Black's Mar Fen & The Emerald Coast
Jul 22, 2014 17:57:45 GMT
Post by ArnoldY on Jul 22, 2014 17:57:45 GMT
BLACK'S MAR FEN & THE EMERALD COAST
"The men eat the dogs, the lizards eat the men, the dogs eat the lizards, and the plants eat everything."
- Lusbeck, a Charred Sigil mercenary, crudely illustrating the food chain in Black's Mar Fen
Historically, cartographers of Black's Mar Fen excluded the Eastern Elven holdings, but with Imperial domination in the present century, newer editions have re-defined the borders to be: from the Black's Mar in the North, to Blackwatch in the South; the River Vaelati in the West, not twelve miles from the East Elven capitol, to the eastern fringes where is found the deadly Forest, and the foothills of the Echo ("Echo of the Sands," shortened), the mountain range beyond which thrive the wealthy emirates of the Akosh and the Ajit.
Maps endorsed by the Brotherhood of Barald do not include the Eastern Elven Nation within the territory of the Empire. As is the same in their official stance, they do not recognize the legitimacy of recent Imperial settlement in East Elven territory.
Whatever one's politics may be, however, one thing is certain: the Black's Mar Region is a gigantic and miserable jungle-swamp, given to uncomfortably wet and humid nights, torrential rain, and steamy but ill-lit days. Tying it together is mud. Mud. Mud. And a hundred million mosquitoes that hatch in the wake of monsoon season. Even the central road is colloquially known as the "Grave of a Thousand Boots".
Towards the north, Cyprus trees, sugar, silkworms, and other luxury wares are nurtured in misty plantations carved from the hellacious land, cultivated relentlessly by the slaver-barons and their perpetual bondsmen. Nearer to the the Echo's foothills, the terrain is segmented by cliff faces, mossy cairns, and the occasional meadow or cavern which provide cautious blessings for weary (or lost) travelers. As the legend goes, should you find the sole lush grotto within the mountains, the dryad custodians shall whisper to you what the world groaned when the great mountain was sundered in twain and laid as vast sands to the east.
The heartland is inhabited by the indigenous Elven peoples who take sourly to outlanders. Only there, amongst the great stone keeps, and their famously flowering orange and acacia groves, brushed in arches of carefully trimmed topiaries and willows, can the Black Mar Region be said to be beautiful. Finally, there is the south, or the Emerald Coast, which rings the twin bays of Astabar and the Blackwater, and are blessed with the terminus of a major continental river. Newer settlements and frontier garrisons are concentrated here, not only due to the relative habitability of the terrain, but also for the strategic and economic importance of the port at Blackwatch.
Imperial propagandists rejoice (perhaps blithely) in their annexation of the region, a dismal territory long desired yet mastered only by the Elven blade and bow. Since the Elven capitulation, however, the land and even river routes between Black's Mar and Blackwatch have descended into anarchy. Regardless of the Legio XXI's formidable presence upon the marshlands, there is begrudging admittance among the regional Imperial command that the Eastern Elves knew best on how to secure their homeland. The invasion of their nation led to the deaths of countless rangers, whose expertise on not only the terrain but the lizardfolk, or the darker, stranger denizens of the jungle and the marsh, was essential in taming the wilderness.
It follows that the new Imperial settlements in the region have been made possible with the precious aid of the Elven rangers who've accepted their new status as Imperial subjects. Frontier villages such as Willowvale (Pop.: 186), New Vandermere (Pop.: 142), Enterprise (Pop: 85), and Greenchapel (Pop: 225), are presented as models of Elven-Imperial cooperation. Dangerous as the Fen may be, its dark soil is a feast for agriculture when drained, and promises a future breadbasket for a burgeoning Empire locked at sword-point with the golden wheat fields of the West.
Further south, the recently renovated fort of Loque Rothsdun (Garrison: 39; Prisoner Pop.: 124) attests to the spirit of Imperial pragmatism. Presently, the fortress doubles as a penal colony for the overcrowed stockades of Black's Mar itself. The penitents are set to draining the marshlands for future colonisation. They are not held by chains, but no prisoner to date has been stupid or desperate enough to flee into the Fen with nothing more than a sweaty flaxen shirt and a shovel.
TROUBLES OF LATE
"See the world, they said… It'll be a wonder, they said…"
Not all is rosy, however. The Elven spirit, though defeated on the battlefield, was not vanquished in their hearts. Rebels have raised swords against the Vandermeri throne; and a climate of suspicion and paranoia encases the far flung outposts, where there is uncertainty over the loyalties of their brothers-and-sisters-in-arms.
Wherever the Elves are not foes, there is sure to be a roaming tribe or three of lizardfolk, donned in armour decorated with human bones. The creatures are indeed vicious, though not always the purported savages of common reputation. There are the rare moments of intermediation where trade is possible. Unfortunately, the lizardfolk are inclined to follow the fiercest warlords, and launch raids upon the roads, the smaller settlements, and even upon the Black's Mar itself. Garrisons, Imperial and Elven alike, respond diligently with unstoppable violence, fearful of what might happen should the lizardmen breed undisturbed for generations. To supplement their efforts, the Black's Mar Fen's garrisons maintain a healthy bi-annual cycle of mercenarial contracts, paying silver for every lizardfolk skull, and to send mercenaries in aid of rangers in their operations.
There is presently a contest of sorts being held amongst the veteran slayers of Lizardfolk. The first man or woman to single-handedly account for 75 skulls, will be named as a hero and granted a choice stretch of land along the bountiful coast, and, rumours have it, knighthood by the Emperor himself.
Yet stranger are the kidnappings of the past decade. In the more remote reaches of the jungles and marshlands, mostly small children (age 5 or below), pets, and lone adults are reported to vanish. Almost always, they are discovered exsanguinated upon the rocky shores. The Elves have nothing to say of this. Their elders claim ignorance about the disappearances, and the younger generations know nothing of them. Less excitable persons believe sinister coastal pirates are to blame. A vocal minority believe that vengeful Elves are the cause, and have successfully lobbied for larger detachments of legionnaires. Very few, however, believe any statements that it is the work of Lizardfolk.
"The men eat the dogs, the lizards eat the men, the dogs eat the lizards, and the plants eat everything."
- Lusbeck, a Charred Sigil mercenary, crudely illustrating the food chain in Black's Mar Fen
Historically, cartographers of Black's Mar Fen excluded the Eastern Elven holdings, but with Imperial domination in the present century, newer editions have re-defined the borders to be: from the Black's Mar in the North, to Blackwatch in the South; the River Vaelati in the West, not twelve miles from the East Elven capitol, to the eastern fringes where is found the deadly Forest, and the foothills of the Echo ("Echo of the Sands," shortened), the mountain range beyond which thrive the wealthy emirates of the Akosh and the Ajit.
Maps endorsed by the Brotherhood of Barald do not include the Eastern Elven Nation within the territory of the Empire. As is the same in their official stance, they do not recognize the legitimacy of recent Imperial settlement in East Elven territory.
Whatever one's politics may be, however, one thing is certain: the Black's Mar Region is a gigantic and miserable jungle-swamp, given to uncomfortably wet and humid nights, torrential rain, and steamy but ill-lit days. Tying it together is mud. Mud. Mud. And a hundred million mosquitoes that hatch in the wake of monsoon season. Even the central road is colloquially known as the "Grave of a Thousand Boots".
Towards the north, Cyprus trees, sugar, silkworms, and other luxury wares are nurtured in misty plantations carved from the hellacious land, cultivated relentlessly by the slaver-barons and their perpetual bondsmen. Nearer to the the Echo's foothills, the terrain is segmented by cliff faces, mossy cairns, and the occasional meadow or cavern which provide cautious blessings for weary (or lost) travelers. As the legend goes, should you find the sole lush grotto within the mountains, the dryad custodians shall whisper to you what the world groaned when the great mountain was sundered in twain and laid as vast sands to the east.
The heartland is inhabited by the indigenous Elven peoples who take sourly to outlanders. Only there, amongst the great stone keeps, and their famously flowering orange and acacia groves, brushed in arches of carefully trimmed topiaries and willows, can the Black Mar Region be said to be beautiful. Finally, there is the south, or the Emerald Coast, which rings the twin bays of Astabar and the Blackwater, and are blessed with the terminus of a major continental river. Newer settlements and frontier garrisons are concentrated here, not only due to the relative habitability of the terrain, but also for the strategic and economic importance of the port at Blackwatch.
Imperial propagandists rejoice (perhaps blithely) in their annexation of the region, a dismal territory long desired yet mastered only by the Elven blade and bow. Since the Elven capitulation, however, the land and even river routes between Black's Mar and Blackwatch have descended into anarchy. Regardless of the Legio XXI's formidable presence upon the marshlands, there is begrudging admittance among the regional Imperial command that the Eastern Elves knew best on how to secure their homeland. The invasion of their nation led to the deaths of countless rangers, whose expertise on not only the terrain but the lizardfolk, or the darker, stranger denizens of the jungle and the marsh, was essential in taming the wilderness.
It follows that the new Imperial settlements in the region have been made possible with the precious aid of the Elven rangers who've accepted their new status as Imperial subjects. Frontier villages such as Willowvale (Pop.: 186), New Vandermere (Pop.: 142), Enterprise (Pop: 85), and Greenchapel (Pop: 225), are presented as models of Elven-Imperial cooperation. Dangerous as the Fen may be, its dark soil is a feast for agriculture when drained, and promises a future breadbasket for a burgeoning Empire locked at sword-point with the golden wheat fields of the West.
Further south, the recently renovated fort of Loque Rothsdun (Garrison: 39; Prisoner Pop.: 124) attests to the spirit of Imperial pragmatism. Presently, the fortress doubles as a penal colony for the overcrowed stockades of Black's Mar itself. The penitents are set to draining the marshlands for future colonisation. They are not held by chains, but no prisoner to date has been stupid or desperate enough to flee into the Fen with nothing more than a sweaty flaxen shirt and a shovel.
TROUBLES OF LATE
"See the world, they said… It'll be a wonder, they said…"
Not all is rosy, however. The Elven spirit, though defeated on the battlefield, was not vanquished in their hearts. Rebels have raised swords against the Vandermeri throne; and a climate of suspicion and paranoia encases the far flung outposts, where there is uncertainty over the loyalties of their brothers-and-sisters-in-arms.
Wherever the Elves are not foes, there is sure to be a roaming tribe or three of lizardfolk, donned in armour decorated with human bones. The creatures are indeed vicious, though not always the purported savages of common reputation. There are the rare moments of intermediation where trade is possible. Unfortunately, the lizardfolk are inclined to follow the fiercest warlords, and launch raids upon the roads, the smaller settlements, and even upon the Black's Mar itself. Garrisons, Imperial and Elven alike, respond diligently with unstoppable violence, fearful of what might happen should the lizardmen breed undisturbed for generations. To supplement their efforts, the Black's Mar Fen's garrisons maintain a healthy bi-annual cycle of mercenarial contracts, paying silver for every lizardfolk skull, and to send mercenaries in aid of rangers in their operations.
There is presently a contest of sorts being held amongst the veteran slayers of Lizardfolk. The first man or woman to single-handedly account for 75 skulls, will be named as a hero and granted a choice stretch of land along the bountiful coast, and, rumours have it, knighthood by the Emperor himself.
Yet stranger are the kidnappings of the past decade. In the more remote reaches of the jungles and marshlands, mostly small children (age 5 or below), pets, and lone adults are reported to vanish. Almost always, they are discovered exsanguinated upon the rocky shores. The Elves have nothing to say of this. Their elders claim ignorance about the disappearances, and the younger generations know nothing of them. Less excitable persons believe sinister coastal pirates are to blame. A vocal minority believe that vengeful Elves are the cause, and have successfully lobbied for larger detachments of legionnaires. Very few, however, believe any statements that it is the work of Lizardfolk.