Of all the elvenkind drawn into the War of the Wyrmkin, it was the Njordir who entered last—but bled longest.
For centuries, the Earth Kingdom had upheld its ancient creed: to remain the spine upon which the world could rest. While the Vanir and Solir pursued Rift Magic mastery and arcane ascendance, the Njordir kept their strongholds sealed and their oaths unbroken. Yet even stone is worn by wind and scorched by sun. As Riftfire experimentation grew rampant, and Vanir fleets stirred storms above the continent, the Exarchs of the Earth convened with Avatar Umber to deliberate their course. What they uncovered—through seismic divinations and root-sung rituals—was far darker than rivalry.
Malekith, cloaked in the guise of a wandering geomancer, had already sown unrest among several outer enclaves, whispering that the Solir sought to mine the sacred crystal beds within Grimhold, and that the Vanir plotted to awaken what lay buried in the Underhollow. Worse, traces of corrupted Infinity Shards were discovered within Njordir borderlands—evidence that the fabric of the realm itself was beginning to warp.
Bound by duty to preserve balance, Umber, alongside the Exarchs, led the Njordir to war—not for conquest, but for containment.
The battles that followed were brutal. The Njordir advanced like tectonic forces—slow, unstoppable, and without retreat. Their armies did not march in columns, but in caverns, tunnels, and subterranean paths unseen by the Solir or Vanir armies. They descended from Spine of the World to strike the Solir vanguard in the forests of Itela, their roots unraveling sacred groves. They clashed with Vanir Riftguard upon the basalt cliffs of the eastern marches, where spellfire met stone.
Their fiercest stand came upon the Spine of the World, where all three elven kindreds met in the Vale at Spine's End. For one hundred days, the mountains howled. The skies burned crimson with molten ash, and the valleys split asunder with each collision of Earth-Rifting, Sun-Rifting, and Ether-Rifting. Njordir Exarchs called down avalanches and broke entire peaks to halt the Vanir advance—only to be answered with Ether storms and solar tempests that left scars which could be seen from the stars.
Yet in the end, no side stood victorious.
The Second Continuum Crisis, unleashed by the Cult of Infinitum, sundered the Sanctum beneath Tolria. The worlds roots were torn asunder. Rift fissures bled void into the Prime Plane. And entire Njordir cities collapsed into the abyss—lost forever to the madness which yawned open.
Shamed by the loss and grieved by the role they played, the Njordir withdrew from the surface wars. They sealed many of their fortresses, retreating into silence. To them, the war was not merely a tragedy, but a violation of their sacred oath to preserve the balance between the realms.
Today, the war is remembered in the Earth Kingdom as “The Weeping World”, and among their stone-wrought halls, few speak of it aloud. Yet its echoes remain etched in every fractured peak of the Spine, and in the silent stare of The Earthen Eternal, which weeps stone tears toward the realm it once guarded.
The Njordir entered the war to restore balance. What they found was the true weight of the world—and the price of blood spattered upon stone.