Westfell Dell

Westfell Dell is a charming hamlet located in the forested Earldom of Westfell. A bucolic province in the western border-reaches of the Principality of Ruritania. The Ruritanian Highlands cover a vast swath of the prosperous and idyllic Kingdom of Westphalia.

On the edge of '''The Tulgeywood''', the primeval forest domain redolent with ancient magic from the Age of Legends. The delightful village, with its pastoral Velvet Green pastures to the north, the verdant expanse of the storied Tulgeywood to the south, and the high peaks of Alpine mountains to the east lies perfectly situated to provide all of very best of Westphalian natural splendor.

The people of the dell are, to the last, a good and honorable folk. True hearted in their reverence for the spirits. Honest in their dealings. Decent and conscientious in their treatment of others. They live each day with strong values of civility, duty to home and kingdom, and a simple sense of the value of life and shared labor.

Clever children help out in the homesteads of bright, kindly, lovely mothers and wise, doting, industrious fathers. Houses filled with love and family cheer ring with songs and laughter and fireside tales and the delighted cries of frolicking children. Capering pets gambol in the quaint and charming yards of ivy covered cottages with moss covered low stone walls around their backyard gardens and bloom-filled bowers. Pink piglets roam in the unpaved byways with strutting chickens and waddling lines of mother mallards and their fuzzy ducklings.

In the few cobbles streets at the village heart, gaily caparisoned horses with ribbons in their braided manes pull farm carts and the occasional brightly enameled two-seated carriage with smiling youths stealing kisses and wooing as they court under the watchful eyes of matronly aunts and grandames observing from the lane-side.

On the Avenue of Flowers braided alpine lasses make eyes at handsome soldiers passing time outside the Pub. Schoolmasters march lines of unruly lads from academy to shrine. Whimpled nuns stroll with young girls hand in hand like Madeleine from finishing school to street café. While calling songbirds fill the bloom perfumed air with charming song.

Outside of the outer lanes of the village, rolling fields, mowed by the grazing of sheep and softly lowing Holsteins gently wind down to the riverbank where reeds and rushes rustle with slow swimming turtles and bright carp. Above the shores the rainbow crested kingfisher birds soar and dip suddenly diving for fingerlings, as stately swans glide through untroubled waters beneath arched flagstone bridges.

Across the river toadstool rings circle ancient lichen-frosted menhirs and the towering dolmens of the first men amid acres of wildflowers like lakes of wild color. Rose vines cover ancient crumbling walls from forgotten empires of ancient history. The rabbits and foxes leap and spring amid the waving petals as lazy bumblebees and dancing butterflies alight. Along the winding cart path to Lesser Oxenhall old cobs drive haycarts to market and vigilant stags in the distance warily raise their antlered crowns to watch all that passes. Their does and wobbly kneed fawns nibbling at the shoots of grass at the forests edge.

Away in the distance the majestic mountains, haunted by the mighty, stalwart Dwarves rise into the heavens. The great towering Pine, Spruce Beech and Oaks of the Tulgeywood shelter a twilit demesne of the spirits that has kept the Old Ways unchanging since the dawn age before the time of man. The domain of the Erl King, the Urskumung, and ancient Royal spirits of the Boar, Stag, Wolf and Bear roam in their majesty in savage glory. Their passage hallowing the leaf-carpeted halls beneath the antediluvian bowers.