Pronounced VAH-oo-AH

Climate & Geography

  • Vawuea is a swamp hamlet founded by the Vhorks.
  • The area around Vawuea is a swamp with subtropical marsh and forest area, wild and untamed. The weather is often warm and humid with hotter temperatures peaking in the summer and swirling fogs the most common in the winter into spring. The scent of decay is pungant in the autumn.
  • Vawuea floods often, namely twice a year during frequent rain storms in the early spring and mid summer.


  • The population is little more than 20 humans.
  • The people of Vawuea are insulat, cursed and untrusting.


  • Primary Language: Alon
  • Secondary Languages: Pryma, Murcant


  • The hamlet of Vawuea is almost entirely owned by the Vhorks family and is subsequently run by Lord Vhorks.


  • Burnings
    • Witch burnings are common enough to warrant a town stake on a central island

Important Figures

  • Lord Amuins Vhork – Male human
    • The strong armed leader of the hamlet
  • Corichs Vhork – Male human
    • The cursed son with a bad attitude
  • Grand Mother Esella – Female human
    • This old woman is known as a mysterious witch who lives alone brewing teas and speaking truths unknown
  • Gelzy – Female human
    • Tavern proprietor of the Witch’s Brew
  • Gorin
    • The suspicious guard
  • Wael
    • The sneering guard

Racial Considerations

  • Every citizen is human.


  • Religion seems to be absent in the small hamlet.

Notable Sites

  • The Witch’s Brew
    • From Outside
      This squat building is the largest of any in the collection of islands for the hamlet of Vawuea. Two large doors like that of a barn form the majority of one wall with another small door at one corner. No window can be seen though faint light shines out from cracks and a few holes. The post that stands here bares a single lantern and the sign of a woman, cross-armed in a large pot over a massive fire. Faded paint what once might have been a stark red but now is a barely-there brown reads in Alon: Witch’s Brew. The music and cinnamon sweet aroma drifts eagerly out to draw you in.
    • From Inside
      A short number of tables, each with guests though none filled, decorate a weathered, worn but clean floor. The air smells of sweetened cinnamon and smoke, partially from the fire and partially from the pipes hanging from a number of mouths, men and a few old women alike. The bar is but a few seats at a make shift counter, fashioned from a few old crates. The musicians – a few locals by the look of their unshaven faces and ruddy clothing – sit to the side of the hearth, playing and strumming and beating. “Go on then, make some room,” calls a wide waisted woman from the bar. A few rise from a table, making room for six to sit crowdedly.


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