A Celestial Lense is a metallic clearing that focuses the energy of the etherial to the material realm in remote places. These points of concentrated Good and Order create dangers untold in the regions around them.
In the sprawl that as become The City, there is an oasis; a little pocket of urban perfection, mixing the living, the urban, and the commerical.
A HellPit is a spring of green ectoplasmic goo that spring forth from the bowels of the astreal to the materail realm in out of the way places. These points of concentrated Evil and Chaos create dangers untold in regions around them.
No walls as far as the eye can see, no gate nor fence, only the mists and wind roam free over the open lands of Kevvar.
Deep in the frozen north, facing the northern sea lies Corpsehaven a city built into a sheer cliff, a walled city that extends to the sea. This city is a silent place, filled with the dead and those that would consort with such creatures.
The city of Stoneholt is generally considered one of the Wonders of the World, but it conceals a second wonder - a labyrinth of massive sewers and storm drains greater then anything man has built.
The Spires of Stoneholt are tremendous needle-like structures visible for many miles before the rest of the city.
An exotic and oddly beautiful city unlike any other.
The Sorcery Springs Geyser Basin is a place of bubbling magical water, as every individual spring or pool has it’s own magical power. It is a place of great wonder and for the careless, great danger too.
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.
As you come near the Songpit, the sounds of sweet angelic bardic singing as if from heaven mix with the sounds of screams of agony. Your guard grins and turns to you. “You’ll either entertain us with your voice or with your pain, but either way we are going to have some fun with you.”
"Build a road, wide and surrounded by beautiful architecture, to lead from Guilders’ Court to the new palace," the Regent commanded Master Thraso.
"Summon the Legions! We shall offer battle within Bleak Vale! This time, OUR cause shall triumph!"
In an age of sail, one of the most important of resources is a source of tall, straight and strong trees for use as masts. Mastwood island is one such location.
In the realms, not all fortifications are walls of wood, stone and iron.
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.
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.
Sailors long to visit the idyllic islands of the generous Zwitter folk…
Forty worlds, only linked by the Rules of Engagement
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.