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 | Haunted Necrotic Agricultural Area |
A gaunt, silent ossuary where the Darakhul priesthood of consumption communes with the visceral, unholy craving of their empire. The walls are lined with skulls, and the air is filled with the low drone of mournful chants and the rustle of bone dust, a perpetual requiem for the damned. It is also a place where Death-Veil Fungus grows, feeding on the lingering anguish of the dead. The purpose is to use the fungus to commune with the unquiet spirits of the Archipelago and to interpret their mournful pronouncements. Here, Wight-Wheat grows in fields tainted by powerful necrotic magic. Work here involves harvesting the blighted crops for ritualistic consumption and fighting off the unpredictable manifestations of uncontrolled undead and violent spiritual backlash from ancient entities.
The ossuary is a grim, narrow hall lined floor to ceiling with bleached skulls, their empty eye sockets seeming to watch silently. A faint, eerie blue glow emanates from patches of Death-Veil Fungus clinging to the walls and floor, pulsing softly. The air is thick with bone dust that swirls in mournful currents, carrying the low, haunting drone of Darakhul chants. Beyond the ossuary, fields of sickly pale Wight-Wheat sway unnaturally, their stalks twisted and blackened at the tips.