Burja Spit

Within a stones throw away from the white walls of Nueva Libertad, their lies a large boggy marshland known as the Burja Spit. According to Rivaini folklore, it is an accursed place where the dark spirits of the fade linger, waiting to devour anyone foolish enough to step foot on its soggy earth. It is said to be a nightmarish place, that knows no life and brings only death. So it is with good sense that most avoid the place, but there are a few brave souls who test their luck. Few are ever seen again.

It got its name due to the superstitious legend that an evil crone resides in the heart of the swamp, where she is pleasured by demon attendants and lives forever by drinking the blood of newborn babes and gnawing on their flesh. According to the story the vile woman was so evil, that even her body could not contain her vileness. So in order to excrete the evil corruption from inside her, she would have to spit it out. From her cast away saliva, everything decayed around it and from the decay the swamp grew. Hence the name Burja spit or the Hag’s Spit, as it is known in the common tongue. Naturally this is but an old wives tale used to scare children. Even so the Burja spit is a place most dare not travel for no fear of what dangers lurk within the murky place.

The Creatures of the Spit
Contrary to what is said, Burja Spit is a swamp that is teeming with life and not all of it is animals. The large bayou is home to numerous tribes of men, who are known to be wild even amongst the native Rivaini. If the old folklore does not deter men from traversing the black waters of the Burja, then the very real threat of the swamp tribes do. The tribes people of the swamp are called miremen and are often looked down upon because of they are believed to be uncivilized and barbaric savages, comparable to The Chasind tribes of Ferelden. This, however is not the case, the miremen of the Burja spit are a surprisingly peaceful people, who like the better half of Rivain enjoy a great sense of community. Even though there are many different tribes of miremen, some not always hospitable to one another, they do not engage in open hostilities. Each tribe lives largely independent from the others, each has its own hunters and gatherers. Each have their own leaders, either hereditary or elected and form of governance. Even amongst the many tribes that live in the swamp each has their own unique costumes and laws and traditions. Despite this, they are a communal, who share what ever resources they have freely with the other tribes. A common saying among the swamp tribes is “When all you have is nothing there is a lot to go around.” The Miremen live a simple life uncomplicated by the laws and bigotry outside the Swamp. It is a free, independent land even with the liberal nation of Rivain. They do not conform to society and have lived the way the have for nearly a thousand years. The miremen live atop the dank water, on floating islands made of wood, connected to each other by one another by bridges made of logs and rope. These are few and far between however and for the most part however navigate between the islands on canoes of hollowed out tree trunks or by the hidden paths of solid ground. They make their houses out of thatch and woven reeds. The near suffocating amount of thee traps in the humid heat and thus even the coldest night in the swamp one can still sleep naked under the thick foliage above. Some tribes prefer to live above the water and make their homes in the high trees that tower over the marsh wetlands below. Often the impenetrable canopy hides entire villages all connected by rope vines and branches, but are nearly impossible to detect from the ground or the air. So it is that life is usually peaceful and quiet for the miremen of the Burja Spit. Unlike the rest of Thedas the miremen keep no garrisons or raise any armies for petty spats with their kin. The swamp protects it own. An outsider will find the Spit to be an endless morass of suckholes, quicksands and ground that looks solid to the untrained eye but instantly turns to water the instant it is stood upon. If they are lucky, those that fall into the murky water will drowned first. If not they get to meet what swims in water. Poisonous serpents that can kill with one bite, ferocious bog crocodiles with teeth as long as daggers and monstrous appetite to match. Fortunately most do not live long enough to feel their venoms burning through them because their bodies are already being torn asunder by the crocodilian beasts whose powerful jaws and make short work of even the hardest of armours. Even many of the flora are a danger, with poisonous flowers that unleash a burst of toxic spores for those who wander too close. More dangerous still are the possessed trees, that crush the unwary with their giant root like feet. With the veil so thin in the Burja Spit, many rage demons cross over and possess trees, becoming swamp Sylvan. If the outsiders do manage to survive all the dangers the swamp can throw at it, will find that a well placed dart can be as deadly as any blade or spell. Not that any would see the disguised miremen blowing it their way. For, while the tribes live at peace with each other, they do not tolerate trespassers in their swamp. It was this reason that the Miremen have never been conquered, not by the imperium and not by the Chantry. They have survived for a thousand years in their hostile homeland and they protect the swamp as much as the swamp protects them.

The Hag’s Territory
At the very heart of the Burja Spit, the swamps mighty mangrove trees begin to subside, becoming sparse until they disappear entirely.The maze like waterways merge into a vast wet marshland, treacherous and deadly. This clearing is known as the Hags territory and it is a place both respected and feared by the miremen and the other creatures that call the swamp home. A thick fog blankets the area making it all the more dangerous. The impenetrable fog makes it impossible to see beyond a few feet in any given direction leaving individuals at the mercy of the bogs sinkholes and water pits. Even in daylight hours, visibility remains poor but it still remains the preferred time for those who wish to chance traversing the Hag’s territory. Even the most experienced trackers and pathfinders of the Burja Clan’s have to offer find the marshes near impossible to navigate. For those who spend too long in the fog become lost and those that do are rarely seen again. Some however are fortunate enough to possess gris-gris or some other magical talisman that allows them to cross the hag’s domain safely. They are much like the trinkets and talisman’s those that belong to the swamps coven wear, though they are far less potent. Still such items are desperately sought after by many even outside the Spit itself, for it is believed that they bestow the wearer good fortune. However Gris-gris crafted by the hag herself are few in number outside the Coven and only one was bestowed upon each Tribe of the Spit. They are now revered heirlooms of most clans and are only used in the most dire of circumstances for few wish to risk disturbing the hag on a whim for the legends whisper that her wrath is a terrible thing to behold and all legends originate from some truth. Those that do find their way into the fog find that time has no meaning in such a place, hours can pass like seconds as their minds become as clouded as the mist the surrounds them assaulted by the befuddling magics that surround the place. A single thought can become fixated upon until it consumes all concertation, rethinking the same thing again and again as they walk around in circles. Only those with the will power can break past the Hex of misdirection and the continue on. The mist itself is in fact a powerful incantation devised as a means to protect the Coven from threats and only those individuals who have the strongest of wills or particularly powerful mages can see past it as if it were clear as day. At the centre of the Hags territory lies the black lake, where the covens immortal guardian lives. The great Mudman known only as Juju, is a somber reminder that actions have consequences that can reach much further than one's mortal life span. It is construct of mud, twigs, stone and moss and wears a particular fetish around his constantly reshaping neck. The talisman depicts a roughly hewn figure of a man encased in swamp mud. A prisoner of the Burja Spit for all time. For the most part Juju lies dormant beneath the black waters that surround the hags hut, but when the coven is threatened he erupts from the abyss like a volcano. His great hulking form quickly smoothers any would be attackers underneath a mudslide or smashes them with rock and root formed fists, before retreating back to the waters once more.