Tidal Forest/Water Hazard

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.

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 Brande Islands are now a hell on earth for the majority of their inhabitants, but it was not allways that way…

The Jesk family inn.

Great, mysterious chambers hidden deep in the earth beneath that enigmatic city of Stoneholt!

The Ogre charged at the small goblin and ran out after it only to find the dried crust cracking under it’s feet, plunging it into the ooze. It roared with rage, but the more it tried to escape, the deeper it sank. "Welcome to my homeland," said the gopblin with an grin on it’s face. "You were a fool to chase me in here, and now I’ve got you right where I want you…"

A forest of perpetual Autumn

It is pretty.

Yes it is. A man could get lost in himself there.

Is that a bad thing?

Depends on the man.

"After being to the Bramblefens, blackberry thorns just seem kinda cute!"

Beachcombing and coast-hugging, fantasy style. Animal, mineral, and vegetable. Sea-Junk. Flotsam and jetsam. Encounters and other oddities.

In the summer there is a small stone jail for those who are caught breaking the rules of the Sorcery Springs Geyser Basin, but in winter they are imprisoned within the warm waters themselves. No bolts or bars are needed, the cold takes the place of prison walls.

Spots of perfect green. The Ankorillian Islands. Jewels of the Blue.

Fewer things under heaven reek

like the lofty spires of Wlatsoom Peak

Vernissage, apprentice bard.

A slightly atypical stinking swamp festering with goblins

- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"

A moving island, and home to both the honorable Lizardfolk and the evil Cult of Dar’Orgath.

Yar…I do indeed know of Crossbones Isle, stranger. But ye’d be better suited to avoid that place like a widowed wench.

The Dragon Isles consist of no less than thirty or so separate islands, of varying sizes, in a fifty-mile chain running on an approximately north-south line about thirty miles off of the eastern coast.

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.