Locations of the Tallowlands: Three Bridges

Formerly a southern town in the Sinian Empire, Three Bridges is now one of the northernmost settlements within the Tolerance of Crows. Its strategically useful position on a junction in the river Tarr meant that it has always been a significant trading post; with the coming of the Ghoul War it became a key bastion of resistance, and in the years subsequent it has begun to have use as a stable entry point to the Charred Lands for adventurers and treasure-seekers. While historically a human settlement, in common with all places of commerce the people of Three Bridges are used to seeing, and tolerant of, many other races.

Three Bridges has for the most part had a peaceful existence. Prior to the Ghoul War its only significant time of strife was a brief period of apostasy precipitated by Hanvard the Confectioner releasing the Everlasting Godstoppers from his gingerbread laboratory. All known copies of the recipe are believed to have been destroyed in the subsequent purge.

During the Ghoul War, Three Bridges was briefly overrun and abandoned before being reclaimed by an allied force of humans from the surrounding regions and dwarfs from further west. Thanks to the foresight of the then-Meister Turnagain Harrowfoot, the town's population had been evacuated to safety and many of the original inhabitants were able to return and repopulate the town.

The town sits across all three branches of the river - hence the name Three Bridges - and as a consequence connects the lands on all sides of the river. The northeastern third of the town was sacked during the war and remains mostly ruined, while the northwestern and southern thirds are effectively fully habitable. 

One outcome of the Ghoul War was that the Sinian Empire's southmost provinces - which today border the Tolerance - became either assimilated into existing foreign kingdoms or were claimed by refugees and petty warlords as independent realms. The lands of three such factions reach as far as Three Bridges, namely House Makazor, the Orderly Brotherhood of the Reclamation, and the Unbegotten Conclave. Were times more secure it is certain that lordship over Three Bridges would be the subject of extensive and probably violent dispute between these three factions. However, the precariousness of the entire region has forced all three into a compromise accord, whereby commitments have been given from all parties to not attack the town, which is left to operate independently. The Meister of the town is expected to provide a militia for the town's security - incursions by horrors from the north are a regular feature of life so close to the Charred Lands - and is bound by strict agreements to show no favour to any one of the town's neighbours. Truly equal treatment is in reality an impossible task and while it is unlikely that any of the bordering regions will overtly attempt to take over the town, there is a constant shadow war for influence. The current Meister is Reijard v'Embersburg.

The town is located near a major entrance to the Underland. Sitting high up in the Eagle's Claw Mountains (which become the Greyspire Mountains in the east), this entry point used to be controlled by goblin tribes. However, the Ghoul War devastated underlands and overlands alike and the goblins were driven out of the area. In recent times, along with wandering terrors, Skaven have started to infiltrate the locality and have found their way south to the town. The local branch of the Ratcatcher's Guild, as always closely aligned with the town's sewer engineers and a small group of dwarf miners who have remained in the town as part of a treaty, has to date been very successful in preventing the Skaven from being any more than a nuisance. It is, though, a matter of growing concern that Skaven activity appears to be increasing. Latterly, the underground workers have reported hearing strange sounds from deep below the sewers, though rumours that goblins - vastly preferable to the Skaven - have returned to the area are as yet unsubstantiated.

Closer still to the town is the Bleakwood, a dense forest which has always been a source of local fear and legend. In the days of the Sinian Empire it was merely a geographical bogeyman, mostly left alone by the townspeople and used as a source of tales to encourage small children to behave. Since the Ghoul War, adventurers who have escaped alive from the Charred Lands as well as townspeople who have had reason to travel within sight of the forest have brought back stories of disturbing creatures seen moving within the trees. It has not gone unnoticed that the forest was not killed off by the dark forces which powered the war and this fact has discouraged many from venturing near the place.

Another nearby place of note is Steepacre, which has for many years been something of a competitor to Three Bridges as it sits on the only truly reliable pass through the Eagle's Claw Mountains. Whilst its location high in the mountains undoubtedly saved Steepacre from the worst of the war's ravages, it seems that the surrounding desolation has hurt the town even more than it did Three Bridges.

Next to Steepacre is Hollow Mountain, home to the Ghoul King. There has been some confusion over whether the Ghoul King was responsible for the Ghoul War, but most reputable scholars agree that he had no involvement and was just as threatened by the tide of destruction has anyone else. However, bizarre and unnatural occurrences have been noted around Hollow Mountain of late, and one must inevitably conclude that the King has once again risen. His motivations are currently unknown. 

North of the Eagle's Claw Mountains lie the ruins of Borhalphiston, formerly a regional capital within the Sinian Empire. Known for its vast library and its graveyard district (the Valley of Inverse Pyramids), it is a magnet for adventurers although virtually none who venture there have ever returned.

Just beyond the Bleakwood, on a plateau in the mountains, sits Castell Davarill. Its origins are now unknown, as is the reason for it having been built in such a fiendishly inaccessible location - there is no indication of any adjacent settlement ever having been present - but stories remain of it possessing an enchanted rose garden of unearthly beauty. The castle was abandoned for many centuries, but it is known that at an unspecified point a secretive community of elves has taken up residency there. Their nature and purposes can only be guessed at. The fact that the castle itself is certainly not of elvish origin while elves as a rule do not care for other races' dwellings only adds to the mystery.

A number of notable groups or individuals have passed the town's orbit within living memory. These include:

- King Ormisruin and his knights from the fallen nation of Hilgoth passed the town in their search for a new home. Having made camp in fields to the town's south, the sad sight of the worn and faded banners moved many townsfolk to donate food and other supplies to the king's followers before they departed. The townspeoples' unexpected kindness is unlikely to have been forgotten by the sons of Ormisruin.

- Nathaniel Hultz has been sighted multiple times. It is believed that his plans to establish a colony within the Charred Lands may have come to fruition, although murmurs have begun to emerge that he has returned to the area seeking to recover an artefact which he was previously forced to abandon. 

- Father Torpal is known to be active in the area seeking converts to the worship of Rorralarach. 

The fall of Wallovia

The tale I tell is one of woe, of blackest deeds and divine retribution. Long ago, the kingdom of Wallovia waxed mightily, its armies strong of arm, its forges burning night and day. Wallovia’s people were industrious, hardy, dour and serious folk. Jesters, clowns and travelling players learned to avoid the kingdom, given the Wallovians’ lack of interest in frivolity. Its ruling class kept to themselves and while outwardly they appeared noble and possessed of martial virtues in abundance, over generations of courtly intrigue family trees became dense and tangled, with cousin marrying cousin. This bred into the royal line a terrible temper that when provoked could rage like a burning fire and leave only ashes in its wake. 

Despite its wealth and power, Wallovia was at a crossroads for the new king, formerly Prince Valentine of the Western Marches, had spent much of his life abroad, travelling the realms and learning of the new ways, until his father’s untimely death forced him to return and assume the crown. His attempts to reform the kingdom sat ill with much of his subjects, for many and old were the traditions that they clung to. 

All too often, the young King would propose a grand new project only to be told by the priests and priestesses of Mortaine — the God of Death — that the ancestor-spirits advised against it. Always they gave sage council, for in truth Valentine knew little of his kingdom. He knew even less of the floods and storms that struck once every 10-score years or so and had made a ruin of many a promising architect. To the spirits of the long departed and by extension the priesthood, such events could be recalled at a whim. Over time Valentine grew obstinate and sour, made worse by his queen Katherina’s insinuation that the priesthood were the true rulers of the kingdom, not he. 

Matters came to a head when in one council meeting the priesthood had dismissed Valentine’s plans for new grain silos on grounds that his proposed site was too close to the marshes, so the grain would rot. The next item on the agenda, his decision to grant a trading delegation of the Khardron Overlords the right to build a sky port on land that had once been mined for tin again met with dismay bordering on derision. Surely, said Father Dou’gall – the oldest and wisest of the priests, the young king must see that such a heavy structure would quickly fall victim to sink holes and subsidence if built upon such ground? Finally, the priesthood dared to argue that Valentine’s proposed annexation of the nearby (and much weaker) kingdom of Ostvanland would quickly become bogged down due to the rains that frequently turned the roads between the two nations into seas of stinking mud. Father Dou’gall took great pains to explain that such had been the fate of an army led by Valentine’s great-great-grandfather over two hundred years ago and even summoned the shade of the young king’s ancestor to tell the tale. 

After the meeting had concluded, four of the king’s most loyal — and unscrupulous — knights overheard their liege lord mutter “who will rid me of these troublesome priests?”. Keen to serve his will, the knights rode out and put every last one of the priests to the sword and spilled Father Dou’gall’s brains across his own altar. 

Valentine appeared to be shocked to hear of his bondsmen’s deeds but was secretly pleased to be free of the priesthood’s prattling. As two of the knights were relatives of his queen he could not punish them to the fullest extent of the law, instead settling for posting them to guard the most remote corners of the kingdom. 

Despite a grim sense of foreboding among many, at first all was well and the people seemed blessed rather than cursed, their elders seemingly endowed with long life. It wasn’t until a series of bizarre instances began that the Wallovians understood what Mortaine had in store for them.

It began with a simple case of bad luck. Gregor, a young clumsy squire, was riding his horse in a practise joust when it fell and crushed his leg. Despite the best efforts of the healers, it became infected and while they immediately amputated the now useless limb gangrene had spread to his body. Despite untold agony, Gregor simply wouldn’t die. It wasn’t until he bit off his own tongue that his screaming stopped. Gregor was the first for whom the sweet mercy of death would prove elusive, but he was by no means the last.

At first there were a few cases, then before long everyone in the kingdom who simply wouldn’t die. Elders that would have died due to natural causes became crippled, unable to move and slowly going mad with thirst, hunger and pain unless someone was there to look after their every need. Some of the afflicted’s loved ones resorted to desperate measures, yet even after their screaming kin had been smothered and no longer breathed, still they screamed. Some piled their living dead with strong spirits and attempted to set them alight, reasoning that a brief period of bright agony would be better than years of the same, but each time they tried to start the pyres, a chill mist would appear from nowhere and smother the flames. Mortaine even spurred those that were beheaded, with their fellows forced to sew up the heads’ mouths to stop the endless screaming. 

To make matters worse, this curse coincided with Valentine’s long-delayed invasion of Ostvanland. While fatalities were inexplicably light in the opening battles and the Wallovians won many great victories, the number of incapacitated and walking wounded began to spiral out of control and the constant screams of those whose wounds had gone septic or had gut wounds that would drive them insane with agony started to make sleep impossible and shattered morale. Then the rains came and the choking mud plains that had once been roads made it almost impossible to keep the army provisioned. Men began to desert, first in ones and twos, then in a steady stream. 

Valentine found himself shaking his fist at the walls of Ostheim, Ostvanland’s capital, before he had to ride home with too few men left to commit to a siege. That night, a raid by Ostvanland skirmishers managed to sneak past Valentine’s exhausted guards and stabbed him to what they assumed was death. His last coherent words were to curse the knights that had brought this doom upon him and to beg Mortaine for a mercy that would never come. 

Back in Wallovia, things had gone from bad to worse, the harvest had failed and there were simply too many mouths to feed. In desperation, some sacrificed their last morsels of food on makeshift altars to Mortaine but their prayers for forgiveness fell on deaf ears, with a rare few — those known to have a smattering of witchery in their veins — swore blind that for a moment they heard hollow laughter in response to their pleads. 

Years passed and Wallovia fell into ruin. Mercy of a kind came in the form of the Ghouls of the Hollow Mountain as while men, women and children all had to endure the agony of being eaten alive, it meant that their bodily suffering was at last at an end. By that point, however, the entire kingdom had been driven irreconcilably insane. Once the ghouls had feasted, they returned to the Hollow Mountain, leaving a blighted and haunted ruin. 

It wasn’t until the Necroquake – that time when Nagash’s great design caused waves of death magic to spill across the mortal realms — that Mortaine’s vengeance was fully unveiled. From every tomb and corpse rose the spirits of the tormented dead. Filled with hatred of the living, they descended upon nearby settlements and towns, their rampage only checked when a full host of the Emerald Wardens’ Sacrosanct Chamber brought them to battle on the outskirts of Steepacre. Defeated by the might of Sigmar’s Stormcast Eternals, the Nighthaunt of Wallovia returned to their home and are to this day a malignant blight upon the Tallowlands.