Factions

        Slumberton was not always cloaked in silence. In the earliest days of The Garden’s founding, before the great cities rose and the world was named, the fortress bore a nobler title: Goldenglough.

        Newcomers to The Garden arrived by sea, stepping ashore beneath skies absent of stars. The world was black and unfamiliar, and yet — high upon the wooded slopes — flickering lanterns danced.  These lights, bobbing between trees, led weary pilgrims to the only sign of welcome: a mountain bastion, solid beneath their feet, where warmth and rest awaited.

        Goldenglough became a haven — a first hearth, a promise of safety, and a symbol of endurance.

         But as the tide of humanity swelled, and The Garden blossomed into towns and outposts, the once-crucial stronghold was slowly bled of its people. Families fled for fertile plains and brighter futures. Goldenglough, long silent, gathered dust. Its fires went out.

        The people came to call it Slumberton — not with scorn, but in resignation, as if the fortress itself had lain down to sleep.

        Yet one man could not forget. Superbia, once king of The Garden and soul-bound to Pride, had walked those halls in his youth. When his ambition forged a new capital from soil and stone — a city swift-growing and central, its veins thick with trade and its roots deep in fertile earth — he gave it the name Goldenglough, honoring the fortress that had sheltered The Garden’s first dreamers.

        After his death, that city gleamed still, and with men now plentiful, the crown turned its gaze once more to the mountain.

        At the command of King Humilitas, the loyal Industria, Lady of Iron Will, was tasked with rekindling the fires of Slumberton. A knight of rare perseverance, she had stood beside Superbia through siege and famine, and served now with equal vigor beneath The Avid Stargazer.

        With banner raised high and duty heavy on her shoulders, Industria led a host eastward — not of warriors, but of settlers and soldiers, men and women pulled from the ease of the capital. Few went willingly. They muttered of exile, not honor. Their hearts remained in Goldenglough-the-New, while their bodies trudged toward the stone corpse of the old.

        Yet under Industria’s tireless hand, Slumberton stirred. Roofs were mended. Gates creaked open. The watch fires burned once more. But a sleeping city is not easily roused.

        The fortress remained isolated, its docks unsteady, its trails unkept. The sea was no longer friendly, and traders, fearing shipwreck or worse, turned instead to the well-guarded shores of Meritide Bay.

        With no reliable supply line to the capital and spirits dwindling, Industria faced an unwelcome truth: one woman, no matter how steadfast, could not bear the mountain alone.

        So she turned to her squire, Acedia, a curious youth of noble blood but little urgency. Chosen more for potential than promise, Acedia now bears the mantle of Slumberton’s steward while his mistress rides abroad, seeking support among the outlying towns.

        Though Industria remains loyal to King Humilitas and the vision of The Burning Lily, the fortress teeters. One soul labors endlessly. The other stirs only when prodded. Between them lies a kingdom’s legacy — and the question of whether Slumberton shall rise… or return to sleep.