Barathra is quite simply the Land of the Dead, the Afterlife. It, simply put, defies the Atheians' expectations. After all, for most, it is Hell.
A Sundered Realm, flotsam of a world.
In the place where Atheus lies, there are three separate planes, three realms for the intrepid to explore. One of these is Congeria, land of the demons. The home of darkness, the mount of Chaos, Evil's Playpen, all of these are names drawn up by the Atheian peoples.
As is the norm for cases such as these, they could not be further from the truth.
An overview of the world of Kalimon, including a summary of its history and the inhabitants. This is still a work-in-progress setting and more details may be added at a later date.
They're doing it, they're really doing it
An industrious colony of Gnomes have managed to turn a hostile environment into a bread basket.
30 locations of interest in the Cosmic Era
Telchar, the half Orchish ruled planet similar to planet Earth.
A dangerous, alien plane where glowing frog-slimes slither and slurp, metal-skinned bird people rebuff diplomacy, and only the endless subterranean tunnels are safe (just mind the gravity-bending moles). Visitors will have to skulk around in the dark to avoid the curse carried by the sunlight. Because (have I mentioned?) the sun is the source of a powerful curse--one that covers the whole planet.
A realm of unending darkness, pitch blackness, where even light refuses to shine.
The world was ripped apart in a great cataclysm 3,000 years ago. This is a Codex of the pocket realms created by that great sundering.
The Imperial city has been sucked into hell and the rest of the world has been ripped apart. And tying it all together is the Crystal Tower. The Tower lives in all realms, a needle piercing the fabric of each reality and threading them all together.
I did not think there was a crime heinous enough to deserve this place as a sentence..
It was never really that nice of a place, but the orbital bombardment, viral bombing, and nuclear war didnt help anything.
"Captain's log, date unknown. We have been exploring a region of dead space, wandering between the dull cinders of dying suns, looking for an explanation to what happened in this sector of space. Our charts show that this sector should be bursting with life - young stars and verdant worlds - but all we have seen is a stellar wasteland." -Log entry recovered from a derelict exploratory vessel on the fringe of the Miros Waste
"Zutul? You mean someone took time to give it a name?"
Maj. Rielle Law
An incredible world of magic, adventure… And curry, for some reason.
The Ark of Eden was created to be humanity’s future, now it is the future of humanity that lies lost in the blackness of space.
The Earth-That-Was got used up.
The folk that could made for the sky, and made themselves a new home out here. They made a dozen worlds and all their moons just like Earth, but it weren’t all roses and sunshine.
The government, in their vast and mighty wisdom, made the worlds of the Core great havens of culture, medicine, and trade, then dumped everyone else out on the rim with nothing but forty acres and a donkey, and expected them to be happy about it. Eventually, they decided even that was too much, and took back the one thing they’d let the Rimworlders have - their independence.
So naturally, there was a War. The people who just wanted to be left alone, versus the big bosses who wanted to control everything. The bosses won, of course; now everyone’s part of the Alliance and supposed to love, honor, and obey them, ‘til death do us part.
But that was six years and a few million lives ago. Purple or brown, we’re all just folk now. Out here on the Rim, we just do what we have to, take what we can, and thank Whoever every time a new day sees us still flying.
Except for the few of us they took everything from, whose daily prayer is just for a chance to get some of it back.
We’ll fly as long as we have to, but we’re looking for a place to land.
On their beacon, such that it was, we came in from the east, low across the wet and mud. When you get close to the Pielshome Field, the beacon is pretty useless. Visibility was good and I saw the oil lamps that lit the green circle we had been assigned by the controller. As soft as a leaf, I sat us down. A perfect landing graced with a perfect sunset filling our windscreen. The sun set rose, as the sinking began. The paving bricks they use to line the landing circles they only hold so much weight. The mud is everywhere here.
In a crowded marketplace, a man is standing on a soapbox, orating. Some of the crowd are cheering, some hissing, some standing around saying "I can't hear a bl**dy word he's saying". It's a hustings for an election. The PCs can either leave, or stay and listen. If they do the latter, then they can vote too, and they might get quite involved in the cheering. Depending on who wins they might get quite involved in the post-election brawl too...
There are numerous possibilities with this encounter: the PCs might end up talking to one of the nervous candidates before their speech, and offer encouragement and support. Of course this candidate may well turn out to be someone with outspokenly unorthodox views, and the crowd don't take kindly to s/his supporters. Or maybe the seemingly innocuous candidate turns out to be a complete racist, and the PCs wander off embarrassedly, pretending they weren't talking to this person five minutes ago.