:: Random Location—Desert of Wūshī Huì ::

Desert of Wūshī Huì

by Wm Jay Carter III, 5/31/15

Land Area: Desert

Nation: Merrow

Condition: Pristine, Elaborate

Weather: Blizzard

Color: Dark Brown

Keyword: Rapture

As you descend the gangplank onto the docks, you pull your cloak tighter against the blustering snow. If not for the blizzard, you might not have seen the invisible tower protruding through the surface of the water at the other end of the boardwalk. As it is, you can only see where the snow gathers and where it does not, outlining an archway in the side of the tower. Entering, you lift your magelight lantern and see the bluish glow of stairs descending into hole in the sea. As you follow them down, the daylight filters through the water just enough to show you the open-air desert of dark brown sand far below the waves. Your breath catches at the sight; you’ve finally found it!

:: Random Location—Pasture of the White Warriors ::

Pasture of the White Warriors

by Wm Jay Carter III, 5/23/15

Land Area: Pasture

Weather: Light Hail

Conditions: Unsettling, Charred

Color: White

Keyword: Warrior

An unsettling scene rolls out before you: all of the land from your feet to the foot of the mountains lays wasted, white with a thick blanket of ash. Underneath this covering, you know the pasture’s once-green grass is now only charred black soot. A light hail of volcanic rock still falls from the fume-black sky, thin flames trailing behind each marble-sized chunk. The sound of the fiery stones clinking against metal on all sides tells you of fallen warriors, entombed in their own armor and buried along with the pasture, the volcano having silently breathed white death into their bodies. Then, from under the ash, you see pairs of bright white lights, blown to life as if with a bellows...

:: Random Location—Puerta del Diablo ::

Puerta del Diablo

by Wm Jay Carter III, 5/16/15

Land Area: Harbor

Weather: Snowy

Conditions: Large, Pristine

Color: Dark Purple

Keyword: Devil

The ship pitches to starboard and aft, then fore and port. Ahead, the vague suggestion of an opening in the coast offers hope to all aboard that they might not perish on the rocks, or under the waves. As soon as the stern enters the mouth of the bay, the sea immediately calms, the winds cease, and the sky rains only large tufts of quietly-falling snow. The bay is spacious, and the harbor lights inviting. When the ship is docked at last, you see a fort on the nearby hill, decorated with banners of imperial purple and untouched by the ravages of war. A hush overtakes the crew. “By the Gods, who lives there?” you hear a sailor whisper. “The Devil himself,” comes the reply.