Habitats and stations that float
A cul-de-sac in arcanotechnology, the Singularity Plant is a power station that is more dangerous than it is valuable.
One of the most common and well recognized SimSense parlors of the Cosmic Era
Remember those cliché taverns the storyteller took you in a hurry? With the fat bartender who's just cleaning a mug as you enter? Yeah, none of those here...
Whilst royal courts tend to be like each other in some ways, they can also be very different in other ways. Some may be places of fun where banquets and masked balls are common, whilst others are unpleasant or even dangerous and the nobility only attend because they have to.
You walk into the room and it is like stepping into the grand library. Wall to wall and floor to ceiling is taken up by leather bound loaded bookshelves. All of the tomes are in varying states of decay and none of which are new.
The term is archaic, calling upon the ancient language of the magi, and those versed in the eldritch arts. In the more vulgar argot, terms such as scrying room and equally mundane names are bandied about. The fact that such limited terms are used to describe the proper mystic's psychomanteum demonstrates how little they actually know about what occurs within.
Did you ever wonder where the moon comes from?
"Has he got any magic stuff on him?" the librarian asked. "You know, magic sword or wand or such?"
"Of course," Glacier answered, annoyed at the question. Dragus the Reaving Knight wielded the Black Sword as everybody knew. "What's that got to do with anything?"
The librarian smiled. "Well, that just made finding him much easier, that's all. See, what you need is the Books of the Holders."
Located in the Eurasian Alliance Balkanistan Principality, Vetmuara BioSciences is the bottom of the barrel for human cloning.
The primary spaceport of the South African United Republics and the largest space port in Africa
This dusty, delapidated building appears to have been abandoned for some time. Within it is a plethora of ancient tomes and ancient knowledge, however rumours of a deadly curse keep curious scholars at bay.
"The perfect pet at the perfect price -- guaranteed." Creature Dex at the bottom of the sub, if you want to include "relatively harmless" alien critters in your campaign.
One of the largest objects in Low Earth Orbit
Felim collapsed into the snow, exhausted. It felt like it would be the last fall this time, his limbs stiffening and flesh numb. The adventurer had heard of natives that thrived out here, men who slew bears and made coats of seal fur. But who could build anything out here...?
Just as he felt light start to fade, Felim cast his gaze up to see the sky one last time. He was startled - or would have been, if his body had the energy - to see a furred hood and a leathery face with a toothless grin. "Ho there, brother!" it spoke. "You came to just the right place."
"Bristlebane ale. Tall."
Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. "You want it in a bottle?"
"From the tap."
Mathus nodded. "This way," he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the "customer" following.
A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. "Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous."
"You couldn't handle it, son," an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. "It'd right kick your ass."
Somewhere along the line, someone decided that a giant swimming pool would make a great place for a rave club
The head office of the Guild, which has now spread to have a branch office in almost all countries. The idiot elves won't let us map out there forests!
Come, join in our discussion. We're composing a list to categorize the different lunatics that spill their inane natter here. You fit in where did you say?
An underground club, meeting place, and fortress
These magical boots empower the wearer with several abilities at once. Wondrous leaping, water-walking, and even flying! Yet the boots possess an insidious curse upon them as well. A deep and almost unfathomable (by others) feeling of listlessness, boredom, and even apathy affects the boots' wearer at all times whenever they are donned. Magic will not dispel the effects.
And so while the wearer of the boots can perform great feats of action during combat or at other opportune times and key moments, they'll never really want to do so, complaining "Meh, what's the point of it all anyway?" or "I would fly up and save us all guys, but sigh, maybe uhm, soonish, mkay? Bit bored by this whole burning tower at the moment."
Naturally the boots wearer's fellow PCs will grow quickly frustrated with this arrangement. There have been numerous occasions when one angry PC literally tears off the boots from his companion's feet in anger, and dons them in turn, only to immediately suffer from the same effects.
The solution lies in constantly "motivating" the boots' wearer with successful rolls, involving threats, flattery, fiery speeches, or even bribery.