Where blood is seeped into the veins of the earth;
Where darkness wallows and festers in the bogs;
Where death is burned in crucibles of the soul;
There lay the Bleeding Marrow.
The earliest inscriptions of in the region now known as the Bleeding Marrow attest to the first cities of the Aimads, a people known today as the Blood Nymphs. They are said to be of Elven descent, though no surviving culture beyond the Marrow retains their distinctions. The Aimads are red of skin and sharp of ear, their limbs long and slender, their height modestly greater than that of common men. Though bleached white per ancestral tradition, their hair forms locks of obsidian black and amaranthine purple. Oft are their bodies adorned by ritual markings and paints. Over centuries these rituals, among others, are unchanged. Though not the original inhabitants of this domain, it can be said that the Marrow is the homeland of the Aimads. Tapestries and potteries attest to the great wars waged against the serpentine Xondrae, the firstborn peoples of the region, since cast into the tropic wilds. Through strife they gained new knowledge of the nature of the spirit, and sought to harness the power of a lingering death against their enemies. From the controlled exorcism of the soul was formed their foul and disturbing magic; and so from the violence of the soul was formed their rising power.
Though many cities rose under Aimadic rule, the greatest empire forged by their kind was unquestionably Ghamnera. Once one of many squabbling city-states, Ghamnera would innovate upon blood magic and refine it to a degree incomprehensible to ancient scholars. The lifeblood of the people became the lifeblood of the city. Seepways were moulded to carry the flow of the crimson fuel, and through its touch countless objects were enchanted and curses. The essence of life was wielded to take it. A majestic warhost ravaged distant lands, commanded by the druids whose sacred duty compelled an unrelenting quota of bloodshed. Countless peoples were torn from the simplicity of barbarism and drafted under Aimadic thrall. The Ghamnerites were merciless and cruel to themselves as much as their enemies, seeking absolution of the flesh in countless twisted experiments. Confederation after confederation sought to fight against their dominion, and all were cut down where they stood. Even the mighty Dreihns, hardy men of the central drylands and nomadic lords of the untamed reaches, failed to penetrate Ghamnerite territory until the final years of the empire.
What destroyed Ghmanera was itself. In taming death, and in wielding it without remorse, the Ghamnerites inflicted a terrible curse upon their lands. The fields withered, and they called on sorcery to stave starvation. Pestilence gripped the cities, and they called on sorcery to cure themselves. Then mounds sunk into bloodstained mires, exposing the rot of the earth. Monsters erupted from the ground, fuelled by the blood spilled so thoughtlessly for so long. Death's grip could not be withstood, and Ghamnera collapsed into disarray. The Dreihns led an alliance of clans and traitors to raze the outskirts of Ghamnerite territory and sack their legacy, but it soon became apparent that all were under siege from below. From one cause or another the majority of the Aimads lost themselves, and the pure of their kind faded into near-myth alongside the grandeur of the old ways.
Centuries later, the so-called Bleeding Marrow remains a gaping wound. Any masses of people large enough attracts the wrath of vengeful spectres and withering corruption. Peoples civilised and nomadic alike are scattered through the eastern wetlands, the central drylands and the western peaks. The Marrowborne Host was formed as an alliance of convenience and necessity. No longer stand great cities save as monuments to hubris. The fallen remnants of Ghamnera are picked clean by scavengers and shaman, seeking to uncover the mysteries of blood-sorcery for their own use. Instead, fortified sanctums safeguard what documented paths remain traversable. Mercenary knights and hunters of the wild escort caravans of merchants and survivalists through the overgrown jungles and the labyrinthine caverns forged by ancient folly. Many venture to foreign lands to seek employment in more hospitable climes. But despite the hardship endured by the peoples of the Host, they are resolute in their determination. Through one means or another, they endure the turmoil of the very land they live upon, and seek in future to close the scars their ancestors carved into the world so long ago.
Where darkness wallows and festers in the bogs;
Where death is burned in crucibles of the soul;
There lay the Bleeding Marrow.
The earliest inscriptions of in the region now known as the Bleeding Marrow attest to the first cities of the Aimads, a people known today as the Blood Nymphs. They are said to be of Elven descent, though no surviving culture beyond the Marrow retains their distinctions. The Aimads are red of skin and sharp of ear, their limbs long and slender, their height modestly greater than that of common men. Though bleached white per ancestral tradition, their hair forms locks of obsidian black and amaranthine purple. Oft are their bodies adorned by ritual markings and paints. Over centuries these rituals, among others, are unchanged. Though not the original inhabitants of this domain, it can be said that the Marrow is the homeland of the Aimads. Tapestries and potteries attest to the great wars waged against the serpentine Xondrae, the firstborn peoples of the region, since cast into the tropic wilds. Through strife they gained new knowledge of the nature of the spirit, and sought to harness the power of a lingering death against their enemies. From the controlled exorcism of the soul was formed their foul and disturbing magic; and so from the violence of the soul was formed their rising power.
Though many cities rose under Aimadic rule, the greatest empire forged by their kind was unquestionably Ghamnera. Once one of many squabbling city-states, Ghamnera would innovate upon blood magic and refine it to a degree incomprehensible to ancient scholars. The lifeblood of the people became the lifeblood of the city. Seepways were moulded to carry the flow of the crimson fuel, and through its touch countless objects were enchanted and curses. The essence of life was wielded to take it. A majestic warhost ravaged distant lands, commanded by the druids whose sacred duty compelled an unrelenting quota of bloodshed. Countless peoples were torn from the simplicity of barbarism and drafted under Aimadic thrall. The Ghamnerites were merciless and cruel to themselves as much as their enemies, seeking absolution of the flesh in countless twisted experiments. Confederation after confederation sought to fight against their dominion, and all were cut down where they stood. Even the mighty Dreihns, hardy men of the central drylands and nomadic lords of the untamed reaches, failed to penetrate Ghamnerite territory until the final years of the empire.
What destroyed Ghmanera was itself. In taming death, and in wielding it without remorse, the Ghamnerites inflicted a terrible curse upon their lands. The fields withered, and they called on sorcery to stave starvation. Pestilence gripped the cities, and they called on sorcery to cure themselves. Then mounds sunk into bloodstained mires, exposing the rot of the earth. Monsters erupted from the ground, fuelled by the blood spilled so thoughtlessly for so long. Death's grip could not be withstood, and Ghamnera collapsed into disarray. The Dreihns led an alliance of clans and traitors to raze the outskirts of Ghamnerite territory and sack their legacy, but it soon became apparent that all were under siege from below. From one cause or another the majority of the Aimads lost themselves, and the pure of their kind faded into near-myth alongside the grandeur of the old ways.
Centuries later, the so-called Bleeding Marrow remains a gaping wound. Any masses of people large enough attracts the wrath of vengeful spectres and withering corruption. Peoples civilised and nomadic alike are scattered through the eastern wetlands, the central drylands and the western peaks. The Marrowborne Host was formed as an alliance of convenience and necessity. No longer stand great cities save as monuments to hubris. The fallen remnants of Ghamnera are picked clean by scavengers and shaman, seeking to uncover the mysteries of blood-sorcery for their own use. Instead, fortified sanctums safeguard what documented paths remain traversable. Mercenary knights and hunters of the wild escort caravans of merchants and survivalists through the overgrown jungles and the labyrinthine caverns forged by ancient folly. Many venture to foreign lands to seek employment in more hospitable climes. But despite the hardship endured by the peoples of the Host, they are resolute in their determination. Through one means or another, they endure the turmoil of the very land they live upon, and seek in future to close the scars their ancestors carved into the world so long ago.