Duresh Bark
Duresh Bark, aka Ashpine or Widows wood.
A pale, fibrous wood harvested from slow-growing trees found only in foggy, high-altitude valleys or in grave-soil forests.
Smell: Sharp and clean, but unmistakable—like burnt mint, wet earth, and the faintest trace of smoke, even when freshly cut.
When burned, it gives off a ghostly aroma of cold anise, crushed stone, and something faintly floral and funereal—reminiscent of mourning herbs and grave flowers.
Some say it smells like the place someone cried last. The saltiness flooding the air.
Uses: Coffin-lining or ritual tools in burial rites, especially in old Blackwood or the Sisterhood of the Veil.
Valued by archivists and clerics who believe it wards off insects and moisture, making it ideal for shelving ancient texts.
Occasionally carved into instruments—woodwinds or flutes that produce strangely echoing tones.
Said to “remember sorrow.” People claim that the longer it sits near a grieving person, the more pungent its scent becomes—almost like the wood sympathizes.
Some believe that the trees only grow in places where someone died silently.
The doorframe was carved from Duresh bark—Kael recognized the scent instantly. Bitter mint and dry ash. He hadn’t smelled it since his wife’s burial.
Page 112, “Veiled Flora and Funeral Woods” Authored by Sera Vaelyn, Scholar of the Eastern Archive Found in Nyssara’s chapel, third shelf, spine faded. Ink still fresh.
On the Properties of Duresh Bark (commonly called Ashpine):
“There are woods that grow to be strong, some that burn hot, and others that sing when struck. But Ashpine does none of these. It mourns.”
I first encountered the tree in the high groves of Velra's Pass, where the wind whistles like a forgotten hymn and the mists never rise above the knee. There, amid the tomb-pillars and weather-worn stones, the Duresh tree stands still—lean, gray, and veined with bark like cracked parchment.
It grows only where the dead are buried. Always shallow graves. Always in silence.
The bark itself is cool to the touch, even in sunlight, and peels away in long, paper-like curls. When crushed or scraped, it releases a scent like burnt mint, salt-tears, and faint ash—not unpleasant, but heavy. It lingers. The scent attaches to fabric, to skin, to memory. Some believe it reveals when one is grieving, as the smell sharpens around mourners and fades when joy returns.
I wore a sprig of it in my braid for one month after my mentor passed. I could not wash the scent from my fingers.
Uses:
The bark is ground into a binding resin for sacred texts. It protects against mold and moths, and some say it quiets the voices of restless spirits trapped in vellum or ink.
In Blackwood and other old mountain villages, Duresh is used to line coffins or carved into funeral charms. These are not burned. They are buried, or placed in thresholds to mark a home in mourning.
One tradition among Veil Sisters is to burn a single shard of Ashpine at the bedside of the dying. They say it gives the soul a path to follow.
I have also known a few lonely travelers who sleep beside Duresh trees for comfort. I suspect they are less alone than they believe.
Superstition or Truth:
Some texts claim the tree was the first to grow from a grave, sprouting not from rot, but from love—a child’s ashes buried in winter snow. Others say it grows only when someone dies without being witnessed—a tree for the forgotten, so they are forgotten no longer.
I do not know what is true.
But I do know this:
The scent never leaves you. And some woods do not crack when burned—they whisper.
—S.V.
A pale, fibrous wood harvested from slow-growing trees found only in foggy, high-altitude valleys or in grave-soil forests.
Smell: Sharp and clean, but unmistakable—like burnt mint, wet earth, and the faintest trace of smoke, even when freshly cut.
When burned, it gives off a ghostly aroma of cold anise, crushed stone, and something faintly floral and funereal—reminiscent of mourning herbs and grave flowers.
Some say it smells like the place someone cried last. The saltiness flooding the air.
Uses: Coffin-lining or ritual tools in burial rites, especially in old Blackwood or the Sisterhood of the Veil.
Valued by archivists and clerics who believe it wards off insects and moisture, making it ideal for shelving ancient texts.
Occasionally carved into instruments—woodwinds or flutes that produce strangely echoing tones.
Said to “remember sorrow.” People claim that the longer it sits near a grieving person, the more pungent its scent becomes—almost like the wood sympathizes.
Some believe that the trees only grow in places where someone died silently.
The doorframe was carved from Duresh bark—Kael recognized the scent instantly. Bitter mint and dry ash. He hadn’t smelled it since his wife’s burial.
Page 112, “Veiled Flora and Funeral Woods” Authored by Sera Vaelyn, Scholar of the Eastern Archive Found in Nyssara’s chapel, third shelf, spine faded. Ink still fresh.
On the Properties of Duresh Bark (commonly called Ashpine):
“There are woods that grow to be strong, some that burn hot, and others that sing when struck. But Ashpine does none of these. It mourns.”
I first encountered the tree in the high groves of Velra's Pass, where the wind whistles like a forgotten hymn and the mists never rise above the knee. There, amid the tomb-pillars and weather-worn stones, the Duresh tree stands still—lean, gray, and veined with bark like cracked parchment.
It grows only where the dead are buried. Always shallow graves. Always in silence.
The bark itself is cool to the touch, even in sunlight, and peels away in long, paper-like curls. When crushed or scraped, it releases a scent like burnt mint, salt-tears, and faint ash—not unpleasant, but heavy. It lingers. The scent attaches to fabric, to skin, to memory. Some believe it reveals when one is grieving, as the smell sharpens around mourners and fades when joy returns.
I wore a sprig of it in my braid for one month after my mentor passed. I could not wash the scent from my fingers.
Uses:
The bark is ground into a binding resin for sacred texts. It protects against mold and moths, and some say it quiets the voices of restless spirits trapped in vellum or ink.
In Blackwood and other old mountain villages, Duresh is used to line coffins or carved into funeral charms. These are not burned. They are buried, or placed in thresholds to mark a home in mourning.
One tradition among Veil Sisters is to burn a single shard of Ashpine at the bedside of the dying. They say it gives the soul a path to follow.
I have also known a few lonely travelers who sleep beside Duresh trees for comfort. I suspect they are less alone than they believe.
Superstition or Truth:
Some texts claim the tree was the first to grow from a grave, sprouting not from rot, but from love—a child’s ashes buried in winter snow. Others say it grows only when someone dies without being witnessed—a tree for the forgotten, so they are forgotten no longer.
I do not know what is true.
But I do know this:
The scent never leaves you. And some woods do not crack when burned—they whisper.
—S.V.
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