The Ashweald (The Ash-Vold)
Geography
The Ashweald is a vast expanse of roiling swamp and deep mire that covers much of the eastern coast of Amilyn. Countless islands float untethered through its brackish water, and the stench of death hangs heavy over the air. Steep cliffs seperate its long coastline from the ocean's edge, and thick forests of emaciated trees block all but the faintest strands of light from reaching the deep moss and fungi-strewn floor. There is little to see here but the occasional shanty town, the moving deltas that leave most who enter hopelessly lost, and maps meaningless but days after they are drawn.
Of note is The Cinderwood, the great forest of Black Yew and spiteful tree-spirit that runs through the north of the swamp. It is said that once it covered the entirety of The Ashweald, but suffered dire consequences when it spited The Maw, who in retribution for their ashen words, flooded the land for five years without relent. When finally the waters retreated, much of the forest had perished, their embers extinguished, and the surrounding lands had become drowned and decayed.
Ecosystem
The swamps of Myr'malfi are an unpleasant place at the best of times. Deeply humid and filled with decaying matter, insects thrive amidst its shadows as vicious predators lurk amongst the islands, waiting to strike at unwary prey. It is a land of death with each corpse added only further befouling the wastes and water of this cruel realm. Worse still than the depraved beasts are those who deaths were but the first step on their journey.
After the destruction of The Crowlands, the vampiric creations and practitioners of necromancy fled to the wastes of The Ashweald. Here they raised countless corpses, both sentient and bestial, to serve their desires. As time passed, the binders came and went, but their creations lingered on, filling the ways and passages with lifeless moans and cannibalistic creatures fuelled on by the dim embers of their tortured souls. Even worse, the entropic arts of these bleak magi called Cryptics of undeath and eternity to its shores, fuelling and sustaining the black arts of Anima even beyond the passing of its servants. What remains then is a hopeless war, between life and unlife, for as the former falls so too does the latter grow, tainting the swamps further with sickness and death.
Ecosystem Cycles
It would be hard to decide which is worse; The Ashweald during the long summer years, or the deep mire as The Great Veil runs rampant through the night sky. During the former, The Ashweald is a sickly place of slow decay and murder. The rivers run thick with corpses yet animated, and the trees feed quietly upon the carrion remnants that wash up on the islands. The Corpse Crews and Rag-Pirates sail freely in search of plunder and food, and all the while the deep heat bakes and cooks the flesh and bitter water.
During the winter, however, The Ashweald becomes a battlefield between madness and rot. The undead have no love of The Riot, meeting their anarchy with eternity. Spirits of stasis clash in conflict with The Harlequin's Court, the rules that bind the unlife become mercurial and restless, and deep creatures of haunted Anima awaken from the sounds of calamity and abandon. Though one might find safe haven from the ruin and strife in these lands, there is little more terrible than the Corpse Lords without restraint.
Localized Phenomena
The Ashweald, with its long history of black magic and Cryptic interference, is a strange place for most travellers. Many of the Road-Laws do not apply upon its riverways, and those tricks used to survive the wilds prove ineffective within its pallid depths.
One of the most egregious examples of this is the lack of permenancy. Land and firm ground is a temporary concept within the swamp, for the islands that roam the waters appear and disappear with easy grace, diving beneath the waters without warning just as quick as they suddenly emerge. Natives often describe such events as, 'Returning to the Grave', or more simply as, 'Crypting'. Legend has it that The Gravedigger, the spirit who puts the tired undead to rest, orders such events to occur. There is a finite amount of land in The Ashweald after all, and when the island grows full of their corpse-weight, room must be made once again. It is also possible that sheer mass of death kept within its soil upsets the balance, and forces the earth beneath the water.
Ghoul Flame is another phenomena that must be avoided with care. During times of great heat, or just exceptional death, the flames of The Cinderwood can ignite the very air. Usually contained over small areas, rarely can they erupt into true infernos that cover the entire Ashweald in smoke and pyre. The undead take to the water during these times, but those incapable of surviving the sickly water find themselves battling against scorching temperatures and burning air.
Lastly there are the Lamp-Lights, also called Cinder Wraiths. These strange and flickering flames appear at night, offering hope of salvation to the lost and exhausted. Should one grow close, however, they will find strange pallid creatures bearing torches of pale smoke, and teeth and claws to rend. Do not follow the Lamp-Lights, for their path leads only to death.
Fauna & Flora
Aside from the countless dead, which are not unique to the dark swamps, The Ashweald is possessed of its own unique species, creatures defined by their vampiric environment, evolutions of the mire and crypt.
- Gorge: Ghouls are disgusting creatures, and within Myr'malfi, those pushed to devour the dead are great in number and ferocity. Occasionally, a ghoul will manage to find its way onto one of the islands, past whatever protections The Gravedigger inscribed, and will find within a veritable feast of corpse-meat and carrion. Knowing no pause, the creature will eat and eat and eat until its own body will collapse under the strain. What rises then is a truly horrific creature, titanic in size and bloated beyond belief. Though ghouls are not themselves undead, this creature most certainly is, and yet its hunger for flesh has not faded but grown larger. Immune now to the many dangers of the swamp, it will continue to eat until finally it is slain, growing in size with each body it finds. Some say that the first of these creatures still lurks within the mire, a creature of such enormity that even the dragons of old would struggle to eclipse its strength.
- Corpse Snake: One of the more common dangers of the swamp, though one more natural than most. In truth, it is no more a snake than a fish is a whale, being instead a breed of crocodile seemingly evolved seperately from those strange creatures of Jainir. To survive in its bleak environment, it has developed a potent stomach acid, useful both for destroying any hostile pathogen found on its food, and for melting the armour and clothing off of fresh prey. Worse still, it possesses a capacity to project this substance, spraying it over those who would challenge them for their claim.
- Lamp-Lighters: These strange creatures lurk within the delta near the northern woods. No one is entirely sure what these creatures are, whether they be natural beings enslaved by The Cinderwood, or Cryptic incarnations of its burning rage. Regardless, they lurk in the mists and smoke, luring unwary travellers to a brutal and final end.
- Grave Rose: This rose is a strange plant possessed of unusual alchemical properties. Found only on the islands that roam the swamp, the petals of this flower can prevent animation when placed upon the tongue of the newly slain, and even end such an affliction should the undead truly wish it. When chewed whole, however, it operates as an intense painkiller, though usually fatal and provided to those who have no recourse for their ailment. Local myth presents this flower as the work of The Gravedigger, for they can only be in so many places at once, and in the deep swamps of the Ashweald, so many cry for their aid.
- Fluit Tree: The fluit tree is an oddity, for it is a tree that sails the countless rivers of the land. Looking like little more than driftwood, it feeds upon the black waters of The Ashweald, retrieving what nutrients it needs from the countless corpses dissolved within the waters. Few uses have been discovered for this material, outside of construction, wherein its abundant nature and lightweight form make it perfect for buildings within the unstable swamp-lands.
Natural Resources
The Ashweald is not a land of plenty. What lumber can be retrieved is often sickly and warped, what ores are buried are buried deep beneath foul creatures and corpse-stench. Food is a prized commodity, usually sourced from outside the waste, for what meat is scavenged and what crops are harvested are frequently diseased and withered. In short, what little this land has is stolen, barren as it stands of all but death and decay.
The two primary exports of the region, excluding smuggled and pirated goods, are tar and peat. In vast quantities are these materials produced, and the use of undead labour allows those who run these operations to do so at an incredibly low cost. The savings that Ashweald Tar produces is often enough to convince even the most moralistic interest to look the other way regarding who it is exactly they are dealing with.
It is also home to a vast array of botanical ingredients. The sheer brutality of the region, the unusual climate and bitter geography, allow The Ashweald to produce an array of plants and fungi found rarely outside of its dank fen. The Brazen Empire, with its alchemical greed, funds many expeditions and businesses that operate within the region, receiving their bounty without too much concern for the cruelty they fuel. The fluit tree is one such oddity, for it is a tree that sails the countless rivers of the land. Looking like little more than driftwood, it gains its name from the reed-like structure it possesses, and the haunting tune left by the wind blowing it through the waters.
History
The history of The Ebb is one of Cryptic strife, lunatic magic and broken souls. Originally but a vast forest known as The Cinderwood, it was home to those spirits of ash and pyre, a glittering realm of sparking flame and playful smoke. When The Tricksy One stole The Maw's heart however, they eventually fled to the Lands of Black Yew. Twice had they already been caught, and twice had they ran but time was running out, and The Storm grew closer each day. The Cinderwood had always enjoyed the company of The Tricksy One however, and had long held rivalry against The Maw for its command of the seas and ocean storm. They allowed them access and hid them amidst the ash and smoke, concealed beneath the boughs of blackened oak, and when The Maw came to their shore, demanding they return the thief, they claimed ignorance of its plight.
The Maw knew better, however, for it is not just the waters that answer its call, but all those that dwell within and above. A lonely gull had spotted The Tricksy One and cried into the wind. The wind carried word to The Tempest, and it arrived in a fury and a rage like none before. When The Cinderwood refused to obey, it brought the full might of the ocean against it. For five years the forest was buried beneath the sea, the trees drowned and their embers dimmed one by one. Finally the forest was forced to terms, for so much of it had been destroyed. They offered The Maw its claim upon The Tricksy One if only it would relent and The Maw agreed. Alas, The Tricksy One had escaped long ago, leaving The Cinderwood to drown as they vanished into myth. The Maw raged at this trickery, The Cinderwood wept at its corpse, now a flooded realm of decay and death, and all that remained was the echoed laughter of The Knight and Knave.
What was left of The Cinderwood struggled on, surrounded now by The Ashweald. As time passed, mortal races filtered into the region, outcasts and criminals, pariahs seeking solace from world unwelcoming of their existence. When The Crowfather was defeated in the lands of Thenia, his creations fled east to the swamps. The Twelve Kindred, the vampiric scions, were amongst their number, and here they settled in the tattered ports that would become home to the Rag-Pirates and Corpse Crews that plague the Ashuran Ocean. Now it is a lawless land, where even Death's dominion is challenged without fear.
Tourism
None enter The Ashweald willingly, fewer still travel with the intent to stay for any length of time. Rather, those who live here have no other place to live, their crimes abhorrent or their nature reviled by the wider world. Even the brigands and pirates of the world would rather throw their lot in elsewhere, than sign up to Corpse Crews, for a contract signed with the River Princes is a contract signed for eternity.
There is a growing interest from academic circles however, for The Ashweald holds many ancient relics and antiquities in a near-perfect embrace. The thick peat preserves what time would destroy, and despite its dangers, the answers buried within Myr'malfi are worth the risk to some.
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