We settle here with friends and new mentors, who with their land and knowledge they have shared, shall allow us to have haven from our past. Our regrowth from dire refugees to co…
Los’Mozakas is a wild and primeval land, untouched by hands of modern craftsfolk and to those outside its grasping borders. It explodes with life, millions of acres of heavily wooded jungle scattered from undergrowth to canopy with stalking titanic predators. The Wyldlands of Los’Mozakas remain a mystery to the outside world, with the vigilant at Wyldkeep finding widespread constant torching to be the only way to keep the spread of the undergrowth contained. Once the land was home to progenitors of Elvenkyne, but for generations it has been the domicile of the Wyldqueen, the exarch Narti. Their influence alone has dissuaded adventurers, capitals, and even the divine from crossing over the blossoming blade piercing Solith.
Dominated by old growth trees believed to have been around since the beginning of Solith, the density of plant life within the western bowl is otherworldly. Only the largest, smallest, or nimblest of beasts are able to navigate the tangle that makes up the undergrowth, being primarily vines, ivy, ferns, lichen and fungal growths. The general landscape slopes east towards the Mozakan Sea, having in another age been a glacial floodplain, leaving the entirety of Los’Mozakas unusually fertile with a massive river carved through its interior.
Towering even above the canopy, Narti’s Peak ominously looms in the center of the region as its lone mountain, its spire casting shadow over everything. Each flank of Los’Mozakas is locked in by near-impenetrable mountain ranges that contain the spread of the Wyld, often warned to those outside to not be crossed. The eastern coast bears a smattering of larger mangroves and swamps, a side effect of the monsoons that sweep in from the sea.
I’ve held this line since I came of age, but I just don’t get it. It’s so rife and overflowing with life the trees refuse to burn. The Sisterhood constantly warns of the madness that allowing it to grow would bring, though we’ve not a case save the aging lieutenant. Barely anyone lives in there, and those that do we see trying to escape, we’re ordered to retire instead of offer refuge. I guess that’s why we really burn it.
Lack of Prominent Civilization
While the rest of Solith remains fecund with sophonic establishment and outposts, Los’Mozakas’s fertility isn’t shared in this sole regard. Between the omnipresence of Narti, the Wyldbeasts and Tyrants, and the fires periodically sweeping through the undergrowth, the jungle doesn’t lend itself well to settling permanently. Despite these many perils, its Elvenkyne still find a way to thrive, adopting a variety of nomadic lifestyles that makes tracking down any given group a task in and of itself. And while indeed lacking manfolk, being dominated by the native Briar elves, other sophonts have carved out their own place to shelter among the violent swings in the environment.
Ruins of an Empire
Little is remembered of the Eld. Seldom mentioned in the margins of esoteric historical research, sung in unnoticed passing lyrics around Briar campfires, or in rumors of lost Arcane knowledge. However beneath the wide boughs of the canopy, the shell of their civilization lies balefully only reclaimed by nature. With monumental ghost cities, ruins of broken aqueducts, and shadowed shrines, perhaps this extinct peoples and culture can be brought to light. Though treading the annals of ruin often dredges reason to refrain as much as revelation. Developed cultures don’t collapse accidentally, especially ones rumored to have stood against both the might of the Udirkith and the encroachment of the First Men.
Of the beasts one could cross in Los’Mozakas, the last one would wish to contend with would be a Tyrant. These trampling dragons stalk the ancient timbers, usually lumbering about or sprinting across the land in small packs, although occasional accounts would mention sights of something soaring through the skies to inevitably be dismissed. Tyrants come in a wide variety of sizes and physiques, often adorned with some form of tusks or horns, fin-sails or chitinous plates, and with hides ranging from scaly to plumed, and diets across the spectrum.
No one knows where they originated from, though speculation ranges from being holy creatures of Oul to exotic beastial migrants. Rumors even spread of a dwarf riding a small Tyrant, though they were dispelled as a small horse with aesthetic wings. However, more curious and less debated is why these beasts of hulking strength remain within the confines of the Wyld, never venturing across the mountains to pursue new hunting grounds, let alone approach the line at Wyldkeep. Albeit their timid behavior, Tyrants are a lethal and unpredictable animal to remain vigilant of if one should so foolishly try to explore Los’Mozakas.