Halomir
Halomir, the high realm of the Court of Wind and Stars, exists not on land, but across the skies—a vast, drifting archipelago of floating isles and wind-carved citadels suspended within a twilight firmament that never brightens nor fully dims. The realm hangs in a breathless height above The Feywild proper, anchored to no soil or sea, where the horizon curves with stars and the air is laced with the music of movement—whispering winds, sighing gales, and the faint shimmer of starlight cascading like falling snow. Halomir is a realm of elegance and distance, a place where everything seems on the verge of fading into memory.
Each isle within Halomir is distinct, shaped by wind and magic. Some are jagged shards of pale stone with sheer cliffs plunging into star-speckled voids, while others are smooth as sculpted marble, crowned by crystalline towers or flowering with luminous flora that bloom only beneath moonlight. A constant breeze plays across the realm, never harsh but always present, stirring the silver grasses, windvane lilies, and whisperleaf trees that grow along the edges of the isles. These plants have adapted to the height—rooted in floating earth, their roots sometimes extending out through the bottom of a piece of land.
Suspended bridges of woven air and magic thread between the islands, visible only in moonlight or when disturbed by passing travelers. Fey of Halomir glide along these pathways with grace, often borne aloft by silken wings, enchanted currents, or cloak-riding zephyrs. The greatest of the islands is Caeloras, where the Starborn Lady holds court in the Palace of Quiet Flame—a gleaming spire of moonstone and glass, with a great dome open to the night sky. Beneath its translucent floor, constellations drift slowly, mimicking the heavens above in an endless mirrored dance.
Elsewhere in Halomir, one may find the Halls of Echoing Thought, where the walls themselves whisper secrets long past, and the Windlisten Glade, a silver-ringed clearing where the upper air currents grow cold, coating the grass with a light frost that crunches under one's step. There is also the Chamber of the Final Silence, a sanctuary high above the rest of the realm, where mortals and fey alike may speak their last truths and have them carried on the winds forever, unreachable and unalterable.
Halomir does not suffer intrusion easily. Mortal guests may find themselves beset by vertigo, their thoughts slowed by thin air or scattered by dissonant breezes. Only those who have been marked by the stars—or granted passage by the court—can find footing in Halomir without risk of vanishing into the sky’s embrace. It is said that if you fall from Halomir, you do not die, but instead dream forever in the spaces between stars, becoming part of the realm’s memory.
The realm is not cruel, but it is distant. Halomir watches all below but rarely acts—its fey are observers, archivists of starlight, keepers of secrets spoken on winds. To walk its cloud-kissed paths is to feel both awe and insignificance, as though one’s soul has been rendered into vapor and reflection. In Halomir, nothing is loud. Every joy is quiet. Every sorrow is subtle. And every truth is whispered into wind.
Geography
The geography of Halomir is defined not by land or sea, but by sky, current, and constellated ether. It is a realm of suspended isles, floating adrift within an endless twilight void where neither day nor true night holds dominion. These isles vary in size and form—some no larger than a garden, others vast enough to house palaces, forests, and amphitheaters open to the stars. They drift slowly, each tethered by ancient spells to the gravity of the realm’s Celestial Loom, a radiant auroral band that arcs through the upper sky, pulsing softly with magical rhythm. Movement between these isles is guided by aeroglyphs—invisible ley-winds that shift based on stellar alignments and courtly decree.
The isles themselves are sculpted by elemental wind and starborn magic. Their edges often appear to erode into mist or light, blending into the air rather than ending in stone. Crystalline formations—some naturally grown, others refined by fey artistry—dot the surfaces of many isles, collecting dew spun from moonlight and echoing with harmonic resonance when touched by breeze. The rock beneath these isles is pale, veined with faintly glowing minerals that shimmer like starlight frozen into stone. There are no oceans here, but cloudseas drift beneath the isles, roiling in slow, contemplative motions, their depths said to hide forgotten dreams and the bones of dying stars.
Wind is the lifeblood of Halomir’s geography. Whispering drafts thread through every isle, carving valleys, shaping floating dunes of star-dust, and singing through wind-sculpted arches. Some isles even hover within permanent vortexes of breeze—great gyres called Skywells, where the air circles in wide, slow spirals and the boundaries between realms grow thin. Here, strange phenomena occur: time flows differently, stars shimmer with memories instead of light, and voices spoken on one isle may echo softly across another.
There are no rivers or lakes in Halomir, but pockets of condensed mist—called aetherpools—collect in mirrored basins, reflecting not the sky above, but unseen places or future moments. Forests of silverleaf trees and glimmer-vines root not in soil but in polished stone, nourished by the essence of wind and celestial energy. In quieter corners of the realm, gravity gardens spiral around slowly spinning cores, their terrain curving inward, creating rings of breathable air and luminous flora clinging to the inner shell of the isle.
The realm is vast but sparse, its beauty understated and suffused with emptiness. Distance stretches strangely here; one can see a distant isle for days before ever reaching it, only to arrive and find it smaller—or far larger—than it appeared. Maps are unreliable, and the land yields only to those who listen to the rhythm of the stars and the voice of the wind. To understand the geography of Halomir is not to walk it, but to drift, to dream, and to trust that the sky itself remembers where you were meant to go.
Climate
The climate of Halomir is crisp, thin, and ever-shifting—an eternal twilight breeze that stirs the soul more than the skin. The air is cool but never biting, scented faintly of ozone, stardust, and lilac carried on high winds. There is no sun, no moon in a traditional sense, but a constant astral glow suffuses the skies—waxing and waning with the moods of the court. Winds are omnipresent, ranging from soft, whispering drafts that tug gently at one’s cloak to sweeping gales that stir clouds of luminous pollen or sweep entire isles into new positions. Rain is rare, but starlight sometimes condenses in fine, glittering dew that clings to skin and hair like celestial frost. Thunder does not exist here, but strange harmonic pulses resonate in the air at times, as though the realm itself were breathing in rhythm with the stars.
Type
Territory
Location under
Owner/Ruler
Owning Organization