The techno-fortress of the Brotherhood of the Land of Nod, and the heart of their organization
Dominated by Chinese colonists, most people refer to the red planet as Huo Hsing, rather than Mars.
The desert is like the sea, the sands shift ebb and flow and with them so does life. The tide is in ebb, and Xen'da'rik is dying.
There are few places more treacherous than pools of quicksand save for a sea of quicksand. Those who tread here quickly find that the lust for adventure or coin might leave them with a sinking feeling of despair.
I dream of rain; I dream of gardens in the desert sand
--Sting, Desert Rose
The shining city of glass and mirror within the forboding Karikun desert. Welcome to the home city and birthplace of the Ouzquin Dremorix.
City of Kings, City of Angels! Baisaltir welcomes all!
"Greetings travellers! You must have had a harsh journey through the desert."
"We didn't see this city was on the map."
"We're just a few like-minded folks trying to keep the world out."
"How many people live here?"
"Just a few of us, and now you."
"Today the name Abydos belongs to a small town built on the edge of the deep desert, but this was not always so."
A hidden gem in the hinterlands of Calcobrina
I did not think there was a crime heinous enough to deserve this place as a sentence..
"Zutul? You mean someone took time to give it a name?"
Maj. Rielle Law
The wastes are cruel, and beneath the desolation they hide many secrets.
An ocean of fine silt, shot through with pillars and islands of ancient stone, this realm would be a thing of harsh beauty were it not for the utterly lifeless nature of it.
The Great King long ago ceased attempting to police the wastelands of his Border Marches, and these debatable lands fell into the hands of petty counts, retired generals, and warlords, who constructed and then abandoned many keeps ripe for plunder.
During certain years, people in Akgku claim to observe a green flame coming from the sea and erupting upward. It can be observed from a distance of two days’ journey or more. After burning for a considerable time, the flame disappears.
—Falklyde Wodinger, Haraconian scholar, in route to wondrous Udross and legendary Akgku.
The Wastes can be beautiful. Here the land is toxic: slowly corrosive to the touch, causing illness and death with prolonged contact. The bubbling sulfur and ectomass pools (HellPits too) are especially lovely, if you have the right aesthetic. The soil is soft and any heavy object slowly sinks. If it was not for the special resources here (dyes, alchemical elements, resins, Grimrock, Verner glands, etc), it would be a place that no one would come.
The Ocadian Desert is a desolate place. The spirit of the land has been crushed, changing the region from a series of islands with evergreen forests and animals in a shallow sea, to one of the most inhospitable places on the Sphere.
The Horrors and Wonders of a distant, sun-drenched land. Everything you need to run a desert campaign!
With silent wings may your soul fly to the Spirit Home
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.