On Loria Broadly:
The Fungi
Fungi are the most constant presence in Loria. They spread across soil, stone, water, and even into the air, forming a quiet architecture that binds the world together. To some, they are mere organisms; to others, they are the body of a god. No part of life in the Valemire—or beyond—escapes their reach.
Ecology and Reach
The fungi of Loria do not limit themselves to forest floors. They colonize cliffs, caves, marshes, and rooftops. Sporeclouds drift on wind and mist, rooting colonies in places no farmer ever planted. Beneath the surface, the Underroot’s mycelial veins stretch farther than any map—feeding, recycling, and connecting everything they touch.
Bioluminescent caps light caverns and swamps alike, while parasitic strands coil around trees, draining them until only husks remain. The line between plant, fungus, and stone often blurs: colonies petrify their hosts even as they consume them.
Uses and Necessities
Fungi sustain much of Loria’s daily life.
- Food: Edible varieties are roasted, stewed, or dried into long-lasting travel rations.
- Medicine: Poultices, tonics, and tinctures are brewed from cap and spore. Some heal; others numb; still others induce visions prized by priests and outlaws alike.
- Poison: Hunters and assassins grind certain spores into powders that choke the lungs or stop a heart in minutes.
Fungal cultivation is an everyday trade. From basketfuls of oyster-caps sold in Tolmir markets to carefully tended shelf colonies hidden in village groves, fungi feed both common folk and nobles.
Beliefs and Philosophy
The role of fungi is debated fiercely:
- Pragmatists call it nature’s recycler, no more divine than soil or rain.
- Mystics believe it to be conscious, a will that listens through the Underroot.
- Theologians go further, calling it the hand of the divine itself—Loria speaking plainly, without temples or priests.
Folk tales abound: forests turning hostile after a spirecap grove was burned, or mushroom rings that tilt their caps toward moonlight to “listen.” Whether superstition or truth, respect is nearly universal.
Industry and Exploitation
The demand for fungi has given rise to industries both respectable and cruel. Licensed cultivators in Tolmir produce medicines and preserved food for trade across the Valemire. But beneath this sanctioned commerce are darker economies.
Hidden camps, often underground, are run by lesser Houses and criminal syndicates. Prisoners, debtors, and kidnapped laborers are forced to harvest mushrooms in twelve-hour shifts, seven days a week. Quotas are brutal, and conditions worse: damp quarters, thin food, constant exposure to spores. Many workers sicken or vanish. The product—whether food, drug, or toxin—filters back into Loria’s streets and markets under a dozen false names.
Fungi and Power
The Great Houses themselves compete for fungal knowledge. Some pursue new medicines, others for weapons. Extracted spore-powders can alter perception, mend wounds, or create hallucinations powerful enough to break a man’s will. A few, sealed in relic-vials, are said to channel the Myrrhn directly, producing effects that defy explanation.
The Fungi Themselves
Fungi in Loria cannot be treated as background. They are part of every story, every settlement, every death and feast. They are the meals of peasants and the obsessions of kings. They whisper in the roots of the Underroot, and their spores drift across every dawn mist.
Whether resource, nuisance, or god, they endure. And in enduring, they shape everything else.