The Wallows

Once a bountiful woodland teeming with life, The Wallows now withers beneath the relentless greed of The Ebony Compact. What was once a vast expanse of towering trees and thriving wildlife is now a land of scarred earth, splintered stumps, and the lingering scent of smoke and decay. The Compact’s forces strip the forest day by day, their axes and saws carving deep into what little remains, their hunters leaving nothing but silence in their wake. The once-rich canopy has thinned, letting in an unnatural, pale light that exposes the land’s slow death. The rivers and streams, once clear, now run dark with silt and rot, choked by the destruction that creeps ever deeper. Animals that once thrived here are now rare or gone, their numbers devastated by overhunting, their cries silenced beneath the march of industry.
What remains of The Wallows is fading fast. Ghostly trees stand where the forest still clings to life, but even they are marked for death. The deeper one travels, the more it becomes clear—this is not a forest being harvested, but a land being consumed. Soon, only barren fields and forgotten roots will remain where a thriving woodland once stood.