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 stalagmites. 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.]

Dark Rain

    When I say that the forest wages war on its despoilers, I do not mean that in a merely figurative sense. Of course there are the vines and saplings that spring up at a seemingly supernatural rate in any plot of cleared ground, the seeds of millennia finally seizing their chance at a place in the sun. These are difficult enough to deal with. What I am referring to is the Dark Rain.

    I am at a loss to classify it as tree, animal, or machine. It walks on eight monstrous legs, arched like those of a spider but cased in bark-like skin. Where the legs meet, a massive trunk towers up into leafy branches. Here and there among the branches is a leafless bough, shorter and oddly straight until it splits into two backward curving arms, connected at the ends by a vine-like rope. It is, in fact, an organic crossbow. (Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the crossbows the Liangyese use are manmade imitations of this.) It can load and fire quarrels grown and stored within a hollow tube inside the leafless bough.

    The number of weapon-boughs varies with the age (and hence the size) of the thing. The boughs have a limited range of movement so aiming often requires the tree to turn or bend. When one bough is out of bolts, it twists around to aim the next bough at its target. From this fact comes another of its names, the Twister. A common song of the Foresters contains the line "And then the twister comes. Here comes the twister." 

    How the creatures sense their targets is unknown. Generally a dark rain will patrol along a seemingly random path, attacking only those who pose a serious threat to the forest. The Yeng are such a threat, but lately the boars of the Swine God have also been targeted. In the past, each twister hunted alone, but lately there are rumors of several working together to coordinate attacks on Yeng outposts-- and darker whispers of organic trebuchets that move and fire of their own accord. If true, these tales indicate that the war is about to reach a new and deadlier stage.

The Strife-of-Tongues

    Tei Pao looked uneasily at the clearing, a circular patch of open space somehow devoid of trees or brush. A clump of rocks lay near but not quite at the center. Otherwise low grass covered all until it reached the edge of the surrounding forest. He held up his hand to signal Huin behind him. The mercenary stopped short with a surprised huff and glowered at him. "What is it?" he whispered.

    Pao didn't turn. "I don't know," he replied in a low tone, "but something feels off."

    "To hell with your feelings."

    "Why are there no trees-- hell, no shrubs? Nothing but grass." He paused. "There aren't even any fallen branches. How is that possible?"

    A handful of birds drifted lazily out from the canopy and began to descend toward the floor of the clearing. Tei Pao glanced at them, then back to the clearing. "The whole thing looks far too circular to just be random. I don't like it. I say we go around."

    The birds settled quietly on the ground and began to peck around. Huin snorted. "We've been hacking through the undergrowth for hours, and when we finally reach open ground--"

    Suddenly and silently, bright red tendrils erupted from the floor of the clearing a few feet behind the birds. There were half a dozen of them, long, thin, and sinuous. Each one arced forward and grasped at a bird, grabbing at the heads. Two birds managed to take wing, but the pursuing limbs shot after them like a frog's tongue catching flies. In barely enough time to even register what was happening, the two men watched the red streamers wring each bird's neck, breaking them, and then flinging the carcasses far into the trees in one continuous motion. Then they silently slithered back into the ground. Soon, only the grass remained, but with a few scattered patches of feathers or specks of blood.

    Without a word the two men turned and moved back along the trail they had just made.

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    An unknown civilization in the distant past buried unageing monsters in the earth to guard their graves. Sages aver that the ancient and proper name for these abominable things is Strife-of-Tongues. The woodcutters of the Yeng call them Lickers.

    Each licker is housed inside a spherical casing made of some substance with the look of bone but the feel of stone. Whether this is its natural shell or its arcane cage is unclear. It is thought that the sphere amplifies vibrations in the soil, helping the Strife-of-Tongues locate its victims. The sphere and the organism inside is generally found two or three yards beneath the surface. A system of roots grow down through tiny apertures in the lower half of the sphere to anchor it and presumably to take in nutrients. The top of casing contains ten to twelve larger holes, each about two inches wide. These are for the use of the "tongues", red prehensile appendages of a leathery texture and impressive strength, anywhere from ten to twenty feet in length. They bore swiftly through the ground and burst through the surface to strike at anything that comes within their range.

    Smaller animals such as birds or mice are killed as quickly as possible and the carcass thrown outside the circle. Larger creatures are given a warning to frighten them away. This generally consists of the tongues snapping at the intruder like whips, or perhaps wrapping around the leg and attempting to drag it back towards the edge of the circle. If the trespasser persists in its encroachment on the licker's territory or attempts to fight back, the attack of the tongues becomes lethal. They may attempt to constrict by wrapping around the ribs and squeezing. Or they may try to grab the head and snap the neck. Occasionally they get creative and grab two of the creatures limbs, then pull each in a different direction until flesh and bone separate.

    Any remains will be pushed or hurled outside the circle. The licker keeps its territory (considered to be anything in the range of its tongues) meticulously free of most debris, so as to not impede its detection of intruders or the mobility of its tongues. Branches and other deadfall from the trees are cleared away, and any sapling that grows higher than a few inches is also uprooted and cast out. One thing that the licker will not interfere with, however, is stone. To be sure, if it is hit by a stone weapon, it will retaliate if possible. But if a rock lands on its territory, it will send out a tongue to feel it, and upon feeling its texture, ignore it thenceforth, accepting it as just part of the landscape. It is thought that this is some innate programming in the creatures' behavior by whatever wizard first dreamt it up, so that it would not attack the megalithic stones used to build the burial chambers that they were (generally) placed to guard.

    These dolmen-like structures sometimes still exist within the licker's circle, although occasionally the ravages of time or changes to the environment have wiped them out or buried them far deeper than their rooted guardian. The few of these tombs that have been explored and looted have yielded curious artifacts but very little clues as to the nature of their builders.

    Larger debris such as fallen trees may tax even the great strength of the tongues, and it will take time for them to clear them. They may start a fire by means of friction and retreat below ground, leaving the log to burn to a more manageable state. Such blazes can easily become larger conflagrations should they reach the surrounding forest.

    There seems to be no limit on the lifespan of these organisms. Any tongue that is cut off will regrow within a matter of weeks, although it may take up to half a year to reach its full length. The few that have been killed were ones which were partially unearthed due to earthquakes or landslides. The casing once broken (a difficult task), the creature within appeared to be little more than a pink pulsating blob of indeterminate shape. Any attempts at communication via mundane or magical means proved unfruitful. Once dead, the strife-of-tongues quickly decomposes, releasing a foul-smelling vapor which contains bacteria highly lethal to any who breathe it in.

    Fortunately the territory of a licker is usually fairly obvious to spot and avoid, being a near perfect circle of grassland within a forest, often with a megalithic tomb toward its center. A submerged licker is incredibly difficult to combat, but should you manage to destroy all of its tongues you should be free to access the dolmen and plunder it.

Lin Flora

    In the darker parts of the forest, perpetually shadowed by the interwoven branches above, are infestations of dream moss. While not unique to Lin, it is most common here, and the local variety is the most potent. Dream moss emits a vapor which causes vivid hallucinations, almost inevitably of something hostile to the victim. This may take the form of a natural beast, an enemy combatant, or some nightmarish chimera from the depths of the subconscious. You may even face an apparent duplicate of yourself, with all your skills and abilities. In the combat that ensues, the effects of the illusion are so intense that one will take actual physical damage-- not to mention whatever harm one causes or receives in the real world while they are gripped in the nightmare's delusion. Despite the sinister nature of the visions it induces, dream moss is sought out and collected by some of the foresters, who sell it to apothecaries as an ingredient.

----

    The lulun, or faefire mushroom, glows softly with a blue bioluminescence. Upon detecting passersby via vibrations in the ground, it releases a gas which causes first euphoria, then overwhelming calm, and finally a deep and dreamless sleep which can last for hours. During that time it will send out a vast amount of spores in the direction of the sleeper, so that as many as possible will be carried away by the sleeper when they wake and leave. Not necessarily harmful in itself, but in a place like Lin falling asleep in the open is rarely a good idea. Luluns are widely sought for their use as a sedative.

----

    The purple terror is a plant which grows in the canopy and sends down vines to suck up moisture from the ground. They are commonly found near ponds or streams. The vines are prehensile and terribly strong. If a creature is caught by them, they will wrap around it and pull it up into the air to trap it. There are tiny, sharp protrusions which stick into the victim and drain its fluids into the plant. Purple terrors can be noted by the bright and beautiful purple flowers that blossom in the canopy-- and by the bones of man and beast caught in their tendrils.

    The purple terror and the lulun often grow close by each other, the purple terror predating on those who fall asleep in the lulun's circle. This still works to the lulun's favor as the victim is hoisted high in the air by the vines, and its spores are dispersed by the wind over a wide area.

The Swine God

    Vast herds of boar inhabit Lin, dangerous enough for humans armed only with flint or bronze. But the Yeng have managed to hold their own and slowly press forward, driving the herds before them.

    Angered at the loss of their territory, the boars retreated further into the sanctuary of the trees. Rooting about for truffles and fallen acorns, they murmured their complaints to the earth. And somehow, in her silent yet restless slumber, she heard.

    The Swine God ripped its own way out of its mother's womb. After draining the corpse of its blood, it went to the nearest sow, drove off her young and suckled milk from her. The beast grew rapidly and soon was the undisputed leader of the largest herd.

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    Thu Khar, the Swine God, the Iron Boar, stands ten feet high at the shoulder and is nearly eighteen feet in length. Three tusks grow on the right side of its snout and two on the left, all dagger-sharp. Its saliva will cause burns to human skin and damage to the eyes. Its hoofs are caked in blood and there is always a swarm of flies about it. Its sides and flanks are plated with a thicker hide nearly impervious to most weapons. Visually they resemble the skin of a rhinoceros but with a faintly metallic sheen. The rest of it is covered in shaggy, matted fur, black save for a rust-colored mane along the head and spine. A great stench precedes it and lingers in its wake.

    As long as its heart is intact and its body is in contact with the earth, Thu Khar will heal rapidly. (Note that severed pieces of the beast do not count toward this.) The effect is more pronounced in the summer than in the winter. A cut or a stab will close and mend in a matter of seconds or minutes in the summer. In winter it could take up to a day. A limb or eye will regrow within a day during summer, but will take about a week or so in the winter. The head will take a week to regrow in summer and up to a month in winter. The body is inert while the head is gone or regrowing. During this time Thu Khar's remaining offspring and the herd will guard it ferociously.

    If the heart is damaged, the regeneration will focus on healing the heart first, provided the body has contact with the earth. Any natural ground counts as "earth" in this case. An artificial floor or pavement does not. A dirt road counts, a natural deposit of gravel counts, but a gravel road will not. If the heart is reduced to ashes or cut into chunks and separated, it will not regenerate. If there is a stake or blade through the heart, the heart will reform around it and begin operating again. Once the heart is reformed, the body will begin to heal itself as above.

    A corpse blade will cut through the armored hide almost effortlessly. The same goes for Ayis. A wound inflicted on the Iron Boar by Ayis will not regenerate, no matter what.

    The Swine God leads its forces in an unrelenting campaign against humanity. It wages war with an almost human intelligence, laying ambushes and crafting rudimentary traps. Those whom it slays, it eats.

    In its youth it mated prodigiously. (Now it is far too large for any sow, not that that stops it from trying.) Its children are about halfway between its size and that of a normal boar. They have similar armor and a variety of extra tusks, but not its healing ability. Some have split off to lead herds of their own, and are beginning to show signs of growing to their sire's image and size. Those still in its herd often lead scouting or raiding parties, or aid in the setting of traps.

    Thu Khar and its spawn seem able to communicate with each other and to a certain extent with the herd. It will not be possible for a player character to communicate with any of them, however, by any means.

    The Iron Boar has caused havoc for Yeng and tribesmen alike. The vastness of its herd has begun to exhaust the food supply of other animals in the region and even cause problems for the trees as the hungry swine damage bark and root. Its territory is to be avoided if possible, but it is always seeking to expand or shift its domain as vegetation gets eaten up. One way or another, the Swine God must be stopped.

Forest of Lin, continued

    The official entrance to the Forest of Lin is the town of Fǔtóu, or "Axehead". Built where the River Yun emerges from the forest, it is the main hub of operations in Lin. Supplies and personnel are shipped here for processing and distribution among the camps as needed, and raw timber is in turn brought here, documented, and shipped downriver to Mutsai.

    Unlike the camps, Axehead is a permanent settlement and therefore boasts many of the amenities one might expect in a town of its size. Laborers from the nearby camps may come in on their rare rest days to spend their earnings on wine and women. But they are not allowed to get too wild. In some ways Axehead is run even more rigidly than Mutsai. Everything here is the property of the Yeng Clan.

    There is tension between Axehead and Mutsai. The officials here feel that the clan leaders demand too much of them and offer too little support. Meanwhile Mutsai generally accuses them of laziness and carelessness. These frustrations have not led to an actual split-- neither group could function without the other, after all-- but the embers of a true quarrel are there, and who can say what further events may inflame it.

    The area closest to Axehead has been deforested and replanted several times. Rows of trees stand in straight lines, each square plot planted in a different year. In addition there are wide fields of farmland and pastures which keep the town and many of the closest settlements fed. Yeng officials grumble about using land for crops when it could be used for timber, but the costs of shipping food in upriver from Mutsai make this a necessity. One hardly feels oneself to be within a great primeval forest here. It is only as one goes further upriver that one begins to encounter pockets of old growth.

    Expansion into Lin naturally followed the course of the River Yun and its various tributaries coming down from the central highlands. Water travel is still the most reliable means of navigating the area but one must always be on the lookout for the vast flotillas of logs which are continually being shipped downstream. It is helpful to have a guide with knowledge of the frankly arcane patterns, schedules, and techniques of the shipping, and even then a logjam may set one back days. Where the rivers do not go, paths have been made across the cleared land for oxcarts to drag logs by, although this is much less cost effective than using the water. Still the Yeng are determined to harvest the pockets of old growth that remain away from the waters' edge, and little by little these ancient groves are shrinking as they are whittled away. But as you go further north or east you approach the tree line and begin to glimpse the true Forest and the camps along its verge.

    The camps naturally must follow the line of trees, and as one area becomes depleted and is replanted, the buildings are disassembled and moved to a new location. Many structures are basically tents, but even those that require a bit more permanency have still been designed with this function in mind. Pins holding together interlocking beams are removed and the whole building is taken down and carried off to be rebuilt at the new site. Generally speaking nothing is allowed to be left behind or abandoned, but occasionally one will find a building that for one reason or another remained at an older site. Most abandoned structures become swiftly overgrown with fungus, mold, moss, and creeper vines.

    The camps are dangerous places where rough and hardened men wage war against the forest which always seeks to take back its own. Both predator and prey are dangerous here-- more lives have been lost to a boar's tusks than a bear's claws. There are even plants which will seek to strangle a man and suck his blood. And there are hostile minds as well. Most of the native tribes will periodically attempt to raid the camps near their territory. Perhaps a third of the forest is even rudimentarily explored, and only half of that is safely under control. Whispers also abound of ghosts and forest devils, and of a certainty there are mind-reading apes in the central highlands, which raid native and settler alike.

The Forest of Lin

  While Mutsai is the headquarters of the Yeng, the great bulk of their resources come from their extensive holdings in the Forest of Lin, northeast of the city. The forest was granted to the Yeng by royal edict when they were raised to noble status. At the time, the forest was a relatively unexplored tract of wilderness, little understood. Even today, after a century or so, there remain vast swathes that are outside of the Yeng's direct control. Yet they jealously insist on their claim to the entire forest and will brook no rival to enter.

The forest itself is immense, a remnant of the primeval forest which once dominated the entire coastline before rise of the sea and the coming of men. Level around the perimeter (for the most part), it begins to rise as one goes further in, culminating in rugged and forbidding mountains in the heart of the wood. While the Yeng have not succeeded in conquering that area, they have established a great ring around the forest's edge. This boundary is called the Verge. It is at most a few miles in width and is patrolled by automata shaped like beasts of prey-- bears, tigers, packs of wolves and so forth. Humans whom these beasts find within the boundary are set upon and attacked without mercy. The only exceptions are those bearing a certain type of talisman which the Yeng create. This apparently marks one as a non-hostile and allows safe passage among the wooden watch-beasts.

Such passage is necessary from time to time, for the absence of humans from the boundary has created a haven for animals of all kinds, and deer and other such creatures flock here to escape from hunters. At times their numbers swell too greatly and they become a threat to groves of newly planted trees, and must be culled. And of course, where there are prey animals one will find predators. Living panthers and lynx slink among the wooden ones, and while these are permitted to help keep the herbivores numbers at a healthy level, at times a predator will become a danger to humans and must be sought out and put down. And, rarely but not unheard of, stranger and more deadly things lurk among the shadows of the Verge.

The only safe route through the boundary, officially, is the river Yun. Travelling up river by galley requires a permit from the Grand Lodge, bearing the Seal of the clan. Any vessel found on the river without a permit will be confiscated by guardsmen and the passengers imprisoned. Unofficially there may be a way in along the southeast, where an undulating stretch of land known as the Bubble holds an extensive cave network.

There is another path which leads into the forest but it would hardly be described as safe. An ancient Ghost Road from the Mi Dynasty breaches the western border of the wood and continues to the ruins of a city about twenty miles within.