A cool, Northern land, populated by the strange Maskenfolk
There are few places more treacherous than pools of quicksand save for a sea of quicksand. Those who tread here quickly find that the lust for adventure or coin might leave them with a sinking feeling of despair.
I dream of rain; I dream of gardens in the desert sand
--Sting, Desert Rose
"They said it would bring us a new age of wonder, of exploration, of excitement. I don't think this is what they meant: us scurrying around like rats in our cities of steam and steel, far away from the land and the sun."
Where Gods go to Grieve
The wastes are cruel, and beneath the desolation they hide many secrets.
"It is amazing to me how this one little stretch of water has changed the course of history," History of The New Country by Collen D’Madden Blue Diamond Press
According to the legend, Dread Velsparge, Daemon Prince of the Myriad Hands, plunged into the Tarakhen Sea in a blaze of scarlet flame, throwing the whole world into ruin.
The Marches be a vast sea of grass dividing the civilized parts of The Land.
The Ocadian Desert is a desolate place. The spirit of the land has been crushed, changing the region from a series of islands with evergreen forests and animals in a shallow sea, to one of the most inhospitable places on the Sphere.
Wieberburl, home of the peculiar Book-Fish.
As the officer strides into the thick and oppresive pitch-black gloom of the jungle, he silently signals to his men to fan out in a classic Quarsooth battle-formation with a nervous hand-gesture. He is very tense, almost afraid. The soothing, omnipresent presence in his mind tells him that he has no reason to worry, assuring him that victory will belong to those noble warriors that carry the standard of the invincible race of Zor-Tanis.
But there is something else cutting through the easy promises offered by that pleasant, gently commanding entity in his mind, as if determined to seize all his attention and use it to torment his imagination until it begins to scream for mercy. This something he cannot define and put words to, but it makes his skin crawl nevertheless. Despite the heat of the jungle, his blazing gold body-armor had suddenly become a chill prison that raises uncomfortable goosebumps along his chest.
Woried muttering from the rear tell him that his men like him, are unsettled. Turning aound in irritation, he begins to hiss at them to remain silent, afraid of alerting the very band of murdering monstrosities they have finally tracked into this eerie wilderness. It would be a rather embarassing matter for their commander if the very quarry they had been relentlessly pursuing for the past week or so, were to suddenly turn around and massacre all of them.
Too late he feels a something slithering around his neck. Fearful that it might be a pyhton, he reackes for his massive ‘‘fire-bow’‘, determined to incinerate the scaled menace before it can crush his larynx. But before his fingers even have a chance to close around the handle of the weapon hanging from his belt, another coil slithers out of the darkness and out of the darkness and pinions his arm, holding it in a painful crushing crip. As agony swamps him, he can vaguely hear a grim sound of cracking bones through the pain-filled haze that now holds him. His arm is being crushed. And then so quickly that his stunned mind has no time to register this new fact, there is no time left for more thought. The coil looped around his throat begins to squeeze, suffocating him. As the officer’s head begins to swim in the final moments of his life, he finally gains an excellent look at the thing that is stealing his life.
It is not a snake, but a vine. As if in response to this discovery, a now terrifyingly familiar roar of bestial fury rings through the gloom of the jungle..
The Land of 1,000 gods, Calcobrina burns under the gaze of the Lion’s Eye.
There is a place where only the foolhardy and the greedy dare to go. Why do I say foolhardy, because of all of the poor souls who have entered that dark place…none have yet to return.
In the Vrynenwood, the leaves are not what they seem.
Bromine Lake is a lake that is almost a very small inland sea. It is also special for other reasons. It always has the warmth of a living Human, no matter what the season. It is not a hot spring with its sulfuric chemicals. There are hundreds of theories, but no answers.
Even if they did, they would never believe it, as it has ties to the time of legends, to the time of Corvus.
After an age of war against the enchanted Fay a dark demi realm of chaos was created, Inhabited by twisted insane denizens with the increasingly rare bastion of sanity, A place to truly frighten an bewilder any unwary adventurer
Corvis is a western region of The Land, comprising several small counties. It is a magical place, filled filled with fruitful farms, green rolling hills, low stone walls built up over centuries, and a number of small forests. The people are happy and content. It is an ideal place.
Most of the time. And it depends on what you think is ideal…
Whistling on the sea is bad luck. It is said to mock the sound of a strong wind and will call it so nature can show the true sound. Whistling is only allowed when becalmed or when shrouded in fog.