This is a quiet place in the forest of Kaarengard, an Inn where mostly rangers, woodsmen and the occaisonal adventurer spend their evenings, swapping tales of adventure and spreading the latest news.

The Pool of (add the name of the God or Goddess of your choice) is well known as one of the greatest holy places of the world. It is said to be full of piles of gold and jewels, a place where wishes are granted, wounds are healed, prophets have dreams that come true, and suspected criminals are fairly judged. Pilgrims from the other end of the world have been known to travel for more then a year, braving the perils of disease, brigands and bad weather, just to reach it's holy waters.

A table of possible backgrounds, qualities, or features of a fantasy town or city.  A world building tool for getting attention to the details.

As the only place of warmth in an otherwise frozen land, the Firehole River is, or was, the central point for life in, on and around it. Sadly, this is starting to change...

 The jewel of the imperial shoal, this aquatic city is the emperor's seat of power.

Existing at once in the mortal plane and upon the plane of Fire, the Grand Pyre of the Phoenix is the ultimate testament to the power of the Lord Zevarith.

The Interstellar Highway of the Galaxy

The villagers are having a fit, they've found something in the woods!

"Zutul? You mean someone took time to give it a name?"

Maj. Rielle Law

To be “On the road to Shambala” is a metaphor for seeking redemption, purification of spirit, and seeking The Great Divine. It is found in teachings of several faiths of The Great Divine and in the writings of many prophets and philosophers.
It is not just a metaphor. There truly is a road to Shambala.

Ruled with an iron fist by the famed Admiral Sir Korak Dragonslayer, Earl of Kaldi, the city of Maskholm is one of the great ports of the northern shore of the Kingdom of Warwik; here are some of its notable seaward businesses.

Twenty nautical minded businesses from the Mariners’ Quarter of sprawling Warwik City, useful for any fantasy port city.

Not every temple is a monument to grandeur, a pilgrimage site of legendary sanctity or a repository of lore, power or influence.  Sometimes they are small parishes, doing their best on the scanty tithes of the poor to cherish their flock.  St. Taria’s is one of these.

Out of the way of general traffic, tucked against the old wall of Warwik City’s Mariners’ Quarter, Tyraesa Square used to be a pleasant place for locals to gather.  The neighborhood has a darkening reputation, though, and some of these establishments are the culprits.

The Sign of the Violet Beaker, in Warwik City’s Mariners’ Quarter, is certainly *the* place to go for healing potions and other alchemicals.  All you have to do is bring enough gold ... oh, and survive the experience.

The hub of the Mariners’ Quarter of Warwik City is the sprawling quays and wharfs of North Quay, situated by the Sea Gate of the walled Old City.  The goods of a hundred ports pour into North Quay, and in the imaginations of newcomers seeing it for the first time, the white shell paving gleaming in the sunlight is in truth the silver with which their fantasies deem it strewn.

Castle Merciless. Home of He who dwells in nightmares.

Symbol of the faith of Ratri, goddess of the night, in the Old City of Warwik City, the Cathedral of the Black Dagger holds more than an ancient, mysterious tomb - it holds fanaticism in its grasp.

The vast, soaring twin-towered Cathedral dominated the skyline of Warwik’s Old City, evidence of the sway and majesty of the faith of the Sea Lord Manannan.  A line of penitents shuffled up the walkway to the main sanctuary, giving me time to pause, and think.  Cardinal Eliana was not going to appreciate the news I bore ... and I had long since ceased to be in a rush to deliver it.

“To old Haven town, we’re bound to go, halloo!  To old Haven town, we’re bound to go, halloo!”

The singing near to shook the stucco off the Venturers’ Hall, and I shook my head.  Damnall luck was I going to have in filling out Redwave‘s crew in Storm Season, and every sailor I could hear was half in the bag ...

“From some old seaport town, on the west coast of Hell!  We’ll drink dry the taverns and wish ye all well!”

Still, I had it to do, and I had enough silver - and gold - to stir the dregs of the Guild.  Perhaps it’d be enough.

“Tow ropes, haul yer bars - heave her, hi oh, now fend off, halloo!”