Within the bygone ruin of Fenris Keep laid a thick journal, dusted and worn, though not as old as the ruin itself. The pages contained the following:
Drustvar, a Land of Woes and Wonders
A treatise on Drustvar, as written by Eadmaer Conmara during the Fourth War, 65 days into the year 33 - 625 by the King’s Calendar
A foreword from the author
Surrounded by bogs in a vast and bleak wilderness, I find myself in an old ruin which my ranger brethren describe as Fenris Keep. My newfound purpose binds me now to a strange, fallen country upon this unfamiliar mainland. Although this might be where I now call home, my thoughts often wander to where I was born and raised.
That, dear reader, was beyond the sea.
The Land
The Land
A country of great varied terrain, Drustvar holds a myriad of forgotten secrets known only to the few. There is a cobbled road which leads into this land from the east, named the Old Drust Road. That road stretches beyond the frozen fells which splits the country in twain. Trudging down this road a traveller would pass through hamlets and villages. The settlements that aren’t abandoned are populated by peasants more superstitious than most, wary of outsiders, though especially mainlanders. Those folk brought naught but misfortune it was often said. Despite that, these outsiders would be told to steer clear from the cemeteries. In the case that you, dear reader, haven’t already come to understand why that is, I, the writer, shall divulge into the very reason why these cemeteries are dangerous ground to tread upon.
There is a reason as to why we have been called a superstitious people. To understand you must look to where we have left our fallen. The cemeteries. They are haunted. The drust clings to the land with powers beyond our ken. It has troubled my country for aeons. To wander the cemeteries is to trespass the territory of twisted spirits. Those who tread that decrepit ground ought be no stranger to dealing with the unworldly. In days past, town mayors would hire the most seasoned of drustvari trackers for the banishing of stray spirits, when their haunting became too much to bear. It is not so anymore.
Let me not forget the lesser known horsebreed of my home country. Few mainlanders have ever heard of the hardy Drustvari Trampler. This breed does not shy away from traversing treacherous ground and faraway hillocks. The trampler plants its hooves as well as any mountain goat and does not leave its master in conflict and peril.
Further inland away from the fishing villages the land grows more and more unforgiving. Stacking up on provisions in the town of Fallhaven is much advised for folk planning to travel west, through the mountains and beyond. The journey is long and cold, and not for the lighthearted, nor those who aren’t dressed for winter. Steering clear from wayward brigands ought to be the least of a traveller’s worries; for plentiful are the foul beasts that roam those frozen tracts. Though before I contradict myself later on, one ought know that the wildlife isn’t only merciless. It is a joyful marvel to catch a glimpse of stray stags and to gaze at the great falcons soaring past the mountain peaks. The men and women of Arom’s Stand would agree to as much without a doubt.
The very mountain range which separates this forlorn land is beholden to a great many secrets. Stray nomads wander those heights, clad in garments of fur and bone. Steer clear from them unless your need is absolute; for these are no ordinary people. Thornspeakers, we call them, whose purposes are great and beyond mortal understanding. It is known amongst the locals that their dens are well hidden in the mountains of perpetual winter. When they do not rest, the Thornspeakers tend the land, and protect it and its habitants from the recently arisen drust. The Drust, blighted horrors whose appearance is that of wandering treemen. This land wasn’t always ours. No, for I would argue that we, the Drustvari, were not the first to settle here as some might mistakenly claim. Perhaps it was those merciless fiends before they were defeated and put to rest. Until now. These old creatures are greatly vulnerable to fire, much like the despicable undead troubling the land of Lordaeron.
The main road stretches down from the mountainous region and through a forested region known as the Crimsonwood. At the southern edge of the Crimsonwood stands the olden fishing village of Falconhurst, facing the sea. It is there you shall find the most superstitious of peasantry; for ever are they troubled by woodland horrors. Through the years uncanny tales of missing widows and children have reached ears aplenty in every corner of that land. Foolish hunters and wayward knights have in days past taken payment for pursuit of the missing ones. If not swayed by meagre coin, then by desperate fathers. It is from experience I write, for I as well was once offered such a contract. Take heed and do not accept any sort of work from the villagers of Falconhurst. Not even a fisherman’s work. Underneath the waters of those coasts you shall find naught but a watery grave. It ought suffice to write that there are bloodthirsty sharks, and other unnamed, indescribable fiends.
North of the Crimsonwood the land stretches out far and wide towards distant villages and hamlets. The most notable of these is a town named Corlain. A place of ill repute. Those who lived there were naught but Waycrest lackeys and deceitful cretins not good for aught. Last I heard the town stood desolate though not abandoned. Madmen clad in plate and mail are said to roam those tracts, and they are ever watchful of the outskirts. Turn around. Venture back over the mountains and be content that you have reached the journey’s end.
The Great Mysteries
The Great Mysteries
Giants of Stone
There is more to my strange homeland than meets the eye. Great stone statues are littered across Drustvar. Deep in the wild and upon the most distant mountainous heights, these are often stumbled upon where it is least expected. When I was but a lowly tracker I sought to discover their purpose. Before I travelled to Stormsong Valley and swore my service to a noble house. Before the rebellion. Perhaps there was once a purpose to them. There must be a reason for why they were raised. Perhaps my kinsmen back home have discovered more. A simple warning shall suffice where these strange statues are concerned: keep your distance.
The White Stag
There is furthermore much to know of the fabled creatures of this land. To seek these one would have to stray from the beaten path. If you wish to understand the wilds of Drustvar then you must surrender yourself to its woes and wonders. Great is the lord of that wilderness. Although I myself never laid eyes upon the White Stag, there are others who have, and this I do not doubt for a second. That legend is embroidered into our very culture. Where I come from, taking such lightly would be to piss into a hurricane.
The Sword, Miresong
My brethren often inquire as to the origin of my sword. The wayward ranger, Emeric, is more than suspicious of the old magic it contains. Let it be known to the reader that I found it deep within old drust ruins many years ago, in the heart of a red wilderness known to my kinsmen back home as the Crimsonwood. This was long before those woods became infested with fiends. Truth be told it was pure coincidence that I stumbled upon the tool, down there in that perennial darkness. Buckrem and I were pursuing a wounded stag, and little did we know at the time that we had delved into the ruins of Gol Inath. A good friend, and I miss him greatly. I wonder what happened to the man. Nonetheless, good steel ought not be hidden away amongst spiders and their webs in the dark, so we brought it with and had the hilt replaced.
The Ruins of the Drust
The Ruins of the Drust
Numerous ruins can be sought out all across Drustvar. It has been discovered that these once belonged to drust defilers. The ruins themselves are fallen settlements and monuments from another age. To venture there is to undertake great peril. I deem it a necessity to spend sufficient coin for the hiring of a local tracker. Take heed and do not hire the cretins who hail from Corlain; for they more than oft prove treacherous. Make certain your guide has brought torches, and flint and steel. Should he not then he is most certainly an amateur. Your finest trackers will have access to a rarity known as liquid fire, though I dread to think what such an individual would charge for his services.
The most infamous ruins shall be named below.
Gol Koval
This foul place you shall find at the southeast, due west from Fletcher’s Hollow. The ruin is half buried in a glacier and difficult to scale. They who are to venture there must tread with crampons crafted for their footwear. Do not carry a longsword from your hip, nor other weaponry that might come in the way. Hatchets and arming dirks are recommended. If absolutely necessary, fasten your sword over the shoulder, across the spine. Lastly you must bring ice picks if you intend for whatever reason to scale the steepest glacier.
Gol Var
Regrettably I will not be able to write down the locations of these fabled ruins. Their whereabouts are unknown to me. I doubt I shall ever discover them. According to the tales of my kinsmen, these ruins are hidden deep in the mountains to the north. A cavern of endless wormholes. Indescribable horrors slither there. It goes without saying that one ought to bring torches or lanterns for such a delve; for when was there ever daylight deep underground?
Gol Osigr
Not far south from Arom’s Stand, Gol Osigr stands without shame. Many of my kin would claim it was once a stronghold of the Drust. Beware the great precipice at the western edge, and demons in the snow. Do not wander there without snowshoes. The snowstorms fall quickly and unexpectedly. Wear your warmest clothings and do not venture alone.
Gol Inath
A ruin in the heart of the red thickets known as the Crimsonwood, or simply as the Crimson Forest. By the watery Tidemother or the Holy Light or whatever greater entity you believe in, do not wander there. Not for whatever reason. In my time and age you could hunt near those ruins and travel the road without peril. Those were many years ago. When the dangers there laid dormant without our knowledge. Sleeping. Hidden. To go there is to trespass the territory of crazed beasts and deceitful crones. Reader, heed my warning.
A conclusion
A conclusion
The woes outweigh the wonders of my homeland. An unpleasant country where only the hardiest of folk thrive. My journey has been long and I have not only done good. There is regret I wish not to write about. If there is one thing I am content with then it is my departure from that woeful country.
The remaining pages are filled with poor illustrations of environments which most likely resemble the land of Drustvar.
An OOC message:
Drustvar is a wonderful zone with incredible RP potential.
Do you have a character born in that tough country? Perhaps you are already RPing there, and if not do you plan to in Shadowlands?
