Habitats and stations that float
A cul-de-sac in arcanotechnology, the Singularity Plant is a power station that is more dangerous than it is valuable.
One of the most common and well recognized SimSense parlors of the Cosmic Era
Remember those cliché taverns the storyteller took you in a hurry? With the fat bartender who's just cleaning a mug as you enter? Yeah, none of those here...
Whilst royal courts tend to be like each other in some ways, they can also be very different in other ways. Some may be places of fun where banquets and masked balls are common, whilst others are unpleasant or even dangerous and the nobility only attend because they have to.
You walk into the room and it is like stepping into the grand library. Wall to wall and floor to ceiling is taken up by leather bound loaded bookshelves. All of the tomes are in varying states of decay and none of which are new.
The term is archaic, calling upon the ancient language of the magi, and those versed in the eldritch arts. In the more vulgar argot, terms such as scrying room and equally mundane names are bandied about. The fact that such limited terms are used to describe the proper mystic's psychomanteum demonstrates how little they actually know about what occurs within.
Did you ever wonder where the moon comes from?
"Has he got any magic stuff on him?" the librarian asked. "You know, magic sword or wand or such?"
"Of course," Glacier answered, annoyed at the question. Dragus the Reaving Knight wielded the Black Sword as everybody knew. "What's that got to do with anything?"
The librarian smiled. "Well, that just made finding him much easier, that's all. See, what you need is the Books of the Holders."
Located in the Eurasian Alliance Balkanistan Principality, Vetmuara BioSciences is the bottom of the barrel for human cloning.
The primary spaceport of the South African United Republics and the largest space port in Africa
This dusty, delapidated building appears to have been abandoned for some time. Within it is a plethora of ancient tomes and ancient knowledge, however rumours of a deadly curse keep curious scholars at bay.
"The perfect pet at the perfect price -- guaranteed." Creature Dex at the bottom of the sub, if you want to include "relatively harmless" alien critters in your campaign.
One of the largest objects in Low Earth Orbit
Felim collapsed into the snow, exhausted. It felt like it would be the last fall this time, his limbs stiffening and flesh numb. The adventurer had heard of natives that thrived out here, men who slew bears and made coats of seal fur. But who could build anything out here...?
Just as he felt light start to fade, Felim cast his gaze up to see the sky one last time. He was startled - or would have been, if his body had the energy - to see a furred hood and a leathery face with a toothless grin. "Ho there, brother!" it spoke. "You came to just the right place."
"Bristlebane ale. Tall."
Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. "You want it in a bottle?"
"From the tap."
Mathus nodded. "This way," he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the "customer" following.
A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. "Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous."
"You couldn't handle it, son," an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. "It'd right kick your ass."
Somewhere along the line, someone decided that a giant swimming pool would make a great place for a rave club
The head office of the Guild, which has now spread to have a branch office in almost all countries. The idiot elves won't let us map out there forests!
Come, join in our discussion. We're composing a list to categorize the different lunatics that spill their inane natter here. You fit in where did you say?
An underground club, meeting place, and fortress
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.