The human town of Kellack Wheal sits in the west of Gildraen, on the edge of the Vel, a wide, deep river that slides past it like a great, slow breath. Downhill from the town, the river swells even wider, then begins to fracture into long fingers — threading their way into the fens like roots into soft earth. By the time it meets the sea, it’s no longer a single river at all, but a drift of silver strands, their flow divided by reeds, pools, and moss-covered ground. Some say the river never ends, only forgets where it began.
Kellack’s buildings are built from pale, grey-laced stone, quarried from the low hills beyond town. It lends the square a quiet gleam in the rain and a soft radiance in the sun. The stone is cool underfoot, worn smooth in places by generations of boots, market carts, and the clatter of tools.
The square itself is broad, open, and edged with old shopfronts and workrooms. At its heart stands a great elm tree — tall, symmetrical, and older than any ledger can prove. Each spring, its new leaves arrive just in time for the Maydance, when the townsfolk wind ribbons around its base, stamping in rhythm on the stone and weaving colour through its shade.
It’s a town of metalworkers, and always has been. Not grand crafters of showpieces, but makers of hinges that never seize, buckles that never slip, tools that stay true through heat and age. Kellack Wheal iron has a reputation: quietly excellent. If something glints on a merchant’s cart and came from Kellack Wheal, the buyer knows it won’t fail.
Fish crowd the market stalls too — river-fresh and looped in pairs, packed in moss and salt, their smell rising over the tang of forge and coal. There’s trade in cloth, stone, flour, dyes and dyesets. Traders from up and down the river pass through, and boats stop long enough to load up before drifting off again. It isn’t rich, but it is steady. There’s always something to do, someone to sell to, someone to listen to.
The people of Kellack Wheal are known to be plain-spoken and work-hardened, less given to flourish than to function. Their humour is dry. Their goods are built to last.