Enclosed in this document is the account of Mr. Johnathan Crewes, who was recently incarcerated in the Psychiatric Ward, of how he was driven insane. He shall be soon shipped to the St. Josephine Asylum for the Mentally Disturbed.
The ruin that birthed a society; the Life and Times of a city in the throes of death.
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.
The Reposians, unlike the rest of Atheus, respect rather than fear the sea. In fact, this respect has grown to border on love and dependence. It is a fact, naturally, that most of Reposian exports are seafoods, and most of its income is from sea-based reasons, from oceanic trading vessels to fish.
Tauria is a republic, and has experimented with the ideas of democracy. That is, it used to be a republic. Now its a dictatorship, masquerading as a republic, with laws permitting the army to be thugs.
Sometimes Utopias should stay as mere legends.
No where else in the world of Atheus is the maxim "Power is money" so readily apparent than it is in Obstaria. And since, as they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely, decadence and corruption has crept into the kingdom of Obstaria.
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.
A place where no one knows about or finds until the Circle chooses a person to discover it. For the Circle of Culthus has a purpose for that person, and letting other people know of it or discover it would hinder that purpose.
The Forgotten Cemetery is famed throughout the world as a monument to the World War. Only the survivors of the Forgotten Battle and the cemetery's caretaker remembers its true purpose.
Triastu. The City of the Three. The Hallowed City. Triastu is the holy city of Trianarianism, and is the home of the Trirex. Many have paid homage to it, and many have gone on pilgrimages to it, and have marveled in its beauty.
A description of the geography of Atreus. This sub will also be an umbrella sub for all the coming Atreus subs.
Troth Glenbeard was a dwarf with a mission. And that was destruction.
From there, things happened. And the Irondeeps got a Subterranean-Transport-System-That-Moves-Things-Around-Faster-Than-Equine-Means (aka, in modern-speak, a subway).
The head office of the Guild, which has now spread to have a branch office in almost all countries. The idiot elves won't let us map out there forests!
What danger lurk within the ruined city streets?
The Sanguis Islands is an archipelago nation. Dangerous to sail through them, the people who live there are self-sufficient, independant, stuborn, and resilient.
"Aye, I've been to Bloodmaw. Its out in the ocean, and lies right on the Abez-Evetepor trade route. Or at least where the trade route would have been if it wasn't for Bloodmaw. Its this maelstrom, perpetually spinning and swirling, abou' 50 yards across? And the sea around the whole thing is a deep crimson. The color of blood. And around the whole thing is a storm. Some days the Bloodmaw is sated, and isn't as violent. But some days ye can't hope to survive. On bad days it can take a ship that a mile away. Thank the gods that it didn't take me."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
"Reills. E'en the name makes me shudder. That there is unholy ground, cursed by most gods. Not even the demons and devils and the incarnations o' evil dare step foot there. Reills. You know me, I think money likes it in my pocket instead of wherever else it is. But, and I've heard rumors that say this, if theirs treasure on that ground, it ain't going in my pocket on pain o' death."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub.
"Aye, Averoth! Land of banditry and corruption. Not a place for the faint o' heart, let me tell you. So's me and me mates went for a spell in them plains. We was lookin' for treasure, see, and them rovers and corrupt barons had it. So's we went, killed a bandit or two, maybe a couple o' orc tribes, and we made a fortune. 'Course, when we hit the Capital, we lost it all to thieves, hookers, and drink, but still, the memory of the weight of that sack..."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub.
Medieval Britons didn't write contracts. Instead, men making agreements would clap their knives onto an altar and recite the agreement three times to seal a deal. Even after the Normans introduced written contracts, British nobles would wrap the parchment around a knife to authenticate it.