The City of Skum had, centuries ago, been host to a cultured, well-educated populace. Nine hundred years past, the city and its surroundings had been little more than cold marshlands infested with a lethal fauna of insects and reptiles- the only inhabitants of the entire region, save for the scattered villages of shamanistic madmen.

Emperor Garrion II had been the one to see the untapped potential of the hostile lands and, on his decree, scholars and tradesmen had been sent west to map, survey and bring the scattered humans back into the Empire.

Over the month to come, the fine Emperor received what his councilmen deemed to be ‘disturbing reports’. The hostile marshlands with its numerous insects were, according to the dispatched healers, host for several diseases- most of which had never before been seen in humans. Despite their best efforts, the lethality of the numerous parasites and various other afflictions remained high.

To make matters worse, the fevered, malnourished and dehydrated adventurers had been given horses and carriages to caravan them into the hellish region. The ill-travelled scholars were unprepared for the journey into a land where the ground itself sought to devour their heavy carts and pack-beasts alongside all their equipment.

The few who made it well into the fearsome lands would find themselves battling the humongous reptiles skillfully hidden in the tarry mires- battles that very few soldiers could win, let alone the Empire’s researchers.

By the end of the first month of the expedition, three fourths of the Emperor’s original envoy had succumbed to the dangers of the marshlands. In the centuries that followed, many a scholar have spun hypotheses as to why the Emperor remained stubbornly insistent in the years to come, but no consensus had ever been dared put to paper.

Naturally, most assumed that Emperor Garrion II had continued to insist on the efforts to explore the region, in hopes of founding a legacy that would age alongside the renewed Empire. But not a one of Capita’s outriders could claim to have found anything but death and disease.

By the end of the decade-long series of expeditions, thousands had died in the cold, wet marshlands and with naught to show for their efforts, save from updated maps and lost resources. Most of Capita’s magi and noblemen expected that the project of bringing civilization to the west would end at the end of the decade, but to the Tower’s surprise and dread, Emperor Garrion II had seemed more determined than ever to see the lands of horror brought into his domain. There were those that dared speak up against their Emperor, but the courageous few who voiced their concerns would soon find themselves on a journey of their own- leading the charge into their swampy graves.

“I would claim that a madness has taken hold of the Emperor’s rotting mind. For years, I have tried to convince him to concede his efforts of claiming the West, but no matter the deaths, the financial losses or the Public opinion, he remains stubborn. Last week, I watched as an envoy of magi returned- their numbers cut to a quarter and without a slip of paper to show for it.

Their gaunt cheeks and pale eyes spoke more than any report ever might have. They, too, had looked into the madness of the mire- seen that which cannot be put into words. The presence that lurks in the cold, dark waters with a lethality to match the dysentery and the parasites... One of the many dangers our Emperor refuses to acknowledge as he orders another caravan out into the west.

Tonight... I will tell those very same men who returned last week that they must accompany me as I assume my exile. I suspect they will not approve.”

Captain Robert Paulson, from ‘The maw of madness’.

After two decades’ worth of poorly planned exploration, the Empire decreed that a city of permanent residency should be construed in the marshlands.

Naturally, the veterans of the western front had ample suggestions. To the north, the bedrock provided stable grounds to support the foundation of a city, but the craggy and hostile formations atop which the city would be construed, would provide challenges of their own.

Another, perhaps more popular suggestion, was to construe the city to the east- barely within the confines of their new, swampy region. With stable ground, dry grass and the river of Guny traversing the sector, the eastern locale seemed the better placement for all the veterans of the Emperor’s council.

To their common dismay, however, Capita had its own criteria for the selection. For one, it would serve as the regional Capitol of the west and a peripheral placement might prove counter-productive. Secondly, the Emperor feared that the surrounding, marshland villages would be hesitant in making the journey out from the swamps. Therefore, the final ruling of the city’s location was made not by the wise locals, nor was it made with the marshlands’ topography in mind. No... the selection was made far away- inside the Golden Palace, on a flat map void of topographical information.

And so it was decided that the city of Garrionburgh was to be built in the middle of the marsh, with an artificial lengthening of the Guny to serve as its vasculature. The efforts to build the city and extend the river began on the dawning of Garrion II’s third decade in power, but it would still take years before the first structure could host visitors to the lands.

The two projects ran in parallel- one claiming more lives than the other. After thirty years of deadly expeditions into the marshlands, the populace had learned to fear the death sentence that was the western reaches. Therefore, a noticeable drop in application rates to Capita’s universities would be seen for years to come, as all dreaded the mandatory service at the end of their studies.

Three years into the digging efforts, the respective projects were slowing, as manpower had become a scarce resource- as had simple tools such as shovels and carts. The solution to the Emperor’s fresh conundrum came to him, as many of his grand projects did, in a dream. It has been said that, upon waking, Garrion immediately made his way across the palace to assemble his court and proclaim to his subjects that the efforts would be delegated to those that had already proven themselves capable of surviving suffering.

A meager week thereafter, every prison and jail of the Empire had its denizens sprung free with a promise of a new life awaiting them at the end of another kind of service. No longer would they spend every waking moment inside their metal cubicles- wasting away without the opportunity to move their arms and legs.

With minor adjustments to lesser laws, a new influx of citizens to the west was secured. As for tools, the solution to this conundrum came in the form of an Empire-wide ban on disturbing the Emperor’s soil- aside from where sanctioned, of course. Any who were caught digging in His Precious Soil were promptly dispatched to the west, where they would join their fellow criminals in paying their dues- their now-cheap, abundant tools in hand.

Four decades into the efforts, the soft, swampy soil beneath what would soon become Garrionburgh had been exchanged with the masses of the now-connected river of Guny and, upon the completion of the first structure- a ramshackled inn construed by a pack of malnourished criminals- Garrion II passed away in the night, joining the near two million souls who had succumbed during the construction of his City.

The people of the western marshlands took to the streets in between their worn, deadly tents in celebrations of His passing, only to have their hopes of a swift return to the Empire crushed by the announcement of his successor- Emperor Garrion III, who had sworn a blood oath to his departed Father that he would see to the completion of His City.

“We attempted to revolt- the Gods know I did my best to stop this madness. As soon as the ground beneath the inn collapsed, we put down our shovels and our hammers. I pleaded with the Governor- I asked him if our hands had not bled enough- if not enough of our children had been swallowed by those never-ending sinkholes!?

Alas... no... Nothing grows in this cold, humid inferno. Half the mosses are poisonous- every species of beast out in the mires are better adapted to this hellhole than we are- I have seen schools of fish devour a man. I have seen tentacles rise up from the mud and swallow a horse... I have seen mad men eat one-another- frenzied by hunger and rage... No... If we are to eat, then we must work. If we are to survive, then we must build their city. If we are to ever live again... we must obey.”

Captain Robert Paulson on Garrion IIIs ascension to power, from ‘The maw of madness’.

The hungry swamp never ceased devouring the interlopers. Year after year, the toll for crossing into the inhospitable lands grew steeper. Even as the hardened citizens of the west built infrastructure and housing, they continued to fall victim to the hostile lands’ sinkholes, beasts and diseases, while the Emperor’s chosen men slept safely beneath the freshly established shelters.

Naturally, tensions grew, but who could speak up against those that, in essence, held a noose around the common worker’s neck? The few who did, would soon find themselves exiled from the freshly established capitol of the west. This constant selection would soon give rise to a new breed of citizens- citizens that were as silent and obedient as they were stoic. The ones who lived had proven themselves capable of surviving not only the harsh conditions of the biome into which they had been thrust and by the end of the first man’s age, their demeanor and the culture surrounding this freshly formed city was unrecognizable from that of Capita.

One might be excused for mistakenly assuming that the Emperor would be relieved to see the death-toll dropping by the quarter. As opposed to his Father, Emperor Garrion III would frequently speak to his Governors in the west and heard their pleas for assistance grow stronger with every day. But their requests did not pertain to assistance in the face of the rampant diseases, the starvation nor the budding thievery... no, the Emperor’s men had taken note of the desperate state of the west’s lack of educated men.

Whereas they had ascended through their youth in lavish luxury and with access to the finest venues of Capita, the exiled aristocracy now lived in wooden housing- surrounded on all sides by barbaric commoners and with only labor to entertain them. They were, naturally, melancholic in their pleas for the Emperor and were quick to point out that his Father would turn in his grave, had he only known what his son had let happen to his legacy.

Outraged by the state of the west’s lacking culture, the Emperor delegated his authority to Garrionburgh’s local government and Baron Gustav Marengus was to be the Emperor’s hand in affairs between the two cities- second-cousin to the Emperor, Himself and rumored to nearly have been removed from the royal family for his propensity for sadism. With him, he brought scores of highly educated, lesser motivated academics and fellow noblemen- none of whom were particularly fond of their new, fellow citizens.

Tensions rose once again as the rich were forced to mingle with the poorly working class of the numerous dockworkers and swamp-dwellers. Worst of all, they found to be the thick layer of smog clouding the streets. The smog, known colloquially as the ‘lichen-fart’- aptly named for its fecal odor- had become a necessary evil for the citizens to keep warm in the humid nights, as the sparse, dry wood primarily warmed the paneled housing of the freshly established aristocracy of Garrionburgh.

When faced with the choice of either burning the lichen and moss in their own housing or suffering the stench in the streets outside, the nobles simply spoke their unified... ‘No’. The Baron was stupefied- torn between the starving, exhausted and cold populace and the displeased nobility. Desperate for assistance, he pleaded for Capita’s aid, hoping to receive further shipments of wood or coal. To his surprise, however, upon receiving the next vessel from his distant cousing, he found naught but the usual supplies and an order.

This order would set the precedence for the next years’ efforts in Garrionburgh. Fore in his wisdom, the Emperor had seen it fit to arrange for a permanent fix, rather than the temporary respite the Baron’s suggested patch job might’ve offered. The orders from the golden city were as follows: “If the gasses cling to the commoners’ streets, then see to it that our academics’ streets are elevated above the commoners’.”

And thusly, the next phase of Garrionburgh’s construction began- a central elevation raging high above the smoggy streets, stable enough to carry buildings with the purpose of housing the city’s finest. To assist the Baron in his efforts, the Empire again increased the rate of forced emigration to combat the again-rising death toll- narrowly avoiding another famine, but solidifying its place in history as, undoubtedly, the most lethal place in all the Empire.