The Cenotes of Maniserp

This dusty, little-traveled stretch of road that cuts through the semi-desert region from Boldhome to Homer is lined with rock and sandstone formations shaped by wind and time. Only the most daring venture this cursed stretch, where the sweltering heat is relieved only by the fleeting sight of the cenotes – crystal-clear pools of pure water surrounded by trees with twisted roots, a treacherous promise of life amid death.

But the waters of the cenotes have an owner, and its name is whispered in fear: Maniserp, the Elder Hydra. A multi-headed monster, its scales are a dull green and gleam like blades in the sunlight, and its eyes, glowing like embers, are the last sight of many an unsuspecting person. For generations, Maniserp has been the queen of the wetlands. Its insatiable hunger is a legend that local merchants know well, as caravans often disappear, leaving only trails of destruction and white bones along the roadside.

The few who have survived an attack speak of its cave, hidden among the largest cenotes. A labyrinth of damp tunnels, where suffocating vapors emanate from the bowels of the earth and glowing lichens illuminate the sodden walls. The bones of its prey, human and animal, adorn the entrance like a macabre warning. Inside, the sound of dripping water is interrupted only by the roars of Maniserp echoing through the depths.

The residents of Homer and Boldhome tell stories of mercenaries who have tried to defeat it through time. None have returned. The blades of their swords rust in the silent lakes, a mute testament to Maniserp’s invincibility.

Amidst its many dark pools and lakes and some small hills, the Saquare Floodplains stretch out into a living landscape, pulsing with the whisper of the wind and the distant roar of hidden beasts. At the heart of this dank land stands the Pillar of Ss’karn, a black obelisk jutting into the sky, covered in shimmering runes that glow faintly on nights with a full moon. To the lizardfolk, this monolith is sacred, a gift from their God, Ss’karn, who shaped the Wetlands and bestowed them upon their race. But the Pillar is also a seal, binding the spirit of the deity. Tampering with its harmony is dangerous, even for its devotees.

The Wetlands are fraught with threats. Crocodiles slither in the deep waters, while venomous serpents hunt along the shores. Thick mists hide chasms of devouring mud, where many have disappeared without a trace.

Within the seven clans, intrigue abounds. Conflicts over territory, hunting, and the right to conduct rituals at the Pillar are the most frequent events. The Sshar’tar, ruthless warriors, claim supremacy, while the peaceful Drak’zil seek to protect their traditions.

The coastal city of Homer, made up mostly of humans, is both an ally and a threat. Trades occur between fishermen and lizardfolk—meat and grain from the marshes for manufactured goods—but the greed of Elias Brand, Homer’s current leader, threatens the balance. He and his minions of merchants want to exploit the lakes, an event that will surely cause great tensions in the future.

As the tension grows, the whispers around the Pillar of Ss’karn grow louder. Something ancient and furious is about to awaken.

At the foot of steep cliffs where the waves crash furiously, there once stood the coastal village of Spotted Elm. It was once known for the majestic elm tree that grew peculiarly close to the sea, its roots woven into both the land and the villagers’ stories.

The tree was not only a symbol of beauty but also of protection, offering shelter from fierce storms and attracting abundant fish to the surrounding waters. The villagers performed rituals at the solstice, thanking the elm for its benevolence and asking for favors from the sea gods.

Over time, however, the leadership changed. A new chief, skeptical of the traditions, persuaded the villagers to set aside their customs, dismissing them as ancient follies. The elm tree was no longer cared for, and spots began to appear on its bark, reflecting sadness and loss of power.

Without the protection of the elm tree, the village was exposed to storms and creatures of the deep, which on a stormy moonlit night brought destruction and fear. The sea, once an ally, was now a constant threat. The survivors fled, leaving behind only wreckage and legends.

Today, the ruins of Spotted Elm lie forgotten, bathed in the eternal lament of the waves. It is said that, in the stillness, one can hear the sigh of the elm, the sole guardian of the memories of a time when land and sea danced in harmony. The few who venture to the site dream of obtaining its legendary leaves that can rekindle the ancestral connection with nature.