A dangerous, alien plane where glowing frog-slimes slither and slurp, metal-skinned bird people rebuff diplomacy, and only the endless subterranean tunnels are safe (just mind the gravity-bending moles). Visitors will have to skulk around in the dark to avoid the curse carried by the sunlight. Because (have I mentioned?) the sun is the source of a powerful curse--one that covers the whole planet.

A realm of unending darkness, pitch blackness, where even light refuses to shine.

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.

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.

I did not think there was a crime heinous enough to deserve this place as a sentence..

It was never really that nice of a place, but the orbital bombardment, viral bombing, and nuclear war didnt help anything.

'Captain's log, date unknown. We have been exploring a region of dead space, wandering between the dull cinders of dying suns, looking for an explanation to what happened in this sector of space. Our charts show that this sector should be bursting with life - young stars and verdant worlds - but all we have seen is a stellar wasteland.' -Log entry recovered from a derelict exploratory vessel on the fringe of the Miros Waste

'Zutul? You mean someone took time to give it a name?'

Maj. Rielle Law

An incredible world of magic, adventure... And curry, for some reason.

The Earth-That-Was got used up.

The folk that could made for the sky, and made themselves a new home out here. They made a dozen worlds and all their moons just like Earth, but it weren't all roses and sunshine.

The government, in their vast and mighty wisdom, made the worlds of the Core great havens of culture, medicine, and trade, then dumped everyone else out on the rim with nothing but forty acres and a donkey, and expected them to be happy about it. Eventually, they decided even that was too much, and took back the one thing they'd let the Rimworlders have - their independence.

So naturally, there was a War. The people who just wanted to be left alone, versus the big bosses who wanted to control everything. The bosses won, of course; now everyone's part of the Alliance and supposed to love, honor, and obey them, 'til death do us part.

But that was six years and a few million lives ago. Purple or brown, we're all just folk now. Out here on the Rim, we just do what we have to, take what we can, and thank Whoever every time a new day sees us still flying.

Except for the few of us they took everything from, whose daily prayer is just for a chance to get some of it back.

We'll fly as long as we have to, but we're looking for a place to land.

On their beacon, such that it was, we came in from the east, low across the wet and mud. When you get close to the Pielshome Field, the beacon is pretty useless. Visibility was good and I saw the oil lamps that lit the green circle we had been assigned by the controller. As soft as a leaf, I sat us down. A perfect landing graced with a perfect sunset filling our windscreen. The sun set rose, as the sinking began. The paving bricks they use to line the landing circles they only hold so much weight. The mud is everywhere here.

As the Earth That Was was being "used up", the Dysporia began. Any Rocky World in the Lifeband were made to be habitable by people. This produced a huge number of barely habitable planets, most of which are out on the frontier.

Madeira is not one of these world. It is a rich and lush world where the fine arts of wine making have been reborn, along with a culture of civility and honor.

All through the Alliance there are those that follow the Shepherds of The Book. The Book is old and came from many Great Teachers of the Past that walked The Earth that Was. These folks have followed a Great Shepherd into the Desert that is The Rim and have been given the Promised Land.

Nob was a fairly developed colony world. It had a few cities, some manufacturing, and something that passed as a space port. Then a wonderful disaster showered riches and power upon it.

I was watching one of those famous sunsets while I was waiting for the Mule to come back. I saw the spot in the sun. I thought it was a bug. My gut knew what it was. I was running for the cockpit before it registered in my brain. It was time to get off this planet, as the soil was about to run red with blood.

Hot Dang, we are going to LaVenda!

Flying into Lewiston, once you get low enough, is difficult, captain. There is constant wind sheer through the valleys. You have to fly careful, as the wind will slam you into a mountain side faster than a card player tossing in a bad hand. Of course the town you want to get to, Porsen, is the very worse. So best we land in Ramsy territory on the Blue Diamond Lake there, and take the mule up the "road" to Porsen. I just hope the Ramsy and the Regina towns arent feuding any more. I hate dodging bullets that arent even meant for me.

In a universe always in need of habitable planets, Partas II had a good location, good resources, and the people about it had a "need". It just had one problem. It wasn't generally habitable. A century ago, the Great Project was undertaken. A century from now, it will be complete. People will stand unaided upon its surface.

As long as nothing goes wrong.

A fey kingdom fallen, with winter triumphant. A dream frozen, to be thawed by might and heroic deed.

A world of drifting sky islands and air ships