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 |
| Coordinates | (-6668, 6940) |
The Weeping Sarcophagus A massive, fortified tomb carved into the high bluffs of Aethelgard. Its stone walls are eternally wet with salt spray and the constant weeping of a single, slow-leaking spring, and the air within is thick with the dust of ages and the cold reminder of finality. Here, in the hollowed-out corpse of the tomb, a grim harvest is tended. Fester-Sprouts grow on the rotting corpses inside, and Grave-Lichen grows on the sarcophagi of fallen heroes. The purpose of this blight is a desperate, two-fold grim-hope: the fester-sprouts are a grim last-resort food source for the most expendable, while the Grave-Lichen is a potent narcotic that numbs the minds of the military against the overwhelming despair of the Archipelago. The work is a solitary and grim affair, consisting of scraping lichen from the skulls of the dead, tending to the fester-sprouts inside, or performing a solitary vigil to ensure the blighted crops don't grow beyond the tomb's confines.
The grove is wind-swept and bleak, with twisted thorny trees and bulbous Fester-Sprouts dotting the rocky soil. Skulls encrusted with pale Grave-Lichen lie scattered, emitting a faint, eerie glow. The air is thick with salt and a haunting sense of sorrow.