Mire of Glass

“A swamp frozen mid-breath, where reflections bleed.”

The Mire of Glass is a shimmering wasteland where molten sand met the plague’s fever, and the world turned solid in an instant. Jagged reeds of crystal grow like grass, and the air hums with their vibration. Every surface mirrors something that should not exist — faces behind your own, skies that never were.

Long ago, the Alchemists of Yhvar fled here, hoping to purify the plague through holy transmutation. Instead, their failures crystallized the swamp, trapping the dead mid-scream. Their descendants — the Glassborn — are translucent beings of beauty and agony, living mirrors who remember every reflection they’ve ever caught.

The Mire is beautiful in its cruelty: light refracts endlessly, truth becomes uncertain, and the wind sings through the glass like mourning. Travelers claim that, at dusk, you can hear the swamp trying to breathe again.

Tone: tragic beauty; transformation through failure.
Common Races: Glassborn, Ashen, Clockwrought.