Stillmere

Stillmere is a bleak, half-frozen marsh city built on the remains of an older settlement swallowed by wetlands and Stillgleam decay. The air here hangs perpetually cold, the water still as glass, and pale fog clings to every surface like a second skin. The city sits in a natural basin where dormant Stillgleam fields radiate faint, unnatural light beneath the muddy water—an eerie glow locals call the Underpulse.

Most structures in Stillmere are sinking, skeletal wooden frames reinforced by scavenged stone and fungal-hard reeds. Buildings cluster on raised platforms or broken piers, linked by slick walkways woven across dark pools. The city feels quiet, muffled, and slow—like a place forgetting how to breathe.

The Stillmere Kin huddle in Coldclutches, gathering for shared warmth in communal barracks known as Pulsehouses. Their slow heartbeats and glacial metabolism shape every aspect of the city: food is almost never cooked, and movement is minimal. Outsiders describe Stillmere as feeling “dead-but-watching,” yet the Kin themselves consider it a sanctuary from the living world's overwhelming heat.

Wandering light wisps drift across the marsh at night, and the Kin often follow these cold-glimmers in solemn processions. Stillmere is equal parts refuge, tomb, and dormant heart, a city caught between life and stasis.