Background information of Darthoriadan, the Old Capital of Asgard.
Once the seat of the Highest Lords and Ladies, the city fell into disuse after a major Troll invasion, millenia ago. The city has been rebuild over the last few centuries, but has lost much of it´s former glory. Haunted by bitter memories, the bittered Fae that house here are not to favourable on unwelcome visitors.
A wide, swollen river - the Deryth - flows endlessly to the Terrendil. Most travellers cross this river to reach Darthoriadan. Behind this river, lies the plains of the Uplands. Those who lose themselves in the Uplands face one of two possible fates: The lucky ones will stumble blindly, and fall prey to the many illusive dangers these lands hold.. The unlucky ones find themselves wandering in the deep forests.
Bathed in their never-ending golden half-light, the forests are enchanting, but also treacherous. The atmosphere there is intoxicating. Those who breathe it for too long forget the reason they ever came, like the lost warriors on long-forgotten quests, who would give up life if only life would give up them. The spirits and magical beings that reside there often see these hapless visitors as no more than amusing playthings. Those rare few who manage to escape their attention of the find themselves changed forever, the memory of the forest unable to fade away, haunting them in their sleep.
And yet, there are those of strong will that venture these lands, for it hides an amazing source of both knowledge and power. At the end of the maze of trees, hidden from those who have not the insight to find it, stands the majestic city of Darthoriadan. Twisted crystal spires and towers of white and silver nacre writhe and burst from the fortress' core, these exist for only a heartbeat, then shimmer and disappear, to be replaced by new and even more maddening architecture. Gates, windows and beckoning doorways yawn open like welcoming entrances before shutting moments later, barring all access.
The nature of Fae and Fearykind is encapsulated within the city of Darthoriadan. Physical space and time have little meaning here. One might wander for weeks inside a chamber no larger than a thimble, or traverse leagues within a single step. Gravity is known to shifts and change, or disappears altogether to mock an unwelcome intruder. Light of every colour of the spectrum, and even shades unknown to humankind, spring forth from the decorated walls. Heavenly choirs sing soothing lullabies and pleasant smells dull the mind. The warmth like that of a summer sun calms the soul and the gentle whispering of many trees and neatly cultivated plants stills the heart. However, to rest for too long is to fall into a deep slumber, from which the traveler will likely find himself waking up in one of the slave-rooms of the city!
For mere humans, the ever-changing citadel seems almost impenetrable. So locked in their physical ways, men are driven insane, while their bodies undergo the changing effects of the Fae and Faery magicks. Even Elves and Nymphs cannot easily endure the twisted surroundings, and only those with Faery blood or strong will can safely navigate the corridors. These, the ones with the blessing of the Faery or a brave heart, can thread the secret paths that lead to the inner sanctum of the city: the Hidden Library where the unearthly Fae lords and ladies of Darthoriadan reside and concoct their plots.
The Hidden Library itself contains every known scrap of knowledge about the spiritual realm. All Magical and Incorporeal creature encountered are documented, each and every known spell written down. The books, parchments and scrolls are bound with chains of magical fire; row upon row, shelf upon shelf of knowledge stretching into the recesses of the magical lair.
Trapped within the shifting labyrinth of the city, countless bound spirits and changelings creep and crawl on the inside of the library. Most are children stolen by the Fae and raised in their ways; others were once brave men, lured into the deep forests. Now they tend to the books as a slaved gardener might tend to a sprawling mess of weeds and thorns. The grimoires chatter to their keepers, using their voices to trap the slaves in webs of despair and false hope, stealing away bits of their life-force, absorbing it into the library.
Stuck within their own ineffable thoughts and schemes, the Lords and Ladies of Darthoriadan have no goal or aim than the safeguarding and expansion of their magical knowledge. Though the laws of Asgard dictate they fall under Daeraldian authority, they keep themselves secluded from most worldly affairs. Only when they see benefits or danger, they bow their heads to kings and queens of Asgard. It is at those times that they allow foreign messengers or diplomats to enter their jealously-guarded domain, hoping to acquire magical artifacts or valuable knowledge for scraps of wisdom or support.