The Mutewall & the North

A 100-meter-high, 2,000-kilometer-long colossal wall of black basalt, spanning the world's far north. Its face is carved with the names of every legitimate king, and at night it glows a dim blue, like a constellation laid down to rest.

The hereditary soldiers of House Crowfeather of the Mutelands, guarding 400 watchtowers. Their weapons are oil cauldrons, longbows, fire-oil barrels, giant crossbows, and rockfall machines—to fight the things that pounce up the wall in the night.

The kings' names carved into the Mutewall have begun to flake away, stroke by stroke. Flaking with sound is slow, and can be traced; flaking without sound is fast, and cannot be traced.

The Mutewall is 800 kilometers from the royal capital at Ironhold. Beacon-fires cross the whole distance in a few hours, yet can carry only the simplest signal; to send details, you need a rider, slower by 5 to 7 days.

A small village deep in the Mute Lands, 320 kilometers from the Mutewall. The wall was breached once 16 years ago; whatever came through from beyond flattened the village, and out of everyone only a single infant was dug alive from the rubble by the Wall Garrison.