Many who have landed upon this island’s golden sands have never escaped alive, hence it’s name.Only fools, it is said, will attempt to take the island’s gold.
A society lost to its own demands of innovation.
Punampu, who’s inhabitants call it the Anciently Dignified and Resplendently Aged City of the Punampu, was originally a very large and splendid city, the capitol of a forgotten kingdom, which, in age, has declined to a somewhat less grand state.
The underlying terrain of the city defines it. It is a large, broad mound. This cluster is as strange to the Kerrenese as Venice or a sunken city is to most Westerners.
There is a place where only the foolhardy and the greedy dare to go. Why do I say foolhardy, because of all of the poor souls who have entered that dark place…none have yet to return.
Squish, Squish. Squish.
Bogmoors has been here for 721 years. It started with an ale stop for the Imperial invaders. From there it has been a similar stop for every wave of invaders since then, as well as every local for a good walk’s distance.
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.