Long before the banners of KOORL were raised, the winds of destiny whispered through the dust and song of many Faires. The tale begins in the years between 2000 and 2004, when a young wanderer, barely grown into her years, walked among the painted tents and wooden stages of the Labour of Love troupe.

At fourteen, she became a vendor of enchantments: inks that glimmered on skin, temporary tattoos that bound strangers into fleeting magic. Her stall was laughter, mischief, and the clinking of coins. She and her troupe, ankle-baring jesters of fortune, played a game of teasing the crowd—“If no business comes, I must sell my dearest friend!” she would cry, to the delight of passersby. And though she worked long days beneath the sun, she never stayed the nights. She was still of two worlds: the mundane one that pulled her home, and the enchanted one that called to her heart.

But the path did not end there. It bent forward through time, to 2015, when storms gathered over the land of Pirate Fest. That night, rain poured and hail struck like pearls from the sky, and though many cursed the weather, she felt the storm awaken something in her blood. Amidst lightning and laughter, she knew she had stepped back into a world that was not merely play-acting, but living magic.

The years between were seeds in the soil. Each Faire, each storm, each ankle flashed for a coin, each friend made in laughter and theater—all became threads of a greater weaving.

And so, when she and her chosen companions finally sought refuge and belonging, the veil parted to reveal a kingdom not marked on any map: KOORL, The Kingdom of Our RenLand.

It was said that KOORL lies between the cracks of time at Faire—born from the moments when revelers laugh too loudly, when fire dancers breathe sparks into the night, when rain soaks the canvas of tents yet the music never falters. It is a land stitched together by those who never quite belonged in the mundane, but who always belonged to each other.

The wanderer stepped into KOORL and found herself reflected in its rivers, its songs, its feasting halls. Here she was not just vendor, not just player, not just storm-drenched soul—she was kin. Her troupe, her beloveds, her found family—each one carried a piece of the Kingdom’s crown.

And so it was declared:

KOORL is not a place you stumble upon—it is a place you become.

It is born when kindred souls share laughter despite the rain,

when coin is tossed for a wink or a trick,

when storm and stage alike prove that magic endures.

This is how the Kingdom of Our RenLand was found—not by compass, but by chosen hearts.

Written By: Tynk R. Belle