It’s a flying city which hosts a school of ancient technology…
A set of land, roughly six hundred meters squared, which has JUST not enough trees to be called woodlands. Though there IS something most curious about these lands. Perhaps the fact it is pure glass.
A land being plunged into chaotic energies, wild superstition, massive prejudices and distrust. More of a campaign setting than anything else.
This is more of a concept applied to a particular setting than the setting itself, bear this in mind.
High in the Gralbak mountains live the Yale Riders, a reclusive tribe of gnomes who have succeeded in taming the wild yales of the mountains. Skilled riders of their agile beasts they are excellent hunters and warriors, though they do have a firm tradition of hospitality.
Krie is a sort of Oceanic world that might be what you would like to see in a fantasy role play.
And behold the fabled mists of the necromatic sorceror, E’grole. Fifteen square miles do they span, the unnaturally thick, eerie fog instilling a sense of dread in even the most hardy of adventurers.
If you follow the wide well traveled mountain road, you eventually find your way to Skyway. Nestled among the clouds, perched upon the mountain side, this tiny town is the key to many puzzles.
The lake of rage is just a lake, save for it’s dark powerand the dark tale that gave birth to it
This large shrine the god Sunglory, is not famous for religious reasons as for architectural reasons.
Over three hundred years after the destruction of Linnarson, the ruins of Linnarson remain deserted; the warped magical environs inhabited only by the twisted and bizarre creatures that have been created. Amongst it all, however, the Senior Masters remain, continuing their eternal pursuit of knowledge.
...In the hallowed halls of the University of Linnarson a glimpse may sometimes be caught of the Senior Masters, learned sages and masters of knowledge. They seldom leave their dusty studies full of learned tomes, other than to dine - each evening they will be found shuffling down the dimly lit corridors to the dark and shuttered Great Hall. After feasting at high table by candlelight they will be gone, returning once more to their studies. None but they know of their pact with death, how they have willingly embraced an eternal undeath in which to pursue knowledge, yet this is the reason for the darkened corridors and the shuttered hall, for those who are undead cannot abide the light of the sun…
To the primitive tribes on the plains of North, life changes rapidly from season to season. In summer, food is abundant. In the winter, death from starving is never far. A natural phenomenon helped one such tribe.
Deep in Throck forest there is a small valley filled with boulders. It is an uneasy place, full of invisible eyes. In the damp behind one of these boulders is a wooden door, virtually impossible to find, which leads down into the Kingdom of the Gnomes.
The home of the reclusive Monk-Smiths of Moldan, unparalleled practitioners of the art of smithing.
The ruins of the lands that bore the confrontation between the Mad God of Avarice and the Storm Queen, this place has been soaked by the divine essence of two of the most chaotic gods.
Ringed round by ancient political foes, this ancient nation finds itself dealing with a powerful foe, one with far more sinister hungers than money or land.
It is said that there is always night, even during the day it is dark. Undead prowl around freely, and pity to those living that end up there. Still, lucky are those eaten by the hordes, some fools get deeper and their very souls are consumed by the nameless horrors that lurk in some hidden spots. And still more serve as new material for the Necromancers, the only living creatures there, as they say at least…
Vernae is a forested island which, centuries ago, became the home to refugees from the civilised lands far to the east.
Where is the Land That Forgets? Nobody can remember…
A beautiful, broken land tended by feudal families. Densely forested, this land holds many mysteries in the areas not cleared, and some mysteries are dangerous.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...