Work in Progress: --- Region Spotlight: Amyara Swamps ---
Alright, Instead of laying out all the foundations Ive decided to jump straight into the lore elements, beginning with one of the 'Landmarks/Sites of interest' That being the Monument of the moon, I will update and reformat this all once I have finished the landmark:
--- Monument of the Moon ---
“The sea himself had been tryin hard to steer our ship away - Currents draggin it off to some coast or its all jaggery rocks coming out of all nowhere to scrape along our side. But we, me and my men, we were determined we were. That black pyramid, the one which we had welcomed with jeers and laughter having finally reached the Newworld an all, we reckoned it was sure to be crammed to the brim with riches n gold - And nothin could change our minds about it, we had heard the tales and were going to get in on it. We however got far more than we bargained for with that bloody cursed place.”
-
Record IV of a shivering captain brian blackeyes slurred speech after having returned from the lands of Lustria.
The smell of evening hangs in the air, and as the coastal haze begins to clear it is revealed. Perched above frothing waters atop its clifftop island, one of many which scatter out from the mainland, is a great, forbidding monolith of stone. Rearing up from the coast obsidian black surfaces lie wet with the sheen of spray, their every flank guarded and cradled by harsh, spiking rocks - The surface of which is crammed with so many barnacles one can only guess if they are rocks at all, but not shifting mounds of shells suffocating one another into evermore twisted and jagged shapes.
The reasons why this place requires not guardians of stone nor hexes and curses should become clear. An atmosphere of silence, of dread staturates the salt laden air. The crashing of the waves becomes muffled. The jungle orchestra falls long silent as the trees refuse to sway. The land itself is waiting, tensed in apprehension, its every feature coiled like a spring. All who find themselves under the ominous gaze of such a blank, seemingly simple pyramid feel their muscles strain and shiver, locking up with an alien chill as their legs refuse to drag them further.
Besides, any, in what some would call bravery, others, madness, who arrive at the monuments base find its exterior unbroken. Despite the orgy of undergrowth, barnacles and seaweed which cling onto every surrounding rock its four sides remain slopped and flat. The great plates of black granite which form its surface ceaseless and prepertural, refusing to give in and allow both brush nor some entrance or elaborate archway to interrupt them.
“First scaling the slimy rockface we managed to hack our way through the thick, untamed undergrowth until our arms burnt and entire body was hurt’in all over. But alas, the smell n promises of treasure and riches were thick enough to make a man drunk just by breathin in the air on that night, propelling my men further and harder than id ever seen them...”
“Eventually, the lot of us reached the pyramids surface. o’l Tom persisted he would be the first to reach out and touch the thing… At first I wanted to do the honours, but you know now I'm grateful to have let ‘im…”
“He said it hummed, The rock spoke to him he said. Of course we didn’t believe him, probably his wrinkles and old bones playin up again ahah. But no yeah, everybody stopped messin when he went silent, his eyes were rollin in his skull by the time me and my men pulled him away. Minutes later he was screamin, gibbering in pain. His hands and face had gone white, pale as bone, numb and chilled to the touch too. Ended up having to cut em off.. Tom, he didn’t make it much further after that. Screamin and cryin, splutterin for us to kill him - Which we did. Death ended up being for nothin too. We were all spooked, couldn’t even find the bloody entrance to the place, decided better than to waste another good man so went searchin off for loot elsewhere. These lands, They were tryna tell us somethin, Im sure of it even now in my old age. But by sigmar we didn’t listen. And I swear by all that he makes holy I will never return to those blasted lands, the ones they call Lustria.”
The looming exterior the Monument of the Moon. Silent, unmoving this obsidian black obelisk sits ominously.
Blanketed in a morning mist that warps the terrain into looming images and shapes juts the Monument of the moon. By day its flat obsidian surfaces steam and hiss with heat, but come night they glisten and glow with a silver sheen, the water covered surfaces scattering the starlight in dazzling rays - rays that will be seen by none such is the perpetual darkness of the low hanging air, one both metaphorical and literal.
At first the ominous pyramid seems little more than exactly that - A pyramid, one that need not have the title of ‘Monument of the Moon’, from but a simple look one could see that the moon shared nearly nothing in common with such a structure - Well all but the moons ominous stance, the way in which it hangs in a darkened sky in silence, watching, waiting.
And yet, like all things concealed behind the twisting treetops and jagged coastlines of Lustria, there is far more below the surface than initially appears - In this case, literally: Come low tide when the waters recede, returning back to whence they came at the whims and wills of their cosmic master much more becomes clear - A fact warmbloods couldn't even begin to realize, let alone consider without the interference of their guardian angel: Coincidence, Something the Lizardmen of Lustria have ascended far above, their cold calculating logic having escaped the reliance, the shackles and bounds of luck before the other mortal races had even looked up at the night skies in awe and wonder. Besides, Given the inability of warmbloods to understand and grasp the link between the tides, the moon and the monument so allegedly named after it this pyramid shall remain as so. Silent, simple and unchanging, its secrets hidden behind ominous slabs of black granite so large one can't help but marvel and question how such a structure was built - Especially given its precarious position, cradled among the clifftops and islands which stray off the coast above lashing seas…
However, our delve into the mysteries and depths of this structure do not end here. For when the moons, both of them, Morrsleb and Mannsleb, the cursed and the holy, come closest to the planet in what some would refer to as a ‘Supermoon’, an event occurring roughly three to four times a year do the tides recede enough to reveal the base of the island column upon which the monument sits. Frothing waters slip back allowing seaweed choked pathways, a network of chiseled arteries of stone to be free from the clutches of the many eels and fish which once snaked their way through these sunken structures.
Now revealed lies a great riveting pathway, its huge stone blocks both stable and broad enough to withstand the tread of a charging stegadon. Flanking the paths side’s are banister’s of stone symbols and image’s which reflect the moons many cycles as the path twists its way along the now revealed sea-floor before curving into the cliff base itself. Seaweed draped arches welcome the fiery glow of torches as priests make their way inside, the sounds of their clinking charms and tassels drowned out by the haunting chant of many skinks and kroxigors, their voices carried far through the eerie coastal mist.
It is now, basking in the silver light of a supermoon does the Monument of the moon begin to undergo its transformation, its great obsidian plates dancing with the shadows of many fiery torches.
Whether by the labors of many a kroxigor or by some long forgotten mechanism the pyramids surface begins to dislodge - The entire structure shivering as gears twist and turn. In a shifting motion the monument begins to part open, the top quarter dividing into four wedges which withdraw to reveal the structures inner workings.
A view into one of the temple’s many unearthed chamber’s, the great mechanical clock’s and celestial calendars now open to a star filled sky when the time is right.
Illuminated by sizzling pans of fire labor a dozen or so priests as they busy around the temple's interior. Great carvings of silver serpents slither along columns which spiral around astronomical devices and great calendars, nearby, sitting upon seats of stone, each one fashioned to represent a cycle of moon and the hierarchical position of the priest sitting within do the priests of the Cult of the Lost hold their council. A council witnessed by their long forgotten god, her unspoken name carved into a central silver plaque upon which fresh blood flows each priest cutting open their wrist and invoking the one and only Metzlitlaco - She who helps the lost find their way, the forgotten Oldone deity of the moon.
Despite risking resentment from their Slann, just as the followers of Sotek had before them, The Cult of the Lost chant in an attempt to bring forth their god's servants - Coatls feathered not with color and wing, but with faith and starlight. In communion, the priests begin to quietly chant, reciting an ancient hymn to the long lost deity of the moon:
“Above cities of gold, Below ancient suns growing old”
“Saith our undead wraith, she who is bound through undying faith.”
Movement above. Slither. A wave of dust and rubble drift down. The air hisses with the flick of the tongue that has tasted oblivion. bathed in silence as the priests hold their breaths.
“Herald the sacred plaque, the one that all others attack”
“Proclaim her hallowed breaths, the one that all others overshadowed”
Movement above. Ruffle. Suffocating ancient air whips around the temple’s interior as tendrils of thick mist fan out in search of their sacrifice, in search of their belief.
“Her servants shall return to this mortal coil to slither once more upon corporeal soil.”
“Her servants shall manifest into temporal flesh as anathema infest”
Movement above. Flicker. Silver scales encrusted with the patio of eons shine above as serpentine eyes pierce into the mind’s of their followers, splitting the darkness of night like beacons, beacons those lost would use to find their way for centuries.
““The lost shall come to praise the moon and honor the third serpents mark”
“The lost shall come to heed the call of Metzzzlilaco!”
(Read more about Metzlilaco, The third god among the triplet of serpents, Tepok, Sotek and her - She who guides the lost in another post later down the line that will continue to explain more about non-canon oldone's like Yuxa and Ashax) 
