The street is wide, and smoothly paved, with trees planted along the sides. The houses are mansions and palaces, each surrounded by stone and ironwork walls that are as much decorative as they are protective. These are the summer homes of the Princesses, and ladies of privelage.

The darkens as travelers draw near, the wind begins to pick up, to howl. Here, the sun does not shine, the stars and moon are forever hidden by the Stormshroud, the eternal storm…

In the forest, there is a small vale where there are no cats, and only the battered ruins of a long dead mage named Gargamel.

Well, some of the old timers still work the mines, but the biggest news out in these parts is that the ARC is going to lay a line of rail through the Canyon.

Nestled among the smaller and less noticed store fronts, hidden among the sundry vendors, and purveyors of beads, cheap jewelry, and meat-on-a-stick products in a small building that smells strongly of hot linen, cotton, soap…and goblin.

The Deepening Gloom is an old forest, with deep roots, and deeper memories of the elder days.

Three days from the nearest shore, nestled on top of a small heath island stands the Tower of Thunder and Gold. More than one hundred wizards and sorcerers live here year round, devoted to the continuation of the magical arts. There are many times more students, consors, and things only describable as others

To refer to Rubens a inn is an insult. There are no battered bars, or heaving bosoms, or the scent of stale beer and tobacco smoke. There are no crowded common rooms, or cheap entertainment. The flooring is plush, the rooms are exquisite, and the bill is out of this world…

An oval a full mile and a quarter in circumfrence, infield thick with dark grass, surrounded by white fences and stands enough to seat two thousand spectators. The smell of hay, horse sweat, and excitement is strong in the air…