With but a name, these places fill common folk with apprehension and dread
The sky is drab and gray, almost completely covered in rainclouds. What gaps there are open up to show yet more gray. Much like mortal demesnes, the weather is unpredictable, but every so often the clouds unleash their burden of water on the residents of this boring land.
Welcome to the Hell of Half-Nothings. Your stay will be boring, we guarantee it.
30 places for the most vile villany to take place in. (unfinished.)
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.
"Whosoever shall brew ale in the town with intention of selling it must hang out a sign, otherwise he shall forfeit his ale."
King Richard II, 1393
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.
"Hey, Hultz. What are you doing in here?"
"It's gonna move. I don't like it when it moves," the stableboy replied, sitting by the hearth with his arms wrapped around himself.
"What's going to move?"
"The Inn. I don't like it when it moves."
Five minutes later, he gets up and goes back outside.
"What was he talking about?" the newcomer asked a burly fighter.
"Go outside and take a look."
He goes over to the door and flings it wide. "See, it's all still ... Wait! Where did the town go!"
"Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Wild Geese." The fighter comes over with a mug of ale. "Here, you'll probably be needing this. I know I did, when it happened to me."
An ancient people built mystical fortresses made of melted stone; from the wall’s these fortresses defenders appeared to burn with a powerful energy and strike at their opponents with a supernatural force. Today most of these forts are abandoned and the art that made them lost.
“The perfect execution, painless, quiet, and beautiful”
No shadow may find a home within its walls.
Some notable locations in the city.
One day nothing, two weeks later they had a pre-con base deployed and instead of a stagnant zone we had a category three offensive breathing down our neck, damn the bastards who came up with that monstrosity, and our own bastards for not having any of our own!
A brief discussion of the prevailing level of technology in the city of Teleleli and the islands around.
A table of possible backgrounds, qualities, or features of a fantasy town or city. A world building tool for getting attention to the details.
Tucked back in the corner of Kiskedee square, off of Aasvogel, is the Hornless Goat. The tavern is as non-descript and plain as any business can be and still maintain itself in passable fashion. No one notices the patrons of that small overlooked place.
"Are you crazy? There ain’t no such thing. It’s all fairy tales for the stupid and desperate. Even if it were, they all say it’s cursed or something. Get back to work."
An incredible world of magic, adventure… And curry, for some reason.
The empty shrines of a god so old, all but his name is forgotten.
‘‘I know where you can find just what you’re looking for. Give me a few days and I’ll get it for you. Trust me, it’s better if I get it for you. The only place in the city that has exactly what you’re looking for is the Hardville ghetto. It’s dangerous for most folk to enter that place unles they know the right people’‘.
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.