Shilin - The Island that Is No More

A hundred miles out from the Blessed Isle stands a strange conglomeration of huts whose floors rest on stony branches and trunks that plunge downward into the deep green ocean.
The buildings are made of dismantled ships, driftwood, and other refuse; there are tunnels hollowed into the trunks and branches of the greatest trees.
The trees are also tapped for sweet, nutritious syrup; their branches extrude great icicles of salt that can be traded to Realm peasants or satrapies. The townsfolk themselves are a motley group of folks who all share a need or desire to stay close to the Realm while also being persona non grata on the Blessed Isle itself, such as exiles.
Its small garrison is comprised largely of the disgraced and disdained. Smugglers and tradesmen find it a convenient place to swap cargoes without incurring the tariffs required in Blessed Isle ports, and many an inconvenient corpse rots in an underwater web of branches.

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