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.
Beringia, the sinking kingdom.
An area known for its exceptional steel work. It is named after the main city in the region.
To be sure, the Dirdums are fair teeming with goblins.
Captain Wandern, ship’s log.
The city of Stoneholt is generally considered one of the Wonders of the World, but it conceals a second wonder - a labyrinth of massive sewers and storm drains greater then anything man has built.
The Sorcery Springs Geyser Basin is a place of bubbling magical water, as every individual spring or pool has it’s own magical power. It is a place of great wonder and for the careless, great danger too.
For centuries, sailors have told the tale of this isle’s sole inhabitant, a madman who searches for the solution to an ancient puzzle.
"Summon the Legions! We shall offer battle within Bleak Vale! This time, OUR cause shall triumph!"
In an age of sail, one of the most important of resources is a source of tall, straight and strong trees for use as masts. Mastwood island is one such location.
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…
The great cone of steam, fire and ice.
The valley of the elves between Night and the Waterfalls
Behind the plains, beyond the mountains, and far after many leagus of the sea, is a place like you wouldn’t believe… (STUB)
I tell you, I get this itch on my lip when I think about Sgriob and the waters of the casks…
Captain Wandren, Ship’s logs
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...