Duskreach is the name given to the long, salt-bitten peninsula that juts into the cold western waters of Iridia like a hand that once beckoned and then thought better of it. Its shores are stone and shale, not sand, and its cliffs bear the grooved marks of centuries of wind—not erosion, but inscription. The locals say the wind here is old enough to remember names that even the gods forgot.

Once, long ago—though no calendar agrees on when—the elves who would become the Shadelves turned west. Some say it was exile, others retreat. But the Shadelves themselves tell no such tale. Ask one of them and you will receive no legend, only a silence so calm it becomes its own answer.

They call themselves Velassai, though that name is rarely spoken beyond Duskreach. In the City of Or and elsewhere, they are the Shadelves—a name coined not in derision, but in awe. Shade, in this context, does not mean darkness. It means shelter. It means what is left behind when the flame has passed.

The people of Duskreach are renowned for their resonance-craft—not the blinding magic of towers or battlefields, but the subtle tuning of matter and meaning. A Shadelven artisan can carve a bowl that hums softly when the wind shifts toward danger, or a stave of driftwood that carries the exact sorrow of the tree it once belonged to. They speak to rats and crows, crabs and snakes, not in commands but in companionship. These creatures are not familiars, but neighbours.

Poverty walks hand in hand with grace here. Stone homes are carved into the coast, warmed by algae fires and old magic. The Shadelves neither export their grief nor invite rescue. If they want for anything, it is only solitude, and they have it in abundance.

Yet they are not insular by fear—they are selective by design. In recent Arcs, more and more Shadelves have ventured beyond Duskreach: healers, smiths, weavers, and diplomats. In Or, they are respected for their quiet precision and unshakable loyalty. Many Orfolk will tell you: “If a Shadelven shares their bread, you’ll never need ask again.”

Still, Duskreach itself remains sealed. Not magically, but socially. Pilgrims sometimes arrive uninvited, seeking mysticism or quietude. Most are politely refused at the ferry. Some are accepted and return changed—but never quite able to say why.

It is said there is a bell in the heart of Duskreach that has not rung in over a thousand years. No one remembers what it once signalled. But every Shadelven child is taught how to listen for its echo, should it ever come again.