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An isolated nation along the misty shores of northern Asivis. Its sole inhabitants are a small, distinctly unfriendly race- perhaps equal parts human and dwarf, or perhaps merely short- pale, primitive, and xenophobic. They have been isolated for most of their history- their coastline is craggy, unnavigable, and frozen for half the year; their territory can only be reached through The Squamata Swamps, inhabited by the equally xenophobic Lizardmen, with whom the people of Igenabza frequently make war.

They worship a rather unpleasant god named Ugog-Zongogaboth, who appears to be some sort of sea urchin, or perhaps merely a demonic hedgehog who, it is said, dredged up the world from the primordial ooze. The Igenabzans seem divided upon whether this was a good thing or not.

Less ambiguous is Leloleg, a great warrior and culture hero regarded as the founder of their race. He is said to have been a great prince in the lands to the south who was renowned for his skill in warfare. In the heat of battle, the legend goes, his fury was so great that he ran his own brother through, no longer able to tell friend from foe.
Leloleg was heartbroken, and allowed himself to be cast out into the wilderness to die, without weapons or armor. The forces of the wild proved unable to kill him, however, and he eventually became a travelling mercenary, embarking on a series of adventures which involved, among other things, adopting a porcupine as a battle helmet and attracting the wrath of the Lord of the Hunt. Eventually he bested the god in a series of tests, winning his friendship, his daughter's hand in marriage, and the land that would become Igenabza.

The 'capital' of Igenabza, such as it is, is the dark, craggy village of Bognaal along the northern coast. Those few foreigners to have seen it describe an eerie and unpleasant town. It is built upon an estuary, they say, and lined with cold, brackish canals that send up billowing fogs in the morning and evening, lending a ghostly aura to the gnarled driftwood-and-wicker architecture of the town. The quiet whisper of gentle waves hovers on the edge of consciousness at all times, alternately soothing and maddening, and the ground, largely comprised of driftwood planks anchored to mats of vegetation, rocks with them. The oddly silent canoes of the Igenabzans ply the canals with lanters hung at either end, and everywhere the elaborate, spiraling iconography of Igenabzan art is painted in dull red and grey lichen which erupt in blue luminescence at night.

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