The Ghost Roads

    The Huo were not the first dynasty to rule Liangyu. Centuries before, a great sorcerer and united the petty kingdoms. He built a mighty city in the midst of the realm to serve as his capital.

    From this city he established great highways radiating in many directions. Broad and level they were, and those who passed along them found their journey shortened beyond what should be possible. For long stretches the highways were bordered by trees which provided shade and shelter. Their leaves remained even in winter. Where the roads passed through mountains, tunnels were carved, lit by starspeck lanterns set within the rock. Mighty bridges carried the highways across rivers and valleys. Inns were established along these roads, and arsenals for the army's use.

    The sorcerer's descendants ruled for a time but gradually fell into decadence. In the reign of their last King, the upkeep of the Roads was neglected, and the rituals which prevented monsters and supernatural entities from haunting it were forgotten. By the time the Huo restored the kingdom, the Great Roads were already ill-omened. The trees which lined them were overgrown, keeping the road in a perpetual shadow. Strange creatures stalked the avenue. The inns and arsenals were abandoned. The Huo attempted to retake the roads, but it soon became apparent that whatever magic had been used in their construction made them a magnet for fell things. An area swept clean of monsters one day would soon be infested by creatures even more hostile the next. Fortunately the dangers never seemed to stray too far from the highways. In the end the Kings of the Huo contented themselves with dismantling large sections of the roads, but many still remain in remote places.

Lao Wan

    Within the northwest confines of the forest, the land rises to an outcrop of rock. Along the crown of the hill is a circular wall of megalithic stones nigh unthinkable in their size. Within the circle are the remains of an ancient city. Three great highways, paved with hexagonal slabs, spiral in toward the center, with curving side streets branching out from each. The doors are low, about waist high, but wide enough for a man to lay stretched out between the posts. Generally a massive stone is used for the lintel but some utilize a shallow arch with curious indentation, presumably decorative.  The layout of some buildings seem to be based on a triradiate symmetry, ranging from simple triangles to Koch snowflakes in the fifth iteration. These generally have small triangular windows, often alternating in direction. What roofs remain are held up by corbel vaulting. A significant minority of other buildings have curved walls and sprawl seemingly at random. Each chamber has its own dome and is lit by an oculus, with a circular receptacle on the floor beneath, presumably to catch water. Some buildings are constructed of stone blocks, others seem to be a type of concrete. A few seem to have been carved from the rock of the hill itself, and these often lead down into broad chambers below. Aside from these, no buildings appear to have had multiple levels. No staircases exist, and both the lower caverns and the battle platforms around the walls were accessed by ramps. Short cylindrical stools seem to have been the chief piece of furniture, at least of what has survived.

    While here and there, detritus blown in by the wind has managed to pile in drifts and give some headway to flora, the city has shown remarkable resilience in the face of both weathering and nature's reclamation attempts. Certainly none of the other ruins within Lin show this degree of preservation. It is perhaps a testament to the scale of the construction as well as to its quality. Or perhaps some other force is at work here.

    Who or what built this place is a matter for conjecture. What few surviving examples of art remain seem to be of the abstract variety, geometrical oddities which somehow cause dizziness and nausea if stared at for too long. As for artifacts, the city has been picked clean by scavengers, but perhaps there is some secret door or obstructed passage which the looters managed to overlook. Two types of artifacts which come from here are of particular note, perhaps. One is a gun of some bright green metal, surprisingly untarnished. It projects a ray which immobilizes a target while it is on them. If held for more than five minutes the subject dies. The other is a disc, somewhat thicker in the center. Balance it on your bare forearm and it will warm and glow, emitting indecipherable sounds with a vaguely musical quality. Prolonged use will leave the holder fatigued.

Apemen of the Central Highlands

    When the gods set aside the Imavant, not all of the apes chose to enter the appointed sanctuary. Preferring to take their chances in the wide world, various groups split off and established enclaves in diverse places. One group, known as the Yeren, migrated to the forest of Lin, which at that time was considerably warmer than it is today.

    They destroyed the remnants of the serpent-men and established cities in the forest. A few of their ruins remain today, mostly scattered watchtowers or underground arsenals. They are recognizable by their distinct architecture, made of seemingly unhewn stones fitted together seamlessly. The windows and doors are half-moon arches without upright lines. Curving buttresses support the larger buildings, almost all of which are capped with domes. The largest extent of ruins is Yuán Chéng, a city notable for its sculptures and monumental structures.

    For unknown reasons, the Yeren civilization began to decline. Records scavenged from Yuán Chéng tell of political unrest and societal decay. What once was a unified commonwealth soon dissolved into petty gangs squabbling over the ruins of their once great realm. Over time the forest began to reclaim its own, and the once-proud simians retreated into the highlands to dwell in caves and drystone huts. Not as flawless as their ancestral structures, the gaps between the stones here are packed with earth to keep out the mountain weather. The various settlements cling to the mountainsides, harboring dwindling populations. Most of the villages seem as hostile to each other as they are to the outside world.

    The few human tribes that live in the forest have little contact with the Yeren, and purposely so. The simians have been known to raid settlements and haul away food and captives. Yeng policy tends to avoid the apes as much as possible. The mountains are comparatively sparse in useful timber and a conflict with the psychic nonhumans is not worth it. However, some lumber camps close to the foothills have reported losing supplies to the simians, particularly iron tools. It is probable that skirmishes will occur the closer the Yeng press in toward the forest's heart.

Winter in the Bear's Realm

There are few bears left in the forest of Lin. But the She-Bear has been there longer than any man remembers. Her territory is on the western outskirts of the central mountain range.

She is enormous, leaving her claw marks on the highest trunks. Each of her droppings could fill an oxcart. Her urine gathers in fetid pools before subsiding into the earth. Her roar is deafening and her wrath cataclysmic. Great tufts of her red-brown fur can be found throughout her territory, caught in the branches or lying in clumps along the trailside. Her footprints become ponds or flower meads.

In the winter, she withdraws into a great cave to slumber. As she slumbers, She dreams. A curtain of mist draws around Her territory. The lands within become strange and surreal.

The nature of Her dreams will alter them.

If she is at peace, she will simply dream of her mountain slopes in winter, deep snows blanketing the familiar trails under the half-light of a slate-gray sky. But her memories may wander into summer, and you'll round a bend to find yourself blinking up at green leaves and bright skies. Cubs play in the sunlit groves and must be avoided at all costs.

If the Bear dreams of her infancy, the snow vanishes. The air remains chilled, but the mountain's slopes are warm, almost hot, and covered with soft fur. The sky becomes a distant cave roof, and the trees are enormous stalactites. They are cold, slightly damp, and rough to the touch. The light is dim but never fully dark, as though snowy light is filtering through some unseen opening. Around the den, steaming milk will gather in stone-lined pools. This is the Dream Milk, which so many expeditions attempt to bring back to the real world.

If the Bear hungers, enormous and succulent fruits grow on leafless trees and lie in piles amid the snow. Mushrooms spring up in scattered patches, and rich tubers poke up through the turf. Rivers of sweet things, syrups and sorghums and molasses, flow in impossible uphill courses. Cartoonishly fat cattle with swollen limbs and bellies amble about. Fish plop out of streams and wriggle on the banks. The cliffs are dotted with the hives of enormous bees, dripping with honey.

If the Bear lusts, the climate shifts to resemble late spring. There are flowers everywhere. Great he-bears stalk around the mouth of the den, awaiting her call. Sometimes they spar with each other in titanic combat. Her cadre of old lovers include bears long extinct, legends long forgotten. They are fit and strong and very much opposed to your presence. Mercifully these memories are from her youth, so the brutes conjured up are of a large but not impossible size for bears. Their deaths (or yours) will not bother Her at all, but the den itself must not be entered.

If she is restless or uneasy, the sky will darken and a bracing wind sends curling serpents of fog to wind through the trees. Shadows move on the edge of sight and strange noises sporadically puncture the deep silence. Although no outright attacks occur, you are constantly on edge. Sleep is difficult and the strain on your nerves intense.

There are few things the Bear truly fears anymore. But, reaching back in her memories, her nightmares will conjure the Hunters, faceless humanoids (and stranger shapes still) in furry rags. They wield flint spears and shoot flaming arrows. Cruel traps will be hidden along the trails. Enormous packs of slavering wolves will haunt the slopes. Forest fires will rage, rivers will flood. The wail of cubs, lost or in pain, will echo incessantly over everything.

So why go there?

The dreamscapes themselves and the things dreamed in them disappear when the Bear shifts moods or wakes. But dreamed things taken by outsiders will persist through the shifts and will gain permanence if brought out of the Bear's territory and into reality. (This must be done by outside intervention. Creatures or objects within the dreamscape cannot and will not leave of their own accord.)

Despite the great danger, expeditions are made every winter. Both furs and food are vital in the winter months and can be had here in abundance. Dream milk will never spoil, and it promotes health, fertility, and wisdom. Drinking it also prevents nightmares, something particularly helpful during the full moon. Prolonged usage causes hair and nails to grow at double the rate. The honey also has an energizing effect and may boost speech, charisma, and intellect.

The risks entailed in gathering these things is high. Even beyond the dangers of the terrain and the strange logic of the dreamworld, the resources also attract scavenging parties from the great apes who dwell in the central highlands. These often prove formidable. Their mental powers allow them to predict the Bear's next mood and, roughly, the amount of time until the next shift. Their camp also functions as a mobile pocket of base reality within the dreamworld.

While for years she has had to make due with mouthfuls, the rise of the Swine God and his brood has finally given her prey of a size commensurate to her appetite. She has been slowly extending her territory toward their rutting grounds, inevitably bringing her close to the foresters' encampments.

[Inspired by noisms' Behind Gently Smiling Jaws setting.]