FOLKLORE


Labyrinth
Claimable. Plentiful. Volatile.
Here the air is hot and cloying, clinging to a desperate facsimile of solidity. Music is made in the gentle rush of birdsong and rainfall, the omnipresent rush of river water. A counterpoint is created in the damning silence of Heaven, a mute symphony that falls abandoned and echoing in all the spaces between.

Eden lies abandoned, pristine and unbroken - but the gods are absent. Their greatest work lies empty. The darkness thrives in their absence, and the light burns brighter to spite the memory of their rule. Here, the wilds rule, for the angels have turned their face from the memory of this abandoned paradise. The lovers steal away into the Labyrinth's darkest corners, in hopes that the tangle of teeth and tongue will go unnoticed, their sins unheeded amidst the merger of mist and moss.

Verdant green has overtaken the landscape. Ferns and foliage crawl from the corners, envious and wanton; they brush the bodies of passerby, and part reluctantly for those who brave the depths. Natural paths intersect and separate at irregular intervals, trails blazed and abandoned in a single breath. Bright jewels of color mar the singularity of hue, flashes of ruby and sapphire winging through the forest’s canopy. Both water and prey languish in ample abundance, hiding amongst the roots and branches of the overarching trees.

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Mangrove River
Unclaimable. Plentiful. Volatile.
A heart beats in ready rhythm. Alone in the dark, it pounds - slowly, at first, and then more swiftly. Breath catches, pupils dilated. Panic coils close, thrumming a rapid pulse, seizing on the promise of forgotten hope, abandoned prayer. The temperature rises. Darkness falls.

Slowly, steadily, the veins of Cyrileth flow from the mountains to the sea. The waters are ever-moving, ever-changing, and in their journey carry blood both brackish and strange. Distinctive mangrove trees hunch over the serpentine rivers, pressed close and cloying to their fellows. The trees carve natural furrows in the landscape, and the shallow water flows between them obligingly. Flying buttresses arch over the surface of the too-still surface, roots both tangled and twisted. Young fish and crustaceans seek shelter in the shadow of the trees, but it is that which braves the deeper waters, and the higher reaches, that prevents any wolf from lingering overlong.

Serpents swim, and larger scaled specimens coil around the upper branches. Large, lethal felines stalk the shrouded depths. Monsters, armored and reptilian, lurk in the deep, emerging to warm themselves on the sunlit banks. Any and all creatures are fair game for these more devoted predators, and the night takes on a particular cadence of desperation.

Abandon Hope, All ye who enter here.

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Tide Pools
Unclaimable. Barren. Volatile.
Inhale the tangy brine of sea salt. Feel the crushed shells and rock underfoot. Here there is predictability in life and death, in coming and going. It is barren, then it blooms. Such is life in the tidepools. Unsheltered and exposed, the tidepools spread haphazardly in the indistinct space between ocean and land. Rocks form barriers between them, some smooth and others ragged. The frigid coastal wind batters the shore with merciless abandon, slowly weathering natural edges to dust.

When the tide is low, the pools are dotted with creatures. Predators overhead circle prey that lingers below. Slinking, creeping, and crawling, the ocean’s creatures are dredged up from the salty depths and exposed to the merciless world above. But soon enough the pools disappear and the ocean returns, wiping clean the slate and reducing feast to famine.

The God and Goddess giveth, and the God and Goddess taketh away...

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Sacred Isle
Claimable. Plentiful. Peaceful.
Here lies a holy land. The island stretches high into the sky -- so high, in fact, that it is often topped by low-hanging clouds. When you reach the top of the highest rise, it is said that you might feel the soft touch of the God and Goddess on your fur or hear their whispered wishes in your ear…

When the earth crashed together to form the island long ago, it did so unevenly and imperfectly. The landscape of the island is varied. Hills and cliffs are juxtaposed by inlets and smooth, open spaces. Palm trees and scrubby brush are equally dispersed. Creatures of all shapes and sizes have found their way to the island and call it home. Predator and prey are plentiful. However, the island’s inhabitants are varied and unpredictable, as any creature from the mainland might find its way across the sand bar connecting the mainland to the island at any given time. This is a place for travelers and natives alike, though its sacred secrets are oft kept to the children of the God and Goddess.

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Pyria
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