Fabled Mirelands
"Even I won't go out there. It's too dangerous for a group of Syrs, let alone an individual noble. I understand you want to go, I swear - but the risk is too great. I'm dearly sorry, Dear Embla,"Bordering two of the most distinct regions of all of Aitso, a confluence of different divine beings can be found within the Fabled Mirelands. Psyche, the Divine Being of Graceswift, it's endearing personification of delicacy and beauty, met with The Myriad, the Destined Doom of Lydgartha. As polar opposites to the concept of divinity and fantasy, the space between their regions is known for harbouring a mixture of decaying life and dreamlike wonder. Neither region is known for holding value to this region. It is considered the home of nomads and exiles from both regions, who live there without the desire to leave - thanks to fear, or simple madness. Whilst Lydgartha's aspects can be found within the Mirelands, Graceswift has seen the largest impact upon this area in terms of culture, biodiversity, and divinity.
- Clara the Brave, to Princess Embla Grace
The Fabled Mirelands stretches along the Colmar swamps, which can be seen in both a natural and artificial sense. The mud and water of the Mireland is much denser, and holds a darker, rough texture to the dead surface. Colmar, the former Magocracy, had established a coven of Spiritswords to guard the border between the Mirelands and Colmar. They remained vigilaint in their efforts, and had only left Aitso for their respective afterlives once most of Colmar had sunk into the bog. Any hags or exiles from the Mirelands that attempted to enter Graceswift were cut down. Some little-known fables and mythos of the Mirelands suggests that the only reason that the sludge that inhibits the area has not entered Colmar is thanks to the Spiritswords' efforts, by divinity - or by the piles of bodies left in their surveillance of the land.
The Mirelands have plenty of stories. The bordering villages in Lydgartha talk of a close paradise, one which those brave or stupid enough try to venture to, whereas those that survive in Colmar and Greater Graceswift talk of a faraway land of dreaded fear. They believe that all of the monsters that lurk under their beds, and at the bottom of their wells, or even in their closets, come from this dark land. In childhood stories and poems, it's common for a foe or enemy to be banished here as a resolution to a plot. It is considered the 'Place of Evil' to those that live close enough to the area.
The main inhabitants of this land are exiles and criminals. Those deemed too aspirational and heroic are abandoned here by Lydgartha, whereas those who are destined to be evil under prophetization, or those that failed to meet to the prophecies that involve themselves. Because of this, there is a large focus of magic involving The Fates within the mire. Due to this, those that choose to adhere to the laws of Fate Magic, especially when considering those that belong to a prophecy, choose to bring chaos and destruction to those trying to live within the Mirelands. The Laws of Nature in this region are influenced by Lydgartha. Natural disasters are prone to happen in this area, which has many exiles from the area struggle to survive. Psyche, in her benevolent divine intervention, has caused for Graceswift to remain an area that is not affected by natural disasters. On a natural scale, there have been no earthquakes, floods, or meteors within any region of Graceswift. Seen as commonplace across Aitso, these natural disasters are much more likely to occur within the bogs of the Fabled Mirelands. Those sent here see the occurrences as punishment, and those who have devolved into a deep enough madness often welcome them with open arms.
The other common residents of the Mirelands are common monsters. Most of these are ones that were wandering along the swampy outlands of Lydgartha, only to send up stuck in the Mirelands. Those mindless ones linger in the glades, waiting for any unwitting survivor to pass by them. Once stuck, many of these monsters - typically Zombies and other undead - would grasp onto the ankles of those that tread above them in the sludge, before pulling them into the liquid, drowning them, followed by feasting upon their corpses. Certain revenants that have vendettas against large groups of people often willingly come to this area, as a part of their undying revenge. They choose to drown their victims, much like zombies, but often leave them alone to rot away after death. A Bogtreader Catoblepas can be considered a rare sight within this area - however, they do appear on rare occassions, to scour for food. There are also variations on traditional animals found within Graceswift culture, manipulated by dark forces found in Lydgartha.
The Mirelands stretches on for miles, but is considered rather thin. The wall of Spiritswords stretches along the entire border, ready to vanquish any foe. Some makeshift homes have been built using hollowed logs and abandoned forts, but most of them are destroyed by Revenants that actively prowl at night.
Day 17
Been travelling for nearly a month now. The outer world seems so alien compared to my home. There's many people - many things - out there, trying to hurt me. Although, nothing can compare to where I find myself now. I heard the folks from the last Trading Post call this place the 'Fabled Mirelands'. They told me not to go any closer, that people who went off too far didn't come back. I wish I didn't laugh in their faces, if I had just listened, I could've ventured down a less dreadful path.
Each step has felt as if there's been something beneath me, trying to bring me down into the mud with them. Not too long ago, I could swear that I saw a field of the dead, decaying claws reaching out of the mire, twitching with the breeze. I don't think they are alive, or dead. Something much, much worse. I refuse to go along that path, it seems to be a dire omen for what could lie even further down that way.
That bring me to here, where I have found brief solitude and comfort. Just before the horizon I see a wall of light. A brief outline of soldiers, too. They haven't moved in the hours that I have spent resting here.
I fear that I will die here. I don't want my story to end here, of all blasted places. Please, somebody, find me.
Unknown Traveler's Log, Last Excerpt.Author, Deceased.
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