The Gibbering Fields are reputedly haunted by malevolent spirits, and from the boggy meadows rise weird, iridescent, vampiric clouds. Old standing stones, crumbling foundations, and dried wells have been found in the grasslands, the ruins of a better age before the Green Death devastated the realm.
Most ape-man tribes populating these islands exhibit the ability to create stone tools, including spears, arrowheads, and other implements. They also appropriate weapons of iron and steel, but the science behind their founding, the riddle of steel, remains a mystery analogous to sorcery in their savage minds. Individual tribes number up to 200 ape-men, and these usually include a shaman from whom they glean the wisdom of Xathoqqua or Yug. The ape-men of these islands are notoriously hostile to men and to one another. Terrible blood feuds erupt, these provoked by circumstances scarcely understood by men. In their tribes, a dominant male almost always enjoys all mating privileges. Note that during the winter years (mid-Twilight to mid-Renaissance) a land bridge of ice may form betwixt the main continent and these islands. When this occurs, the ape-men will venture as far as the Kimmerian Steppe and the Fields of Vol, raiding and pillaging as is their wont.
This cursed, desert isle is the domain of an heretical necromancer, who purportedly commands a horde of undead minions. The isle is surrounded by reefs and shews high cliffs from which towers of granite rise. A tower of basalt ascends from the island’s centre, said to be dwelling place of the dread necromancer. Doomed are vessels that maroon on the Isle of Ghul.
These volcanic islands are inhabited by Vikings whose ancestors were exiled from Vikland for their refusal to submit to Ullr and Ymir. The Vikings of Thur live a harsh existence, shunned by kinsmen and gods alike. Worse still, the isles’ volcanoes are active, and at least once in their history, nearly all the exiles were wiped out; too, the Green Death did not treat them kindly. Still, 500 or more Vikings persevere here, fiercely independent, despite Vikland’s decree that they may build ships no larger than a færing; essentially this precludes the inhabitants of Thur from crossing that hazardous stretch of the Hyperborean Sea known as River Okeanos. Thurssonns (as they oft refer to themselves) view this stricture as intolerably unjust, citing the threat posed by the nearness of Minotaurios.
At the Rim of the World lies the fabled isle of IX, where the most precocious of Ixian sorcerers practice forbidden rites. Unspeakable atrocities are observed on IX, where the dæmons dwell, where the banshees live (and they do live well). Here the walking dead are said to outnumber the living, witches hold terrifying covens, and necromancers (the island’s ruling elite) are infected with a species of incalculable madness. Ominously the island rises from the sea, 200-foot cliffs of black gneiss atop which grows sparse and wan vegetation. Squat stone towers and bastions are carved in the mountainous cliff sides, and manors carved of the same black stone stand atop the isle. A cold, dreadful wind blows perpetually across the island’s summit. IX is cradled by the Black Gulf, for the Rim of the World is fractured around this evil isle. The island is furthermore surrounded by wind-blasted black shoals on which many a ship has been wrecked; the fate that befalls the passengers and crew of such vessels is unfathomable to the sane.
This cold, grassy steppe region is roamed by large herds of aurochs, camel, and wild horse. Musk oxen, woolly mammoths, and woolly rhinoceroses are plentiful, too. Approximately a dozen nomadic tribes of Kimmerians range these steppes, each with its own hereditary chieftain. These steppe horsemen are esteemed as the finest cataphracts in the entire realm, their thunderous onset nigh unstoppable. Most tribes of the Kimmerian Steppe number from 500 to 1,000 individuals. Three of the largest tribes have semi-permanent villages in that arm of the Spiral Mountain Array that divides the Kimmerian Steppe. Prior to the Green Death, Kimmerians controlled the Fields of Vol, but this region is now dominion of the Kimmeri-Kelts, a hybrid race whom true Kimmerians view with disdain. As a consequence, the borderlands betwixt the Kimmerian Steppes and the Fields of Vol are hotly contested, the wars bloody and easily provoked. Furthermore, Kimmerians cling to generations-old blood feuds; oft they will war with one another, as well. The Kimmerian Steppe presents a strong resource for ivory and furs, and the barbarians, despite their lack of formal education, comport themselves well when dealing with outsiders. Too, Kimmerian saddlers and armourers are the most highly regarded throughout the realm. A suit of gold-chased Kimmerian plate mail, for instance, can fetch thousands of gold pieces.
This vast, underground city is ruled by Kimmerians who long ago closed off all relations with other men—including their own kinsmen, the steppe nomads—when the Green Death ravaged the realm. In the last century these catacomb people have emerged to engage their cousins of old, trading rare ores and edible fungi, but in the intervening age they evolved in ways their surface-dwelling kin neither understand nor appreciate. Their numbers are unknown, for none can fathom how acutely they were impacted by the Green Death. The men of Krimmea do not admit outsiders into their underground city, even other Kimmerians. Some suggest the catacomb dwellers to be in league with creatures of otherworldly or netherworldly origins. Notwithstanding, these strange, brooding people are less savage than their surface-dwelling kin.
Kimmerian oral legends speak of an age when their race, driven by their enemies of old, the Scythians, entered a foggy vale within the Caucasus Mountains of Old Earth. Their traditions say the fog took sentience, a glowing, sparkling entity. Within the confines of those eldritch mists sounded a terrible piping that effected a potent vertigo, to which they each and all succumbed. When at length the Kimmerians stirred, they found themselves in lost Hyperborea, at the summit of Mount Forptycle, an impossible, snow-capped peak of glittering black gneiss from which glacial tongues jut. Witches, poets, and madmen suggest that Mount Forptycle remains an umbilical cord to other worlds and times, but only when the stars are right.
Few villages dot the vast Kitasion Archipelago, for this island chain is home to terrible monsters and beasts of legendry, including harpies and manticores (and in the deeps of seaside caves, gorgons and basilisks). Passing betwixt the islands is a risky proposition for any vessel; to wit, the most feared threat is the cyclopes, savage, one-eyed giants. Notwithstanding, a few villages eke out a meagre existence here.
Four and two-score years ago, this frontier valley region betwixt the Spiral Mountain Array and Dagon Bay was settled by a sect of Apollonian pilgrims, who fled cultural and religious persecution in the City-State of Khromarium. Along the River Yys they built their village and fenced it with massive larch timbers. The people of Larchmere Yys Village (population c. 300) are successful crop farmers and righteously religious, unwavering in their conviction that theirs is the true Hyperborean faith. In recent years, these folk have engaged in trade with a small, reindeer-herding village of Esquimaux discovered upriver, whom they hope to convert to Apollo. Conversely, they have avoided contact with the uncanny men who inhabit the fishing villages of Dagon Bay, for the latter are of an unsettling breed with dubious religious practices. Tensions with these Dagonites have escalated of late, a consequence of missing persons and other suspicious affairs.
This vast, hostile, desert plateau region is considered uninhabitable. Reputedly it is frequented by the enigmatic men of Leng, whose leaper camel sojourns to this region are ill understood. On the highest windswept tables, they blow their haunting pipes, singing the terrible “Song of Azathoth”. Some of Hyperborea’s largest herbivores (musk oxen and woolly rhinoceroses) inhabit the Leng Plateau, and they attract fearsome predators, including all manner of bear, tiger, and wolf. Men scarcely visit the Leng Plateau, though Esquimaux tribes chase game here; oft they will halt at the foot of the plateau region, fearful of its otherworldly inhabitants.
This region of coastal marshlands is inhabited by reptilian humanoids known as lizard-men; how they refer to themselves in their own sibilant tongue cannot be vocalized by men. These creatures are intelligent, though not particularly advanced. They are presumed not to have solved the riddle of steel, yet nearly every tribe protects its semi-aquatic lair with modern weaponry. Many lizard-men of this region ride giant draco lizards, which they fit with saddles. Lizard Coast is inhabited by many species of aquatic and semi-aquatic monsters, especially giant snakes and the oft-sought thew wagons. Massive species of giant elk dwell here, too. Lizard Coast is notorious for several deadly forms of lotus, which men seek for various diabolical schemes. Other reports mention deadly plants and trees perhaps tainted by Evil, as well as restless spirits and like horrors. Expeditions into Lizard Coast are no doubt perilous, for although lizard-men typically avoid men, they can become violent upon intrusion. Whether the lizard-men make war on one another is not confirmed. They are generally understood to engage in ancestor worship and venerate Xathoqqua, whose ancient shrines are scattered about the coast.