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Waverider Story - Campaign - Author's Notes

# Mire of Vines

Fish people living in a river marshland

Story
The mist clung low over the water as Kaelen slid silently through the reeds, his tail stirring only the faintest ripples. In one hand he carried a net woven from reed-fiber, in the other a gourd float. Around him the swamp breathed, frogs croaking in the shadows, insects buzzing like sparks in the air.
Behind him, his younger sister Sirae hummed a chant she had learned from the Kelathi. The tune was meant to soothe the fish, to still their darting motions. Kaelen scowled, though he could not hide his grin. “Quiet, or they will hear you,” he whispered. She stuck her tongue out and dove under, her hair drifting like a fan of moss.
Their mother waited by the floating platform of their kalaren, twisting vines into cord. She watched her children with patient eyes, the glow of a fungus lamp casting pale light across her face. Beside her, the elder Varith stirred a pot of crab stew, the scent of spice and riverweed wafting across the water.
When Kaelen finally hauled up the net, it writhed with silver-scaled fish, flashing in the dim glow. Sirae surfaced with a triumphant laugh, a crab clutched in her hands, its claws snapping angrily. Together they swam back toward the platform, where the family gathered to share the catch.
As the stew boiled and the night settled in, the Kelathi began to sing. Their voices carried across the water, weaving through the vines, until even the frogs grew silent to listen. In the swamp, every meal was also a prayer, and every prayer was a promise that the Mire still lived, and so did they.

Story
The night was heavy with heat, the air thick with the stench of rotting lilies. Mirael crept along the roots of a drowned tree, her hands clutching a bundle of water snails. She was humming softly, thinking of the stew her mother would make, when the swamp went silent.
No frogs, no insects, no birds. Only the faint ripple of water, far too close.
Her eyes widened as a shape slid through the reeds: a scaled shadow, long and silent, its eyes glimmering like coins. A jungle crocodile, older than her grandmother’s tales, longer than two canoes.
Mirael froze, her chest burning with the effort of not breathing. Then, from the black water, a hand gripped her wrist. It was her brother Tharil, his mouth already shaping the warning click. With a sharp tug he pulled her under, the two of them darting into the tangle of roots.
The crocodile lunged where she had been, jaws snapping, splinters raining into the water. For a moment, the swamp boiled with chaos. But the siblings were gone, slipping through narrow root-tunnels only the merfolk knew.
Later, when they reached the safety of the kalaren platform, Mirael’s snails were long lost. Their mother held her close, whispering thanks to the spirits. The stew that night was plain, but every mouthful tasted of relief.
In the Mire of Vines, daily life was never safe, and every breath of survival was its own feast.

Two freshwater mers in the Mire of Vines

# Description

The Mire of Vines lies at the tangled heart of the Yelthara Jungle, a vast expanse of dark water, strangling creepers and half-sunken trees. The air hums with insects, and the sky is often hidden by layers of mist and hanging roots. Few dare to enter, for the swamp swallows both path and memory. Within this labyrinth of water and vines dwell the freshwater merfolk, known among themselves as the Lutharil.

## The Lutharil

The Lutharil are not the gleaming, seafaring merfolk of open coasts, but pale green skinned, long limbed dwellers of still waters. Their hair is mossy dark, often twined with water plants. Their tails are slender and strong, mottled in brown, jade and black to blend with the swamp shadows. Their eyes are wide and luminous, reflecting the faintest light in the mire.

They live in small shoals of extended family, called kalaren, numbering rarely more than a dozen. Each kalaren drifts through the swamp’s waterways, never staying long in one place, building temporary reed shelters above and below water. They believe the swamp itself is alive, shifting and breathing, and to linger too long in one spot is to draw the attention of spirits best left undisturbed.

## Society and Beliefs

The Lutharil follow the guidance of Kelathi, song-priests who weave long chants into the water, calling upon the river god. They say every waterway has its own voice, and to swim without listening is to invite misfortune. Outsiders speak of hearing strange melodies when they camp near the swamp, soft humming that drifts across the water like mist.

They hunt with bone-tipped harpoons and nets woven from water reeds, feeding on fish, swamp crabs and the rare river deer that come to drink. They avoid fire and instead use bioluminescent fungi, which they cultivate on floating logs, to light their gatherings at night.

## Relations

The Mire of Vines borders three realms:

- Itzalcoa: The merfolk keep away from the blood-soaked pyramids of the Itzalcoans. Some whisper that their priests have tried to capture mers for sacrifice, though no one outside the swamp can prove it.
- Children of Nazhira: The pygmies of Nazhira are both feared and respected. Silent darts have claimed many a mer who swam too close to their hidden paths. Yet some cautious exchanges happen in the shadow of the mangroves: a basket of dried fish for a necklace of snake fangs.
- Sylvaranith: Only the elves of Sylvaranith have managed a fragile trade. Traders like Thaelion of Lorvain and Serithil Mooncaller brave the swamp in carved canoes, bringing cloth, metal trinkets and glass beads. If they bow to the water, sing the greeting song, and wait without impatience, the Lutharil will rise from the vines to trade.

## Possible Secrets

## The Masked Traders

Some of the Sylvaranith traders who venture into the swamp are not elves at all. They are changelings who have found the merfolk unusually trusting. In return for rare herbs and swamp pearls, they gather secrets about the movements of Itzalcoa and Nazhira for unknown masters.

## The Drowned City of Veyathal

The ruins whispered about by the mers are not abandoned. A hidden clan dwells there, altered by long exposure to ancient magic. Their tails are scaled with silver, their eyes blind white. They believe themselves the chosen heirs of the swamp and are preparing to rise against the wandering kalaren.

## Poison of the River Crabs

The bright-shelled swamp crabs the Lutharil feed on sometimes glow faintly at night. Unbeknownst to outsiders, they are laced with a venom that grants the mers resistance to Nazhiran blowpipe toxins. Traders who eat the crabs sicken and die unless carefully prepared by mer healers.

## The Broken Mirror

At the swamp’s heart lies a half-submerged obsidian mirror, cracked and sunken. It was a gift from Itzalcoa long ago, a symbol of alliance that turned to betrayal. The mirror still whispers in dreams, offering power in exchange for blood, and some Lutharil youth secretly seek it out.

## Nathril the Vine-Tongue

The story of Nathril may not be legend at all. She was a Lutharil priestess who discovered a way to bind her soul into the roots and vines of the swamp. She is now everywhere, listening through leaves, able to strangle trespassers with a thought. Some Lutharil secretly revere her as a second goddess.

## Adventure Hooks

## The Vanished Trader

A Sylvaranith trader named Thaelion of Lorvain has not returned from his usual route. His family hires the party to track him down. His canoe is found drifting empty among the vines, but no trace of him remains.

## Pearls of the Mire

Rare swamp pearls, said to cure fevers, fetch a high price in distant cities. A wealthy merchant offers a fortune for a sack of them. The challenge is that the pearls form only in giant, territorial river clams that lurk deep in the most dangerous pools.

## Festival of Lights

The Lutharil are preparing their once-a-decade Festival of Lights, where hundreds of glowing fungi rafts drift across the swamp. Outsiders who attend uninvited risk being mistaken for ill-omens or spies, but if they are accepted, the festival might reveal rare opportunities for alliance.

## A Stolen Child

A jungle village cries out for help after a child disappears near the swamp. Locals blame the merfolk, though the Lutharil deny any part in it. To prevent bloodshed, the truth must be uncovered before the village launches a raid into the Mire.

## The Stone Path

An ancient causeway, long hidden by vines and mud, emerges after a season of drought. Both explorers and looters rush to claim it. The Lutharil warn that the path is cursed, yet it leads straight to the heart of the Mire.

## Forbidden Fire

A few young Lutharil have begun experimenting with fire, stolen from Sylvaranith traders. They keep it hidden, knowing the elders forbid flames in the swamp. If discovered, it could spark a serious rift.

## The Exiled Kalaren

One shoal of Lutharil was banished generations ago for violating sacred taboos. They now live further upriver, resentful and bitter. They may interfere with outsiders or even impersonate other kalaren to cause trouble.

## Jealousy of Pearls

Only a few pools in the swamp grow the rare swamp pearls. One kalaren claims them as sacred gifts, while others believe they should be shared. Tensions simmer, though they never speak of it before outsiders.

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