Ta Vuzi
South of the Wailing Fen lies Ta Vuzi. The brightly decorated houseboats and rum-sodden towns hide deeper sorrows. Long ago, countless races of beastmen were forcefully resettled here and they live here now in uneasy peace. The inhabitants of the sick lowlands huddle into the river deltas, beside unnatural channels built for long-departed cargo ships of the Shogunate. The skeletons of arcane machinery of a lost age rise from the polluted marshes and bayous, looking like great predatory birds. Most are ruined and scavengers have picked everything of value, leaving them to pollute the landscape. A few still work, so-called dragon-drinkers, and they latch onto the dragon lines like ticks. The coastline is collapsing into the sea, but the Realm doesn't care.
The highlands of Ta Vuzi are still scarred from ancient wars. Terrible weapons were used here - fire that scorched the earth such that nothing grows there a thousand years later, great lances of lead that are still embedded in bunkers, and the remains of the skycraft used by air-riding champions. The satrap's reach barely extends up there, and the petty princes of the hills are scavenger lords whose men dress in ancient armour and build underground forts. Sometimes they unearth powerful weapons of yesteryear. The Realm buys some of them, but most are used against their fellows or jealously hoarded.
Centuries of exploitation and neglect have left the Vuzians bitter and resentful of authority. Ironically, this leads them to cling to the favour they get from their colonial oppressors. They would rather rather fight over the scraps from the Realm's table than risk another tribe coming out on top. The last attempt at rebellion was thirty years ago, when a pair of outcaste siblings from the hills tried to unify the disorganised river people. They were betrayed by the La Mek turtlemen, and the revolt was brutally crushed with the assistance of the marines from an Imperial treasure ship docking at the Qui Don docks. The La Mek have done very well out of this, though the hill folk say that one of the siblings survived the battle.
Dragon Drinkers and Other Industrial Marvels
The Shogunate was a glutton, though not in the ways of men. It feasted on jade; it guzzled down hearthstones; it slurped up metals and ores and oil and resins and chalk and ten thousand other things. As the machinery of the High First Age broke down, it ravaged the world like a poppy addict desperate for their fix. Ta Vuzi bears these scars. In the eastern mountains, vast open mine pits still show where they broke hills to gorge on limestone and coal. The river network here is an unnatural thing, born from flooded canals made to ship out goods on titanic ships. Fields of rusted metal golems lie scattered like toy soldiers on the uplands; discarded servants of sorcerer-engineers who used them to claw out riches.
Down on the plains the Shogunate built great factory complexes and alchemical refineries. They slurped at the rivers, taking fresh water for all kinds of cunning mechanisms and processes. They pumped it underground to extract minerals from the rock, chaining the salt gods with jade and sorcery. And everywhere, they built manses to produce the hearthstones they needed for their artifice. Above the foetid marshes burning towers and stone pillars and thrumming jade mechanisms rose high. The land grew sick, but the Shogunate got its alchemical products and its stone and its metal.
But even capping every demesne they found was not enough for the princes of Creation. Their war machines were too hungry; their great cities too thirsty. Even in those days Ta Vuzi was a poor province, too close to the cursed Wailing Fen. The Terrestrial princes who ruled this land willingly took payment in jade so that others could exploit it. The sorcerers of the Shogunate peeled back the earth and chained ancient elementals. They used unspeakable spells to twist the dragon lines into spirals that concentrated traces of power into a slurry of malformed hearthstone fragments, and pumped water into the earth to wash up these essence-rich tokens. These are the famed dragon drinkers of Ta Vuzi, the skeletal structures of ancient metals which squat over the landscape.
Perhaps only one in a hundred of the ancient installations on the plains still function, and then only at a greatly reduced capacity. But in the Second Age, even a trickle of Shogunate materials is a thing of value. The Blue Monkey Shogunate plundered the land; the Realm plunders the land, and should another power rise and take Ta Vuzi no doubt they will too.
Colonial Governance
Were it not for the dragon drinkers and other ancient alchemical manufactoria, the Realm would not care for Ta Vuzi. The colonial administration is solely here to ensure that the flow is not stopped. The Scarlet Empire can get crawfish, sailors or sugarcane elsewhere - and more cheaply - without having to brave the malarial swamps and the pirate-infested Anarchy; hearthstones and essence tokens are quite another matter.
The satrap Ragara Elika is a middle-aged Water aspect and graduate of the Heptagram who has held her position for sixty years. She operates out of the capital Qui Don, a humid city built at the mouth of the La Ne river upon the ruins of a Shogunate fortress. The La Ne was dredged deep by ancient men and Elika's sorcery keeps the deepwater docks clear. The Imperial Navy operates a squadron from here, though their sole duty is to protect the treasure ships that must pass by the Wailing Fen. Qui Don is built in the Realm style, though from local materials, and white-painted houses surround the pyramidal bulk of the ancient citadel.
In her air-chilled fortress Elika pours over the reports from the dragon drinkers, or works on her own pet projects far away from the eyes of Imperial law. The beastmen and beastblooded population are animals in her eyes, unworthy of her concern. She has gathered a cabal of sorcerers - outcastes and disreputable Dynasts alike - and the Realm does not care to wonder what she does with them. If demons rampage over areas of Ta Vuzi, surely they just escaped from the Wailing Fen. All men know the land here is sick and there is no need to question why a village might come down with a wasting illness… or vanish entirely.
Away from those foundations the land turns to marsh and so the rest of the capital consists of stilt-houses and moored river-boats. These are painted bright colours in the Vuzian way, with floating reed-mat roads connecting them when the water rises. The satrap looks down at these sprawling slums with unveiled contempt. Any house-boats which moor too close to the Realm's red-buoyed markers or obstruct the waterways are sunk on sight.
Economy
The Realm shares the proceeds from the few working dragon-drinkers. It takes the valuable essence-rich fuel from the land, and to the Vuzians it gives polluted water, fire-sickness and air laden with toxic fumes. Fish die as the water becomes too foul for them; sinkholes open in the sodden swamps as hollow pockets collapse and flood; witchfire burns cool and fast across the land and lakes alike.
Despite all that, those who dwell close to those ancient mechanisms are glad for them. The delta tribes war to show their loyalty to the satrap, carrying out ritualised bloodsports for her amusement. The pittance of jade scrip the Realm plays their client tribes is a fortune in this desperately poor satrapy. As a result, despite the sickness that the dragon drinkers bring, towns cluster around their skeletal forms like ducklings hiding under their mother's wings.
River Culture
Beyond Qui Don and the area around those working bits of Shogunate artifice, the grasp of the Realm's hand is light. The local landowners are clients of the Realm, and are taxed lightly - though they must pay sharp fines if they fail to ensure that imperial trade is not harasseed. Otherwise, they are left alone to rule over their estates. In between the larger estates are a smaller mishmash of holdings which technically fall under imperial authority, although in truth customary Vuzian family custom holds power here. The patriarchs of the marsh families are princes within their lands, and their grudges are legendary.
The river culture was introduced to the Orthodoxy by the Blue Monkey Shogunate, but Immaculate principles never held strong among them. Around Qui Don monks tear down shrines to river gods and health gods and all the little spirits that the citizens worship, but that just forces them into private quarters.
In the countryside, unlettered heretical preachers proclaim versions of the Immaculate faith that would see their deaths if a proper monk heard them. These preachers are charismatics who submit themselves to the fury of the elements to prove their devotion. Common practices among such congregations include the consumption of hallucinogenic herbs, handling hot coals, near-drowning, days of burial, and naked exposure to all weathers - all to give life to the Immaculate Dragons, who gave their flesh and blood to craft Creation. Every village where these charismatic Immaculates preach will have lost someone in these practices. In some communities, not all such sacrifices are willing.
Beastmen of the Rivers
Under the Blue Monkey Shogunate, the governors implemented a complex system of classification for the beastman population. Kins were sorted by such traits as pliability, utility, deviation from the human form, and aesthetic value. Notably, this led to mammalian beastmen being favoured over birds and reptiles as they were felt to be both more docile and more aesthetically pleasing. The legacy of this still echoes in Ta Vuzi. While much of the river population has some beast blood, in the towns and larger boat clans it is a diluted blend of various mammalian breeds. A child might be born with deer horn-nubs, a shaggy coat of black-bear fur, or the eyes of a possum - but that's just the way things are. By contrast, bird and reptilian occupied the lowest rungs on the social ladder.
Ironically, when the Realm took Ta Vuzi it elevated the previously shunned kins as part of its standard policy to divide and conquer. The beastblooded find that pliable client-clans of beastmen get Imperial favour - such as it is - while the land continues to sour and they lose their old privileges. Ta Vuzi is simmering with resentment, but it is directed at the beastmen who've thrown in with the Realm rather than the imperial oppressors.
The La Mek are an extended clan of turtle beastmen, and are infamously nearly as ornery as their animalistic faces would suggest. Traditionally discriminated against by the men and beastmen of the rivers, their betrayal of rebels won them Imperial favour. Where once they were shunned outcasts, they have been awarded the lands of many of the traitors. This leaves them nouveau riche in the eyes of more established land-holders, but they are tolerated in their wealth. Only the La Mek have benefitted from this largesse. Other turtle beastmen suffer for their extravagances and have the title of 'Realm lackies' added to their burdens.
Gatormen dwell mostly around the river deltas, living apart from the larger towns in small communities. They have a poor reputation among other men and beastmen, who accuse them of stealing fish, raiding herds, and sinking barges. Their strange shrines of trees bound with bones are an ill-omen in the eyes of travellers. Many of their communities are desperately poor even by the standards of Ta Vuzi, exploited by the wealthier traders who sell them poppy and spirits in return for their catch of prey animals and their services as guides in the treacherous bayous. The sleek and athletic gatormen are fetishised among the Dynasts who come to this place. Some rumour that the satrap herself keeps a number of handsome young men with gator blood for her personal entertainment.
Never trusted but needed, the long-limbed condormen of the Kuta clan are always on the move as merchant traders and tinkers. Despite their light build and hollow bones, they can carry considerable quantities of cargo and have come to specialise in light, high-value goods; herbs, spices, and drugs. Ten years ago they bought the cocaine monopoly from the satrap - paid for with a notable loan from the Ragara - and they have been aggressive in keeping their control of the trade. Their settlements are deep in the wetlands, where family groups perch in tree houses and ancient ruins inaccessible from the ground. The influx of wealth leaves these dwellings festooned with new-bought carpets and fine silken drapes.
In Qui Don, a good number of black bearmen work the docks. With their physiques, they can lift things a normal human cannot and they take home twice the daily pay of the humans and beastblooded around them. Someone has taken exception to this. There's a serial killer out there, specifically targeting the bearmen. Some young hotheads argue for a strike until the authorities put more effort into finding the killer.
Hill Culture
Warlords rule in the blasted and mine-ravaged highlands. In the more stable areas these are the same kind of men as the marsh-patriarchs, ruling their isolated towns as grandfathers and tyrants. When even those social structures break down, it is only the strong who triumph - or whose who find ancient relics that give them power. There are minestriders held together with pulleys and bamboo up there, and king's champions who wear ancient hazardous mining equipment festooned with cutting saws and augurs.
The men of the hills are proud. Creation has kicked them in the face time and time again, but they hold to their stiff-necked determination. It is all they have left. They spit at Immaculate missionaries, and those who linger too long suffer unfortunate accidents. They once trusted in shining sun-gods to save them, they say, and all they received was betrayal and conquest - so damn them! They build their stone circles around the mouths of ancient mines and offer blood to the underground gods, recalling ancient times when wealth came from these hills. They bury their dead down there, awaiting the day when the gods call forth men to fight for freedom against the king of demons. In the meantime, they keep their blades whetted and war against each other with countless petty feuds.
The chief god of these hills is the Old King Taan Hin, called the Black Dragon by many. He has earned this name, for he lurks in the depths of the world, coiling through old mines until his scales are filthy with soot. His breath is noxious coal dust that cuts up the lungs so men drown on dry land, and his wings shed scales of anthracite when he flies. The Old King demands the pick of the young men of each generation to labour down in his caveneous temple in the deeps. They die down there - some fast in pit collapses or in the gullet of a gluttonous god, some slowly over decades as his priests and consorts.
The Collapsing Coast
Year by year, more of Ta Vuzi is lost to the sea. The leaking pollution from ancient machinery kills the roots of the marsh grasses and mangroves which guard the shore lands from the yearly typhoons that wash in from the Great Western Ocean. The corrupt and bloated gods of the dragon-drivers grow fat on their offerings and do not care the damage their depredations do to other spirit courts. Old King Taan Hin and his brood vomit their waste into the upland rivers which flow black at certain times of year.
Perhaps if Ta Vuzi was closer to the pole of Wood, it would have been cleansed of this ancient pollution long ago. Alas, the South West is far from the heart of Wood and fire and water dominate here. As the dragon-drinkers draw out the Wood from the land, the sea consumes river deltas and washes away marshes.
The heretical rituals of the charismatic Immaculates seem to help. When blood is spilled on the land and life given, plants recover their vitality and the soil grows less sick. Some occultists worry, though, that this death may pollute the geomancy in less obvious ways.
History
In the aftermath of the Usurpation, the Shogunate made the decision to relocate a number of politically suspect Southern populations to the wetlands south of the Wailing Fen. Impressment was a more human solution to the problem of dubious Solar-modified races than the methods of Anjei Marama in the North, and would additionally help with the progress of the current Twenty Five Year plan.
No one cared about the lives of the inhabitants of this new province, and it showed. The wetlands became an industrial centre, producing all manner of strange substances and exotic alloys, while the uplands were ravaged. The Dragonblooded princes only cared that quotas were met and the profits rolled in. The descendants of the relocated populations were kept in permanent penury.
The Contagion stilled the machinery and the Crusade slew the surviving Terrestrial lords. The survivors among the population were the ones who hid deep in the river deltas and in the mines, and they emerged to find that they were free. This freedom lasted less than fifty years, until the Blue Monkey Shogunate came down the coast and plundered the broken machinery, patching up what they could. They claimed to be the inheritors of the Shogunate and they certainly had the attitude of their forebears.
As the Blue Monkey Shogunate crumbled, Ta Vuzi drifted free. The Gens in charge of the province declared their independence and took up trade with the Realm. They grew rich as the proceeds filled their pockets, and they purchased many slaves from the rest of the South West, setting up sugar and tobacco plantations. These ventures failed, the soil unable to sustain plantation agriculture, and nearly bankrupted the Gens. Many of their best and brightest left, marrying into other ex-Shogunate Gens or travelling to the far-off Realm.
In RY602, the breakdown in negotiations between the Realm ambassador and the Governor-Tyrant of Ta Vuzi led to cessation of trade and the Vuzian fleet declaring that they would sink Imperial ships on sight. This was not the first time such posturing had occurred. While Ta Vuzi waited for the Realm to return to the negotiating table, the All-Seeing Eye acting on the Empress' orders sent a brotherhood of assassins with orders to "trim an imprudent weed". The broken aristocrats sued for peace a season later.
For a hundred and fifty years, Ta Vuzi has been under the Realm's thumb. There are rebellions every few decades, and when order is restored another clan is enslaved and sold off to profit the satrap. The old machinery breaks down and the Realm cannot fix it, so they plunder what jadesteel they can and leave the skeletal hulks to moulder. They do just what any other lord of this forsaken land would do.
And overall the whole thing's moody as hell and I love the sweaty, oppressive atmosphere and how the status-quo is a "slow decay". Everything's sinking down into the swamp and the Realm's standing on everyone's heads. It really does capture the dynamic of, like, the brutal, exploited, desperation of the colonized in a way that's usable in a table top or story setting I think. Where it's easier to take the scraps from above and ingratiate yourself with, well, with your people's abusers than try to change things. Because you can see the wreckage of the last person who tried to change things right there in the public square and it creates this cycle where the people are complicit in their own self destruction to an extent as they come to literally worship the things that are breaking and killing them because they're at least theirs and the source of what bits of value there are. And the "you conquered the land, now what?" has a really nice hook of "are you going to fuck it up too" building off of all that.
