Greengrave

Greengrave or the dead man’s garden is a vast yet lush place, a veritable garden of the dead. Decomposition waits in greengrave, the forms of the dead shuffle on the horizon, shadows of former lives continue onward, until the very souls of these dead men decay, as all does in greengrave. As most things do, decay is slow and often imperceptible. Until it is. The capital in all its glory sprawls in this “blessed” land its church bells ringing day and night to direct the people to their tasks, lest the stale air make possible the thought that their lives are already ended. In the plains, the wind, gentle as it is, whistles through the graves, and many a song would be composed of the land of graves did not inspire such dreary sorrow. Ever before a storm greengrave is, never to arrive. In a sense, greengrave is nature’s palace. Unchanging, and ever attended to by things which are eternal. Like tradition, it continues on, as an idea whether or not the people remain. The borders of greengrave are clear as day, a line dividing the “natural” order from the “unnatural” order. The grass shortens, or dies, and the wind picks up. And the clouds which shrouded the day seem to end. As one exits this land. And one considers if those who stay, knowing of the sunshine, are already dead.

Geography

Greengrave’s geography recalls a graveyard. With hills separating roads like rows of graves. In a similar way. Greengrave is a place of transit, even if the dead do not transit to the afterlife. Amongst the hills and tall grass, various things stalk the wilds, both living and dead, adding many a foolhardy traveler to the legions of the dead. The forests are no better, they creak with a seeming moaning, and amongst the branches many things unknown to man nest, waiting for new trees to join the wood. Everything around says but one thing. Momento mori. Thus emerges another epithet of this land , the realm of remembrance. For beyond rotguard’s control, all the living remember death.

Ecosystem

Life is longer in greengrave. For humans, such extension can come to 50 to 100 years. Greengrave abhors a quick death. Its animals too are often mutated. Boar tusks elongate to be akin to spears. Wolves stalk with larger footfalls and fangs which make guillotines seem weak and ineffective. In isolated places of the wilds, creatures of mergo yet stalk, and with civilization at its zenith from a certain point of view, only the strongest and most cunning yet survive in this land of man and death. The plants, much like the animals, invite death into the land, as if it needed such an invitation. Trees of bone and blood, vines which choke and bite. Watered by blood. There is a reason why corpses are yet stripped of flesh in the omen wood. Disease and decay is at the apex of fecundity in Greengrave. Always sadistic in their workings, they kill slowly, and spread with great enthusiasm. From a wolf bite, more than the wound will kill you. It is as if the very land issues a drumbeat of death in the night, as the screams of foolish folk, young and old echo through the night, tormented by inevitable death and incarceration in a nameless tomb

Localized Phenomena

Greengrave is known for many things. But always death and undeath. You cannot live here without seeing at least some undead. There is never any end. Churches have their work cut out for them clamping down on the existential dread that such a condition inspires. Those who leave after their time as run out find death claims them with immense viciousness, clawing back their stolen vitality in an instant, as vigorous hands give way to blackened bones and a grim eternal grin of the skull. Mage storms provide an element of chaos to the lives of Rotguard’s subjects. While less common than other regions. Best to stay inside, mage storms are often as deadly as they are unpredictable.

Climate

Greengrave’s climate is one of great extremes. The spring sees immense rains, muddying every road and making travel perilous and difficult. The wind also changes, turning into long bursts, able to blow away an unprepared house. With every blow of this grim horn, bones are disturbed and the dead rise with greater vigor. There is some silver lining of this, for the harvest is Glorious. The summer is at times beautiful, but also dangerous. Flowers of many varieties bloom on the field, triggering strange allergies among those who come too close. The animals too enter their mating season, and their attacks become more common and brazen. In the autumn, the trees, eternal lie unchanging, those near the borders often glance longingly at the will of life to change just over the border. The winter is like a tomb, the chill rises, but there is no snow. The sun sets early, and darkness is nearly omnipresent. The air becomes almost suffocating, and the richest retreat to their palaces. Those who work often do so now, as the chill and stillness makes travel safer, however marginally.

Alternative Name(s)

Deadman's Garden

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Region

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