The Long Walk

In the North of the Karican Continent, above the capital of Crullfield and the great Tribes of Tuya lay a massive mountain range, jagged and untraversable, like the teeth of a carnivore jutting out of the ground.

The land itself is not the issue, but instead what lay in the land itself. An eternal blizzard covers the landscape and a thick fog sits on the ground, obscuring any and all vision. Wisps roam the land, harmless usually but prey on the lost within the Long Walk. People lost within the area slowly lose hope, not of their own will, but the land itself slowly making them go crazy until eventually, they succumb, and give up.

Many who claim to have come out of the Long Walk alive claim the land itself shifts and turns as you get further in, mock villages mimicking society outside, real people seemingly there but the second one turns away, they turn to dolls. In some stories, whole villages disappear. Time is said to be jumbled in the Long Walk, a few tales of people persevering and finding their way out, only to be a couple hundred years past their time, any family and friends they knew long gone.

The Lands of Uasi

Modern Telling of Tuyan Story: "Where We Once Roamed"

Ages past ages ago, in the time before time, Tuyans walked the lands of Uasi. In these lands, chaos reigned; brother ate brother and the instinct of beasts ruled the people's hearts.

Rhudryn looked upon the blood spilt upon Uasi, and wept; she swore to protect these peoples from the red hunger. And so, she descended to the peoples of Uasi, and approached two prophets: Gristol and Ghoji.

To them, she said, "Mine prophets, long hast thou suffered that waking dream, guided by instinct and hunger. Long hast thou served no Gods before thyself; bloody-mouthed and desperate."

The prophets prostrated themselves before her.

Rhudryn continued, pleased. "These lands hath grown sickly in mine absence; brother kills brother, Chieftains dance upon the dead. Hearken to mine blessing, prophets, for thou'rt thine tribe's hope for freedom from instinct."

The prophets bowed lower.

"In coming days, many storms will ravage Uasi's coast: the damage done by thine tribes, made form. Thou must drive the tribes Southwards, away from the Wicked Seas. Only then will thine peoples be safe."

Rhudryn left; the room shook with terrible purpose.

The prophets exchanged glances, before setting to work. Together, they gathered the Chieftains of the tribes, unified by divine purpose. Many resisted the call to move; blood spilled the sands, and instinct threatened to doom the peoples of Uasi. Desperate, the prophets appealed to the elders of each tribe, explaining the purpose ordained upon them.

"Listen to reason," they begged. "Thou art the wisest of Uasi; follow our lady's word."

Still, the elders resisted.

For seven days and nights, the prophets persisted. They spoke of dying worlds, of the plague of instinct, and the blood-hunger that would doom them all.

Finally, on the seventh night, an elder relented. Bowing her head, she said, "Mine kin, long has the red hunger guided us. Brother has been set upon brother, and we have seen the ground our children walk coated in the blood of ancestors. Prophets, thou'rt persistent; and thou'rt right. We will march away from the Wicked Seas."

Many of the elders agreed; they spoke to their chieftains and rallied their tribes. Overnight, the peoples rallied under the prophet's guidance and began to journey south.

The chieftain Hanzig refused the elder's wishes. He was a proud warrior, who saw the red hunger as strength; he scorned those who refused it as cowards. Instead, he rallied his tribe, and prepared to weather the storms.

In the coming days, clouds grew on the horizon. Deep-black smoke and crackling rain, stirring the oceans into violence as they crashed against the coast. The horizon drew darker, and darker, until no sun nor moon could be seen; and still, Hanzig persisted.

For seven days and nights did the tribe stand, proudly. Rain poured against their tents, thunder crashed against their ears and wind whipped their hides; they stood taller in response. The waves drew higher, and the coast grew smaller: the tribe stood, proudly.

On the seventh sunless night, Hanzig stood at the tallest point of his tribe, and cackled. He, alone, ruled Uasi; the tribes had left, and his alone remained. He turned south, and yelled: "I, the Lord of Uasi, curse the weaklings who came before! Thou art cowards, heeding the beckons of false Gods! I obey no call but the Red Hunger's!"

He spat, and looked up to the sky. Among the swirling clouds, lightning crackled.

Sudden brilliance illuminated jaws among the sky; teeth like mountains sank from the darkness, and blotted out the distant light on the horizon.

Hanzig stared, and his tribe wept.

When the clouds finally receded, the huddled masses in Tuya approached northward, cautious and fearful. Gristol and Ghoji, now knighted as champions of Rhudryn, led them.

And in the quiet morning air, there was nothing left of Uasi; merely giant mountains, blocking where it had once been.

Nowhere

Recurring dream of Virion Ulesse, as detailed by Nym Yesxidor

A vain mimicry of the world she once knew, it was like it was mocking her. Buildings of familiar architecture stood around her but they were all mottled and rotting, falling apart. The paths of her home city that led through the streets weren't even there, just buildings in the dirt. She tried various doors, windows, even turning into some deep alleyways but they all led to walls, like a singular path was laid out for her.

A nightmare, she said in her head, it had to be, just a really long one. It felt like she had been in this place for weeks on end, she lost track several days ago. Keeping track of the time here was hard anyways, the sky was dull and there was no sun or moon, no cycle to keep track of and now direct way to keep the time, no clock or watch. Still, she kept moving forward through the fake city streets.

She walked and she walked, hoping, praying, that she would see something, anything different.

Something answered her prayers as she turned a city corner and was now facing a coastline. Trees, the kind unfamiliar to her, it was not the forest near the city she grew up in, she lived in a landlocked city, especially not one that had a peninsula with a tower on it.

She steeled her nerves and walked out of the false city.

Luckily, the forest was not dense, it was a mimicry of a coastal setting after all. She looked back to take a look at the city now that she was out of it and-

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

Her heart sank in her chest as her breath hitched, the city she spent weeks in was no longer there.

She couldn't- no, she didn't want to bring her eyes away from the now dense forest that stood where the false city once was. In her mind she repeated, it had to reappear, it had to come back, cities don't disappear.

But she looked away anyways, she had to ignore it for now as she approached the large, seemingly made of basalt tower that stood right at the edge of the peninsula. It was larger up close.

She brought her hand up to the door and grasped the handle, pushing it open as it revealed a large, decorated hallway. The ceiling of the hallway went all the way up to the towers height and a large curtain stood at the end. The door creaking echoed through the grand hallway.

She steadied her breath and walked into the hall, glancing around at the decorations. It was different to the false city, the city had nothing but the basics of a city, bricks and wood repeating endlessly with no texture but the rot and decay of it all. This building however had a carpet, fancy glass cases that had various items in them, trinkets strewn about hanging on the walls and resting in display cases.

She approached one hanging on the wall, a volcanic rock battleaxe. She had read about it during her studies, an ancient dwarven relic from the Grey Age. She thought it was a myth this whole time but here it was, hanging on a wall in the middle of Nowhere, in a hallway on a random peninsula's tower.

She shook her head in disbelief as she continued through the hallway, curious about the giant curtain. She carefully approached the curtain, taking quiet and slow steps through the hallway until-

She got close enough, the curtain opened as if set off by motion and there she was, standing on the other side of the curtain. The curtain led straight back to the false city but with one, minor difference.

She was there, and she was here. She stood staring at the clone of herself, too paralyzed with fear to do anything.

The clone waved and spoke in her exact voice.

"...Hello?"

It had been years since that occurred, but she still remembers it vividly.

...Most of it, at least. When she met the doppelganger it was like a dream ended, she can't remember anything after it.

The Deep Lost

Excerpt from recovered Bannog Scripture: "The First Dreamthief"

"Hear me, o' coven mine!" The eldest sister exclaimed. All had gathered around her, she had returned from a pilgrimage, not seen for months.

"Rejoice, rejoice, o' sisters of mine!" She rummaged around her bag and pulled out a bundle of swaddled cloth, holding it up high for all to see.

"The lands that despise us grace us once more, a new sister to join!" Murmurs began ringing out across the crowd, witches and hags conversing amongst each other. It had been long since a new sister joined.

The heads of the coven gathered around the cloth as the eldest sister unwrapped it slowly and delicately, revealing a newborn baby boy. He had pointy ears, either an elf or a half elf.

A hand is raised in the crowd as all fall quiet looking at the witch who speaks. She steps forward into the stage formed by the coven parting in a circle. She points a finger towards the newborn.

"Look at how it mocks us, sisters. It hails from the land outside, it is not like us, and yet Eldest wants us to accept it as one of our own?" Her rebuttal sparks the murmurs to resume amongst the crowd, occasional outrages at one not like them being part of their coven, so perfect and nestled away in the Karican mountains.

The eldest sister raises her hand, a deafening silence quickly blankets the crowd.

"Fear not, o' sisters mine, it will be one of us." She sets the elven child down and procures a material pouch, sprinkling seemingly nonsensical materials around him in a circle. She scratches runes in the stone with her deathly sharp claw and begins a chant in an old language.

The coven watches on in anticipation as the baby begins to cry, the newborns cries echo through the wintery trees as not a single other creature makes a sound.

His skin goes pale and stretches, making way for the horns of a goat. His eyes gloss over, now black and dead. A light layer of fur coats his now pale skin.

The ritual comes to an end, his crying stops. The eldest sister raises him once more.

"You are now perfect, o' child of mine."

The hellish stretch of land known by many names is often regarded to with fear due to the countless myths and missing people that enter it.

Often enough however, it's a hot spot for adventurers of great power to test their mettle, some willingly braving the stretch of land.