There exists, within the interdimensional realm known as "Muir", a most holy city; a city of Gods, a city of Legends, a city with Dark Secrets.
Home to the fabled Shining Towers, a gleaming beacon of light for miles around.
If they said Mriulnarth is the Heart of the Demons, then Ashantar is the Beacon of Hope for all humans...
One of the Cosmic Era's most populous and vibrant cities, Novo São Paulo also has one of the widest economic gaps with an underside illustrating its crushing poverty.
Mondaloa is a name shared by both a city and a deity. Mondaloa, the city, is built on layers of crypts and tombs that are far more opulent and majestic than the city that covers them. Mondaloa, the deity, is the god of rest, peace, and death. There is nothing Mondaloa desires more than to see the dead buried deep in their tombs where they can rest in honor and peace. But there is trouble: something is torturing the dead of the city, and driving them to madness and rage. Now, 500 years of honored ancestors are trickling into the city above, seeking blood and pain and death.
Once little more than a standard place of higher education, now the University of Firdon sits at the heart of the magidustrial revolution soon to sweep through Ryngard.
Located on a world near the heart of Kel’Regar space, Nath’ar’Selass’Resan is a world renowned amongst that kind for it’s beautiful art, high technology, and the absolute lack of things that can kill a woman in dignified fashion.
Drachinacht, City of the Dragon King.
The greatest city on Neyathis - not built by the hand of man, but by long-gone giants. It is a city of superlatives and place of new beginnings.
The Spires of Stoneholt are tremendous needle-like structures visible for many miles before the rest of the city.
As you come near the Songpit, the sounds of sweet angelic bardic singing as if from heaven mix with the sounds of screams of agony. Your guard grins and turns to you. “You’ll either entertain us with your voice or with your pain, but either way we are going to have some fun with you.”
An average city of the Midlands
Synonymous with poverty…
Powlgraff, The Fowl City.
Come visit Qacha’s Neck. Home of the Worlds Oldest Cat
It is quoted in the Canon of St. Mancel that once in his life, that every devout soul should make pilgrimage to the holy city of Sangreal.
This is a a city where your wealth, social standing and everything is decided by the society of prohecy who keep the rich, rich and poor, poor.
This is as close to a “city” as the nomadic peoples get. It is more like a large and fairly permanent camp where various tribes meet within the “neutral zone” of Geon’kic.
Calanderas is a beautiful city of hills, a tight cluster of hills. It has a long and complicated history, all which can be seen in the city streets. Yet it is not for the buildings that it is beautiful.
During most of the year the nomads of the Bushlands wander in small groups, seeking pasture for their animals and food for themselves, over a vast area. But during the coldest three months of the year they come together for warmth and to trade with each other and pool supplies if things get really cold.
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.