As for King Hedrok’s niece Elentra, locked away in her tower, and young Tewdric, vanished without a trace, well—those are stories for another time. Tavindia, after all, is nothing if not patient.