Sourange

Joel La Belle-Feé did not think himself a very complex man. Certainly, there were things that separated him from the others in Marias d'Sablet, but that was basic variation in life. No, he thought himself rather practical, when he had the time to be speculative on his life, usually sitting upon the porch of his home, outside of the local mausoleum. Strange, that his lot in life would be intrinsically linked to death, although he supposed that was also one variation in life that stayed the same--the currency of the country were named by monuments of death, toothchips, fingerbones, and gravestones. Mind you, Joel always earned his gravestones well, and honestly, as he was the caretaker of the mausoleum.

In Marias d'Sablet--or Sourange, as others outside of the place itself would call it--the swamp ruled the lives of those who lived there. It would figure that the swamp would still have its hold over those who had died, as well, as the influx of swampwater prevented any sort of normal burial within the country's soil--they would just wash up again several days later. Thus, all the dead of Sourange were stored within mausoleums, which were the closest to holy places one could get in the swamp. Most were beautiful, in their own way. Joel took special pride in his own, as his fellows and he had carved out the tomb themselves, making it their own way to honor their dead, after they had finished their trek to the place. The mausoleum's stone was culled from mountains outside of Marias d'Sablet, and they brought it here.

Then they left. Joel did not know exactly where, but some of them spread out. Others left altogether, never heard from again. He chose to stay with the mausoleum, as a caretaker. A guardian--after all, that is what he was supposed to be, no?

The mausoleum itself was a large thing, extensive. His family had been thorough--there were secret entryways, exits, and almost every sort of artistic carving you could think of. The archways into the crypts were large, lustrous white, with heavy iron doors and carvings of angels with large, feathered wings. Joel often would patrol the grounds of the crypts, or inside, making sure that theives or ne'er-do-wells did not interrupt the repose of the dead inside. For his work, he was paid in gravestones (he still chuckled at the thought), and he lived simply.

And then everything changed.