From the Journal of Kostrzyn Lubartów, Wanderer of the Black Woods:

ods, how strange is this world in which we live!

But a few days ago, I thought myself a well-traveled man who had seen his share remarkable things. I have been across the breadth of my native land of Invidia, even to the lawless brigand regions surrounding Castle Hunadora in the east. I have seen the breathtaking cathedrals of Borca, and tread the mist-shrouded enchanted forests of Sithicus. Yet all my worldliness was swept away today, as I entered the land of Arkandale.

When I was a boy, I had seen the enormous river vessels of the Arkandalens, the whitewashed monstrosities that moved on their own accord and belched smoke and shrill screams into the sky. They steamed relentlessly up and down the Musarde, carrying their bounty beyond our dark forests to Ricoba and Mordent. They seemed as if they came from another world. Indeed my mother spoke with thinly-veiled contempt for the Arkendalens, with their slovenly ways and dirty wealth. This always puzzled me, as my mother had never met an Arkendalen to my knowledge. Still, to me the land remained one of distant mystery; so close to the streets of Karina, yet so far.

Yet today I found myself in a village called Gillsburg, just northwest of the Invidia border. What a terrifying place! The Arkandalens talks very strange, and their lives are lawless and crude. The rich have slaves with skin as brown as the earth, whom they force to work fields that are not even theirs. There is even a man here who intends to build a magical beast of iron that will convey men through forest. I speak the truth! It must be the sweaty, relentless heat that makes these people crazy. And nearly everyone was convinced that I was a werewolf! Can you imagine that! I have never even seen a werewolf! Fah! Perhaps my mustache was too dark and hairy for their refined tastes.

I have no desire to tarry in this mad land any longer than is necessary. Tomorrow, I shall push on towards Ricoba and its legendary cities. Arkandale can have its werewolves and iron monsters and damnably hot weather.

Vital Statistics

Population: Over 6,000, including slaves.
Lord: Alfred Timothy, Loup-Garou Shaman.
Cultural Level: Renaissance.
Government: Governorship/Plutocracy.
Languages: A local dialect of Mordentish, a variety of slave tongues, Ohatchee.
Religions: Narrow Path of Righteousness, Voodan, Odanaula.
Money: Unstandardized local gold, silver and copper pieces, 5gp Arkandale Note.