A quiet island, with a small fishing village, a decent dock, a sheltered lagoon, friendly natives ... and a chilling curse.
Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike
The bosun brained with a marlinspike
And cookey's throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o'day in a boozing ken
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Madmen, Riddles, and Worms
"Aye, I've been to Bloodmaw. Its out in the ocean, and lies right on the Abez-Evetepor trade route. Or at least where the trade route would have been if it wasn't for Bloodmaw. Its this maelstrom, perpetually spinning and swirling, abou' 50 yards across? And the sea around the whole thing is a deep crimson. The color of blood. And around the whole thing is a storm. Some days the Bloodmaw is sated, and isn't as violent. But some days ye can't hope to survive. On bad days it can take a ship that a mile away. Thank the gods that it didn't take me."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
Deep within the heart of the Great Woses, lies an inland sea that few care to visit. Nevermind the ogre-infested swamps that surround it, the place is just disgusting. While known by many names – the Belching Sea, the Eternal Loogie, Gluumraag's Blessing and sometimes, the Slimy Deep – most simply call it the Sea of Snot.
"Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve." - Smythe Voss, crewman of Siren's Laugh
"The shipyards, a good place to move illict cargo or lay low for a while, but that ship yard in Philly, it's not a place you want to frequent, not if you wish to keep yer skin on anyway."
A city location with a slight horror slant, suitable for any modern day horror/action setting.
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…
Beachcombing and coast-hugging, fantasy style. Animal, mineral, and vegetable. Sea-Junk. Flotsam and jetsam. Encounters and other oddities.
- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"
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.
Beringia, the sinking kingdom.
To be sure, the Dirdums are fair teeming with goblins.
Captain Wandern, ship’s log.
For centuries, sailors have told the tale of this isle’s sole inhabitant, a madman who searches for the solution to an ancient puzzle.
Sometimes, gentlemen, you must find yourself a location beyond the reach of the law. I’m sure you understand. Those dreadful precautions, the endless nagging, sometimes it’s simpler to just do what you need to do.
Sailors long to visit the idyllic islands of the generous Zwitter folk…
Behind the plains, beyond the mountains, and far after many leagus of the sea, is a place like you wouldn’t believe… (STUB)
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.