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# Tideforest

The mangrove home of frog-folk and venom, innocent and savage.

Story
The first time I entered the Tideforest, I thought the world itself had drowned. Trees rose from black water, their roots knotted into bridges and caves, the tide whispering through them. The air was thick and sweet, heavy with flowers I had never seen. I felt watched before I saw them.
They came all at once, leaping down from the canopy like colored leaves shaken loose. Their skins glistened with stripes of red and green, blue and gold, bright enough to shame any bird. Their great eyes blinked, round and unblinking, and then they began to croak and chirp to one another. I thought it a threat until one reached out to touch my boot, then tugged at my cloak, then opened my pack without a hint of shame. The others crowded around, wide-eyed, croaking with excitement as they held up every item I carried, a flask, a piece of dried meat, even a loose buckle. Each was studied, sniffed, sometimes licked, then passed along as though it were a wonder from the gods.
When I pulled out a knife to show them, they gasped in unison, and I heard them whisper "najf", and one darted away into the branches, returning moments later with a string of pearls knotted into a vine. He thrust it into my hand, eyes shining, and pressed the blade to his chest as if daring me to test it. I shook my head quickly, but he only laughed, a strange chirping bark, and the others joined him until the swamp itself seemed alive with their mirth.
Hours later, when I returned to my canoe, I found my food missing, along with my spare belt and half my fishing line. Yet in their place were fish, fresh and gutted, a woven crown of red feathers, and a pouch of dried leaves that smelled sharp as lightning. It was only then I realized: in their eyes, this too was fair trade.

Story
We thought them harmless at first. Colorful frog-people leaping through the branches, chattering like children, tugging at our gear with greedy little fingers. They traded pearls for knives, laughed at our armor, and filled our packs with strange fruits. My men grew careless.
It was Rann who ruined us. He wandered off at night, looking for their secret pools. Said he wanted to see where they kept their treasures. When the dawn came, he was gone. We searched, shouting his name, but the Fibians only blinked their great golden eyes and croaked as if they had never seen him.
Then we found him. High in the trees, where the mangrove roots twist into black thorns, he hung like a gutted bird. A sharpened branch had been driven through his belly, pinning him above the tide. His eyes moved, wide and wet, but his mouth could not form words, only whimpers.
The Fibians watched from the branches, bright as painted masks, their chirping laughter echoing through the swamp. Not a single arrow was loosed, not a single spear raised. They only stared, curious as ever, as if they could not understand why we wept - or why we were afraid.

Tideforest

# Description

The Tideforest lies where the jungle meets the sea, a vast mangrove labyrinth of roots, tidal pools, and shadowed waterways. Trees rise like columns from the brackish water, their roots knotted together in mazes that stretch for miles. At high tide, the water floods the groves, leaving no dry ground. At low tide, pools shimmer with trapped fish and the smell of salt and mud.

## The Bright Fibians

The Bright Fibians are a people as strange as the forest they inhabit. Their skin is vivid with mottled colors, crimson, emerald, sapphire, gold, shifting slightly with mood and light. Their great eyes are golden or silver, with wide pupils that see well in darkness. Their voices are croaks, chirps and guttural calls, though when speaking to outsiders they manage a broken, croaky tongue.

They are amphibians, and can stay under water for up to half an hour, making them excellent pearl divers and spear fishers.

They live upon woven platforms and rope bridges strung between the trees, rarely setting foot on the ground. Villages are often hidden, built high above the water in dense foliage, blending into the canopy. To outsiders, the Bright Fibians seem without order: no leaders, no wealth, no families. In truth, their tribes, called Clutches, are everything. To be of a Clutch is to exist. To be cast out is to be less than nothing.

Clutches have simple names, often taken from the forest around them: The Clutch of Silver Leaves, The Clutch of Moon Pools, The Clutch of Red Feathers. Each sees itself as unique, but all share the same way of life.

A hunter in the trees

## Customs and Warfare

The Bright Fibians are skilled hunters. They move silently through the trees, their skin blending into foliage, their movements sudden and precise. Their favored weapons are short bows and blowpipes, always tipped with venom. The paralysis venom of the blue-spined tree frog is most prized, and victims caught by it find themselves unable to move while still fully aware.

Their enemies, pirates, intruders, or even troublesome neighbors, are sometimes impaled alive upon sharpened branches high in the canopy, paralyzed. This practice is called The Hanging of Roots. Outsiders debate whether it is a ritual sacrifice to their gods or simply a cruel warning. The Bright Fibians themselves never explain.

Conflicts between Clutches are rare. When they do occur, they are resolved by what outsiders call The Quiet Hunt: the silent killing of one or two troublesome figures until tempers cool.

## Religion of Tide and Tree

The Bright Fibians worship the Tree Father and the Tide Mother. The Tree Father is the endless root, stretching both above and below, who gives life to the Clutches and binds them to the forest. The Tide Mother is the womb of the sea, who floods the groves and brings the seed of renewal.

Each Bright Fibian sees themself as a messenger between the two, born of tide pools as tadpoles, living life in the branches, and returning at death to the ocean. The dead are set adrift upon the outgoing tide, in woven leaf cradles called Shellbeds, their bodies given back to the sea for rebirth.

The Moon Pool Cavern

## Trade and Outsiders

Tideforest lies far from mapped trade routes, a place avoided by most. Only the Coralwyn elves and sea elf wanderers know the hidden channels to reach it, and even they tread lightly. Some pirate crews also dare to enter the mangrove mazes, risking venom and death in exchange for pearls, rare herbs, and potent poisons.

A wise visitor does not sneak. The safest way to meet the Fibians is to stay near the shore, and loudly call out your intent, and wait for their response.

What the Fibians desire most are knives, hooks, and other small metal tools, for they have no craft of metal themselves. In return they offer fish, dyes, pearls, and venom extracts that fetch high prices elsewhere.

The Bright Fibians never understood ownership, for the Tideforest gave all they needed. Fish swam in every pool, fruit hung from every branch, and vines for weaving were always at hand. Nothing was scarce, and so nothing belonged to anyone. When outsiders came bearing knives and iron tools, the first true limits appeared. A blade could not be plucked anew from the mangroves, nor a pot hammered from saltwater. Even so, the Bright Fibians have never truly grasped the notion of possession, and theft among them is often thoughtless, a casual borrowing that leaves outsiders furious and Fibians bewildered.

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