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 | Continent |
Across the Sullen Marches, a vast, fractured land. Sprawling Blackwood Forests choke the land, mist-shrouded and teeming with creatures born of fear and famine. Deep within their shadows, ancient monster lairs and haunted crypts fester. Twisted rivers, thick with sediment and forgotten dead, carve paths through desolate plains, linking scattered, desperate settlements clinging to crumbling fortifications. Few roads are safe; trade routes choke with bandits and drowned-infested bogs. Magic here is a curse, twisting wielders and victims alike. The air itself feels heavy with old blood, the stench of decay. Warring fiefdoms, driven by starvation and grudges, unleash desperate soldiers against each other, or the tide of horrors consuming wildlands. Every village fears the night, every town barters its last silver for grim protection. Hope? A whispered lie, fragile against a world drowned in cynicism and sheer cruelty.
The Sullen Marches sprawls, a vast, fractured expanse of desolate plains and choked Blackwood Forests veiled in mist. Twisted rivers, thick with forgotten dead, cut through the land. Crumbling fortifications mark scattered settlements, their roads plagued by bandits and drowner-infested bogs. Ancient monster lairs and haunted crypts fester in shadows. The air, heavy with old blood and decay, reflects a land consumed by sheer desperation and strife.