The Riven Lands are a fractured realm born from a magical event, The Sundering which violently pulled people from countless realities into a bleeding scar across existence. Magic here is a vile, twisting curse, its power warping flesh and mind. Its inhabitants, xenophobic and without loyalty, cling to life amidst decaying lands, endless wars, and horrifying Gods that everyone worships in some form. Hope is a lie; only brutal struggle remains in this world drowned in cynicism and sheer cruelty.
| Played | 8 times |
| Cloned | 3 times |
| Created | 2 days ago |
| Last Updated | Yesterday |
| Visibility | Public |
| Size | 0 |
| Type | Corrupted Agricultural Expanse |
A vast, open expanse where the soil is eternally black with the nutrient-rich ash of countless ritual pyres. Under the ruthless command of human overseers, this vile and corrupted harvest is tended by thralls who are literally forced to sow their own disease. The air here is thick with a cloying, sweet stench of decay and the low moans of the sick. Here, Wight-Wheat grows in fields tainted by powerful necrotic magic, its black stalks drawing sustenance directly from the cursed ground. Interspersed throughout are grotesque patches of Fester-Sprouts, its oozing sores used for both gruesome rituals and as a virulent bioweapon to be used against their enemies. The fields are a living symbol of Crimsonhold's unending expansion and merciless dominion. Work in this area includes guarding the fields from rebellious thralls, transporting the blighted crops to the ritual sites in the city, or fighting off the plague-ridden creatures that the sprouts inevitably attract.
The soil is pitch black and cracked, with endless rows of black stalks of Wight-Wheat swaying eerily. Patches of grotesque Fester-Sprouts ooze pus and emit a sickly sweet stench. The air is thick with decay, and low moans of the sick echo faintly across the fields under a perpetually overcast sky.