South of the marshy wetlands of the Orcish tribes, and east of the desert kingdom of Tel'Amir lies a vast expanse of unmapped territory called The Wilderlands.
This is a place with no government, and no king... Claimed by the wild and magic creatures within, and seven ancient vampire lords.
The tales of those who live to return from this place are strange and chilling. They share tales of savage centaurs and lusty satyrs, hulking trees that uproot themselves and move about as animals, enchanting unicorns, and man-eating trolls.
Getting lost is part of existance here. Compass needles fail under the weight of the magic environment, and astrolabes are worthless. The stars themselves seem to move and change positions in the sky, and in a single day the sun can reverse it's course, retreat into the east, come back, then change course again only to set in the north.
Those that survive long enough may find a place, well known to the locals, a nameless place tucked away in a grove of apple trees and grapevines. A small half-timber cottage, overgrown with ivy. Lost travelers sometimes come in seeking shelter, and some never leave.
Inside the tiny ramshackle house is a space far too big to be contained by such a small structure. An opulent space framed by marble pillars and arches. In it's center is a round pool of hot water, fed by a natural hotspring. Small candles and rose petals float in the steamy, perfumed water, lending it an otherworldly glow.
One wall is covered in racks of fine wines and liqueurs, And two are lined with booths, big enough to seat six or eight, with a thick padded floor and heaps of exotic cushions.
The room is dimly lit from it's ceiling, which has some kind of glammer on it, making it appear as a starry night sky. True to Wilderlands form, the stars themselves are moving. Some dart here and there like fireflies, others buzz and vibrate in place. Others drift lazily like chaff on a gentle breeze. A blue half-moon marches across the sky. If you look at it too long, you could swear that the face in it winks and smiles at you.
In the corner, an exotic-looking woman dressed in not much more than a sheer veil and loincloth is placing red hot coals atop a gilded hookah pipe. Next to the door, in a cushioned booth sits a large man. He is well muscled with blue eyes and long curling brown hair. He is dressed in a long red robe. With one hand he holds a glass of red wine, and with the other, he is pulling of another tall, gilded hookah. The spicy aroma of the smoke surrounds him. Those who've been here before might recognize him: Skalldi Valhal, a vampire lord from the icy kingdom of Hebridheim. He keeps his eyes on the door.
On a pillar next to the door is a sign:
RULES OF MY HOUSE:
Do as thou wilt, but let it harm none
All are welcome, save the unwelcoming
Inhibitions are not welcome here, leave such things for the "Civilized" world
And a last, somewhat more ominous one:
Abandon hope.
This is a place with no government, and no king... Claimed by the wild and magic creatures within, and seven ancient vampire lords.
The tales of those who live to return from this place are strange and chilling. They share tales of savage centaurs and lusty satyrs, hulking trees that uproot themselves and move about as animals, enchanting unicorns, and man-eating trolls.
Getting lost is part of existance here. Compass needles fail under the weight of the magic environment, and astrolabes are worthless. The stars themselves seem to move and change positions in the sky, and in a single day the sun can reverse it's course, retreat into the east, come back, then change course again only to set in the north.
Those that survive long enough may find a place, well known to the locals, a nameless place tucked away in a grove of apple trees and grapevines. A small half-timber cottage, overgrown with ivy. Lost travelers sometimes come in seeking shelter, and some never leave.
Inside the tiny ramshackle house is a space far too big to be contained by such a small structure. An opulent space framed by marble pillars and arches. In it's center is a round pool of hot water, fed by a natural hotspring. Small candles and rose petals float in the steamy, perfumed water, lending it an otherworldly glow.
One wall is covered in racks of fine wines and liqueurs, And two are lined with booths, big enough to seat six or eight, with a thick padded floor and heaps of exotic cushions.
The room is dimly lit from it's ceiling, which has some kind of glammer on it, making it appear as a starry night sky. True to Wilderlands form, the stars themselves are moving. Some dart here and there like fireflies, others buzz and vibrate in place. Others drift lazily like chaff on a gentle breeze. A blue half-moon marches across the sky. If you look at it too long, you could swear that the face in it winks and smiles at you.
In the corner, an exotic-looking woman dressed in not much more than a sheer veil and loincloth is placing red hot coals atop a gilded hookah pipe. Next to the door, in a cushioned booth sits a large man. He is well muscled with blue eyes and long curling brown hair. He is dressed in a long red robe. With one hand he holds a glass of red wine, and with the other, he is pulling of another tall, gilded hookah. The spicy aroma of the smoke surrounds him. Those who've been here before might recognize him: Skalldi Valhal, a vampire lord from the icy kingdom of Hebridheim. He keeps his eyes on the door.
On a pillar next to the door is a sign:
RULES OF MY HOUSE:
Do as thou wilt, but let it harm none
All are welcome, save the unwelcoming
Inhibitions are not welcome here, leave such things for the "Civilized" world
And a last, somewhat more ominous one:
Abandon hope.
