Thirteen Realms

This is a cosmos built from four irreducible truths — existence, non-existence, beginning, and ending — and the thirteen known configurations those truths have taken. Each configuration is a Realm: not merely a place, but a way of being, with its own logic, its own axis of vastness, its own reason the universe works the way it does there. Faith is the currency of Celestia. Agreement reshapes reality in Arcadia. The Iron Nexus extends through depth of information rather than through space. Hell does not punish — it proves. What you call magic, the inhabitants call the way things are. There is no difference.

At the center of it all — or rather, at the intersection of all of it — is a tavern. It grew from a campfire built by a young changeling who had no place of his own, and its rules have never changed: you're welcome to rest and eat; just tell me a tale. Gods and demons share the bar. Mortals ask questions of beings older than their species. The floors are Bodhi wood. The walls remember everything, recorded in Nexus brass that holds every word spoken under that roof. The cosmos is immense, genuinely alien in places, and capable of beauty and horror that exist without canceling each other out. But the campfire is warm. Come in. Tell a story.