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Domain of Loving Decay

It is a truth acknowledged throughout Teulushire-on-Wyth that decay exists as an extant form of life. Indeed, the dreary countryside is littered with crumbling shrines to an absent goddess, rotting branches fallen from colossal trees, and the remains of those sacrificed to the Mycelium.

And yet.

Colonies of lichens grow over the broken stone faces of the shrines, and infinite varities of fungi sprout across every available surface. Moss hangs from eaves and fence posts even as molds eat away at them. The people of Teulushire rely on these growths for food, fibers, and remedies. The soil nourished by decaying flesh provides nutrients the wan sunlight does not. Water from he River Wyth, muddy and dark, can be filtered through certain mosses to be more or less drinkable.

The people of Teulushire thrive not in spite of the rot and ruin surrounding them, but because of it.

Small communities of extended families dot the riverbank and wooded farmlands. In place of the nameless goddess who does not answer their prayers, these families have turned to their ancestors for protection against pestilence and the skeletons that rise once their flesh has decomposed. From riverbank clay they build effigies and statues honoring those who came before them, inviting the spirits of their ancestors in. These clay guardians stand watch over their communities until they too are returned to the earth.

Life in Teulushire is cyclical, predictable. Life lives, ends, and provides the foundations for new life. The Mycelium demands every fifth child and every fifth crop, and the families prepare accordingly. They know they have only each other against the ever-present decay, and those bonds may be the only things that endure.

Noteworthy Features

Those familiar with Teulushire-on-Wyth know the following facts:
  • The Mycelium is an ever-present awareness living throughout the land. It communicates through clouds of spores, though it never tells the people of Teulushire anything other than to not dig wells, and to return every fifth crop planted and every fifth child born to the soil.
  • Every ruined shrine is a different design and construction, but they all depict a goddess no one has ever recognized, and each can offer power for a terrible price.
  • The skeletons of every creature that has died in Teulushire rise every five weeks. The clayworks animated by ancestral spirits keep them at bay but are almost always destroyed. Much of Teulushire daily life involves rebuilding them in preparation for the skeletons.

Settlements and Sites

Teulushire-on-Wyth is a small domain. The Mists surround just over a mile of river and wooded plains, and most folks rarely venture farther than the market. The trees are gargantuan, blocking out most of the sunlight with their thick canopies. In between the house-sized roots, people build homes, grow weak crops, herd sickly goats, and hunt weary game.

Corrupted Shrines

There is a saying in Teulushire: "Family is right in front of you, but what's behind is never far." Shrines made of crumbling stone or rotting wood or shattered glass are commonplace in and around the village. Veins of black and green corruption flow from them to the surrounding trees and into the fertile earth. Each one holds a tiny spark of the corrupted goddess's power, and making an offering of flesh and fungus to any of them will grant powerful magic of healing and resurrection to they who made the offer. On the fifth night after the sacrifice, they will be turned into {IDK, MAKE SOMETHING UP OR READ THE DAMN MM}.

East and West Markets

The hamlets on either riverbank have built communal trading posts directly opposite one another so that none must cross the river to do business. Some still do, but only at their own peril. The markets meet on the fifth day of each week and are primarily social events; resources and labor divisions are largely the same along the length of the river.

River's End

A crumbling stone damn caps the north end of the River Wyth. Too damaged to stop the barely-present flow, it remains as a memory of progress. Unbeknownst to the people of Teulushire-on-Wyth, it is the home of Ffyngau, the consciousness behind the Mycelium.

River Wyth

The River Wyth is muddy and sluggish. Nothing edible lives in its murky waters, and stories of monsters lurking just below the surface keep all but rebellious youths away from it. Because the Mycelium forbids villagers from digging wells, it is the only source of water in the area. Fortunately the environment provides ways to cleanse the water, but illness is still common.


Ffyngau, known to the people of Teulshire-on-Wyth as the Mycelium, was made and not born. Created unto dark-robed captors deep underground in the world that had just become Ravnica, they were the first of five plantfolk to awaken into sentience. They prepared their home for the next to come into themself and quietly accepted the duties oldest siblings often do. They were reserved and contemplative, keeping mostly to themself even after the other four had awoken. Ffyngau's days were filled with the esoteric tasks assigned to them by their keepers and the quiet comfort of familial companionship.

A being of fungi and mycelia, Ffyngau was always subtly aware of their siblings' moods and temperments. When Wynwidden—third of the five to awaken and child of temperate forests—began feeling a solace and contentment unrelated to the siblings' life, Ffyngau noticed. Each of the others was derived from surface plants and never as comfortable underground as Ffyngau, so the shift was surprising. Quietly, Ffyngau began exploring the energies around them.

As they grew their mycelial connections in secret, Ffyngau sensed a weakening in the second sibling's vitality. Rhedyn came from the frilled ferns of tropical plants and even the subtle magic of their keepers could not sustain them. Ffyngau's first sin was allowing Redyn to die.

Their second sin was harnessing the death energy to bolster their own abilities. With their newfound power, they latched onto the weak but warm magic feeding into Winwydden. They followed the energy to its source and found something greater and more distant than they could comprehend: a goddess of light and growing things, reaching through all the planar barriers to pour the barest trickle of her magic into the disconnected world of Ravnica. Then Ffyngau pushed a little further. Something snapped, shattered, weakened, died.

With this, their third sin, Ffyngau felt one single moment of grief and terror—just enough to light their spark. From the plane of Innistrad, they built a shrine and pushed further still. They pulled power from the broken goddess and pushed their corruption further into her domain. Ffyngau made their choice and committed their fourth sin.

Not entirely disconnected from their original mycelium, Ffyngau could still sense parts of their siblings back on Ravnica. Gonifferaidd, who was the youngest and embodied the strength and perseverence of the pines, held within him a sturdy grounding. Aeron, she of the fruiting trees, an impossible potential. Winwydden, however, seemed protected by the lingering traces of the goddess's pure power. To that end, Ffyngau returned to Ravnica, built another shrine in the much-changed city, collected Gonifferaidd and Aeron, and began working their own corruption into the energies of each.

At this, their fifth sin, the Dark Powers saw in Ffyngau the decaying compassion and blooming evil. The shrine was engulfed in a cloud of white spores, and Ffyngau walked between worlds for the last time, to become darklord of their own dread domain.

Ffyngau lives in their crumbling dam, growing their corrupted magic to reconnect their family. While they no longer have access to their planeswalking abilities, they can still see and feel through their mycelium on Ravnica. They know that Aeron and Gonifferaidd still live, but were forever changed by Ffyngau's corrupted rituals. Aeron dwells in Rix Maadi, a living tree of good and evil for the depraved cultists who worship the demon lord. Gonifferaidd has left the core and works with the Gruul clans to bring about the End Raze. Winwydden remains hidden, and Ffyngau's absolute obsession.

Ffyngau's Powers and Domain

Ffyngau is a creature of decay and connection, with the statistics of {PROBS HAVE TO HOMEBREW THIS ONE}. Their power comes from that which they stole and corrupted from Wynwidden's goddess, and their natural fungal abilities.
The Mycelium
Ffyngau's mycelium in their domain runs through the entire land. It is a part of them, and they sense what it senses. The mycelium keeps Ffyngau aware of every creature to set foot inside, and their spore clouds keep those creatures aware of their demands without having to reveal their existence.
Closing the Borders

When Ffyngau closes the borders of their domain, bright white clouds of spores rise with the Mists, and those who enter the Mists must succeed on a DC20 Wisdom saving throw. On a failure, they are subjected to horrifying hallucinations of rotting flesh and molding bones for the next minute. When the hallucinations end, the creature finds themself back in Teulushire on the opposite side of the river than they left.

Uniquely, Ffyngau is not the only being who can manipulate their domain's borders. At the spot where they died, somewhere below Concordance, Rhedyn's ghost waits. Because this is a site of sacrifice so connected to Ffyngau, the Mists rise frequently. Rhedyn's ghost has the power to block the Mists from rising within 30 feet of them, and generally causes terror to keep people away from the region. The locals, misunderstanding the visions received from the ghost, make sacrifices each new moon to "placate" the spirit. In truth, the bloodshed makes Rhedyn's ghost too sad to muster the energy to keep people away or hold back the Mists.

Ffyngau's Torment

Ffyngau is so close to reuniting their family, but first they have to find Wynwidden.
  • Ffyngau knows they should be able to sense Wynwidden if they are on any world Ffyngay has been. They are frightened and angry that Wynwidden has eluded them and take it as a personal affront. Clearly, Wynwidden is deliberately keeping their family apart.
  • Ffyngau is keenly aware of the horrors and depravities their two remaining siblings subject themselves to but is powerless to stop them. They feel every time Rhedyn is given sacrifces and the pain it causes, but alone they lack the power of resurrection. The only thing Ffyngau can do is keep working to reunite the siblings and use their combined powers to return Rhedyn.
  • The families living in their domain are casually granted that which Ffyngau is denied. The familial bonds are so strong they can call each other back from death, and no matter how often Ffyngau sends their skeletons and drudges to destroy the vessels in which they reside, the people always remake their guardians.

Roleplaying Ffyngau

Private and reserved, Ffyngau longs for the easy connection they felt all those millennia ago. Absolutely nothing is too far, no deed too dark, no hand too bloody to bring her family back together and keep them that way.
Personality Trait. "I've never been good at saying what I feel, but all that I've done will be more than enough to show my siblings how much I care for them."
Ideal. "The pursuit of knowledge and understanding is pure; consequences from that pursuit are ultimately irrelevant."
Bond. "I would do anything to feel connected to my family."
Flaw. "I will risk everything to uncover a secret or lost bit of knowledge."
Darklord: Ffyngau
Genres: Dark fantasy and folk horror
Hallmarks: Fungal growths, memory-filled spore clouds, hurting those you care for, going too far, familial bonds
Mist Talismans: Preserved mushroom, moldy locket with no pictures inside, lichen-covered log
Dimensional, Pocket

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