
Ashwood Marches
A borderland of burned villages, old groves, mass graves, and hunter roads. The Ashwights walk the long ditches at dusk.
The plague does not only kill bodies. It changes laws, prayers, borders, markets, and myths.

A borderland of burned villages, old groves, mass graves, and hunter roads. The Ashwights walk the long ditches at dusk.

A human kingdom ruled by inquisitors who believe the plague is judgment. Bells toll for the burned more often than for the dead.

A fog-choked marsh where exiles, witches, plague refugees, and Mirekin survive between human patrols. The water remembers everyone.

A haunted ancient forest where old covenants still hold power. Step from the path and you are owed to it.

Trade routes filled with corpse carts, masked physicians, pilgrims, mercenaries, and unseen Rookbound scouts counting every body.

A fallen pre-human fortress, choked with thorn. It may yet become the capital of a sovereign Folk civilization.
“The bells do not ring for the dead anymore. They ring to warn the living that the things in the woods have stopped pretending to be shadows.”— Ashwood Chronicle, Vol. IV