The Pool of (add the name of the God or Goddess of your choice) is well known as one of the greatest holy places of the world. It is said to be full of piles of gold and jewels, a place where wishes are granted, wounds are healed, prophets have dreams that come true, and suspected criminals are fairly judged. Pilgrims from the other end of the world have been known to travel for more then a year, braving the perils of disease, brigands and bad weather, just to reach it's holy waters.
As the only place of warmth in an otherwise frozen land, the Firehole River is, or was, the central point for life in, on and around it. Sadly, this is starting to change...
The jewel of the imperial shoal, this aquatic city is the emperor's seat of power.
Just off the craggy cliffs of Corundum, under the rippling blue ocean waves, seven stones stand. They rise majestically from the ocean floor, references to some long ago civilization. Meaningless, now, to all but the most learned.
The Brande Islands are now a hell on earth for the majority of their inhabitants, but it was not allways that way…
A rough town which is haven for outlaws is a staple of all adventuring genres. In the fantasy genre the town of Crueloar provides places in which you can share a dinner table with a vampire or learn the ways of dark magic.
One of the few cities in the world where the ability to swim is more than just recommended.
Beachcombing and coast-hugging, fantasy style. Animal, mineral, and vegetable. Sea-Junk. Flotsam and jetsam. Encounters and other oddities.
- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"
Gartheia - the flower-pot Island
Yar…I do indeed know of Crossbones Isle, stranger. But ye’d be better suited to avoid that place like a widowed wench.
Behold yonder hut floating on the island? An abandoned fisherman’s dwelling, you say? Nay, tis the Temple Of Inaha.
The Dragon Isles consist of no less than thirty or so separate islands, of varying sizes, in a fifty-mile chain running on an approximately north-south line about thirty miles off of the eastern coast.
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.
Beringia, the sinking kingdom.
To be sure, the Dirdums are fair teeming with goblins.
Captain Wandern, ship’s log.
An exotic and oddly beautiful city unlike any other.
It is said in the hidden myths of the banned and hunted Cult of Ma-O, that the Seamus Straits are where Ma-O fell when the god Jove hurled him from heaven. His physical body was smashed into pieces of amethyst and his spirit trapped within the warm waters. Here under the waves, once when built on dry land the pride and joy of the De Madden Company, Castle Seamus is now occupied by a unique underwater tribe.
For centuries, sailors have told the tale of this isle’s sole inhabitant, a madman who searches for the solution to an ancient puzzle.
Sometimes, gentlemen, you must find yourself a location beyond the reach of the law. I’m sure you understand. Those dreadful precautions, the endless nagging, sometimes it’s simpler to just do what you need to do.
A certain culture has a curious pass-time- muscle art.
Muscle artists (who are called by a special name) work hard to sculpt their bodies, trying to become as muscular and buff as possible. The best among muscle artists look almost grotesque in their amazing muscularity, Atlas-like giants with shiny, oiled iron arms and legs.