Few men have seen Ymir’s terrible face, but the god Ullr is known to ski Mount Ymir to receive the frost giant’s decrees. Some whispers suggest that Ymir takes counsel from a cabal of elder things that he thawed from antediluvian ice.
This wild and pristine isle is the dwelling place of the god Ullr. Per Ullr’s decree, no permanent settlements are here, though hunting trips are encouraged (and sometimes the god himself deigns to join the hunt). Viking sages and shamans take long sojourns here—sometimes never to return, other times returned the wiser. To maintain his favour, jarls and riddere (knights) send Ullr the fairest of their daughters.
This small, lush island is the domain of the witch-woman Lur, a red-haired, green-eyed young woman of freckled, milk-white skin. Astonishingly comely, the witch-woman is ever immune to the ravages of time and ageing. She commands a league of renegade Amazons, as well as a host of savage beasts reputed to intuit her will. In immemorial times, a thriving city of Xathoqquans thrived on the island of Xenadon, but now it lies in ruin, swallowed by the snake-infested forest.
This windswept, arctic plateau is hostile and uninhabited, a place where whispering winds and howling banshees preside. Xin is renowned as a place where monks (of Law, Chaos, and Neutrality alike) journey for spiritual illumination. Some indeed return enlightened, albeit aged and weathered, whilst others return raving lunatics; others still are seen neither hide nor hair again. It is said that the most brilliant of auroræ spring from Xin, leading some religious scholars to posit that this place is favoured by Auroros, “The Shining One”.
This frozen, wind-blasted plateau region is inhabited by abominable snow-man tribes. The abominable snow-men bring human female captives to their canyon cave lairs; here, unspeakable atrocities occur, resulting in the births of further abominable snow-men—always male, always killing their hapless bearers. White apes and other horrors that share the uncanny capacity to withstand the frigid, relentless climate are said to lurk here, too. Esquimaux legends say the deity Ythaqqa abides here. Weatherworn effigies of the god lay scattered about the region, as well as strange totem poles carved from black gneiss.
This windswept desert is dry and cracked, scattered with patches of scrub and spring-fed oases, within which grow the finest pomegranates in the realm (popularly used to make wine). Rich deposits of rubies and sapphires are scattered throughout the Zakath Desert, these buried beneath the hard-packed sand. Renegade nomad tribes of mixed ancestry roam the desert; these are the bane of all mining outfits, sabotaging operations and destroying equipment.
The City-State of Yithorium (pop. 8,000) is ruled by the iron fist of a witch-queen, who is as cruel as she is beautiful and voluptuous. Fed by natural underground springs, Yithorium was originally a lush oasis settlement in the centre of the Zakath Desert, a place of commerce where men could find sanctuary from the horrors of the desert. No one knows what hands built the original structure there discovered in the centre of the oasis: a hundred-foot tower carved of grey-black alien stone, with architecture unlike anything heretofore seen and interior divisions betraying a race undoubtedly alien or inhuman; still, the place was vacant, so men occupied and built around it. Over time, bloodshed erupted, and the settlement underwent several shifts of authority. Then came a ruinous earthquake, followed by the Green Death. Yithorium was a dead city. During the Dark Age, the ruins were claimed by a doughty band of mercenaries led by the ageless beauty now known as the Witch-Queen of Yithorium. She dwells in that immemorial tower. On occasion, when it suits her whim, she will take a lover, but never do these puppets long survive, so tales speak. The City-State of Yithorium nominally controls the breadth of the Zakath Desert and oversees all mining operations. Independent prospecting is encouraged, but the queen requires ample remuneration. The City State considers the desert nomads enemies to be slain or enslaved.
This large town has a population of approximately 2,000 persons, more than half of whom are slaves. It is governed as a satrapy, being part of the expansive and outlying territories of the City-State of Yithorium. Xambaala once was renowned for its extensive wealth and affluence; now, decadence and decay depict the town more accurately. Prior to the Green Death, Xambaala was a cosmopolitan city filled with the sage knowledge of its prodigious occupants: architects, astronomers, mathematicians, scholars, and sorcerers. Widespread seagoing and overland trade ensured the continuous flow of wealth into the city, resulting in impressive innovations and astonishing insights. Contrastingly, only the inner quadrants of the town now are occupied; the insatiable desert sands never rest in their consumption of the local plains (and thus the ancient city). Most Xambaalan buildings are drab and dust-coloured, constructed of mud-baked brick with a plastered exterior. Older structures reflect the city’s wealthy antiquities; they are assembled of stone (oft marble) and tiling. Homes of the affluent are decorated with frescoed walls and painted using locally sourced dyes. The crumbling outer districts of Xambaala are re served for the enslaved. This broad area comprises ruins: dwellings of long-dead families, governmental buildings, monuments, academies, forums, crypts, and marketplaces. Here the slaves erect crude shacks and excavate old buildings to occupy as squalid homes.
These islands are renowned for their bounty of shellfish and cod. Fishermen of indistinct lineage first settled the islands ages ago. They were esteemed humble, hard-working people, but they reserved a dark secret, as demonstrated by recently unearthed stone-carved idols of lewd and nameless effigies. Regardless, for countless generations the fisherfolk of the Zangerios Islands thrived—until the Green Death swept through, nearly decimating their population. In the subsequent centuries, the island people slowly recovered, but at length their society was overrun by a steady influx of mixed-breed pirates and freebooters. The people of the Zangerios Islands embrace an eccentric tradition of mask wearing, which stretches back to the centuries-long Dark Age that followed the plague years. Indeed, the citizenry wear upper face masks on all public and most private occasions. To go without one’s mask is considered an act of indecency (particularly in Port Zangerios) and is a punishable offence, subject to flogging and public humiliation (pillories and stocks); donning a domino (loose cloak) is an optional embellishment in most circumstances. Zangeriosans possess a multiplicity of masks for a variety of occasions; these effectively shew mood, intent, festivity, religion, social caste, affiliation, or occupation. The most elaborate masks are carved of mammoth ivory or moulded of precious metal and set with valuable gems, rare feathers, and so forth. Outsiders must likewise abide this eccentric tradition and are thus instructed to wear masks that indicate them as foreigners; typically these are provided before passengers alight.
Oft called the “City of Masks”, this small, overcrowded port of some 20,000 inhabitants is regarded as wild, lawless, and corrupt. It is a haven for cutthroats, gamblers, lotus chewers, prostitutes, slavers, thieves, and traffickers of all ilk, and the city’s mask-wearing tradition seems to exacerbate current trends. Violence on the streets can erupt at any time, and competing leagues, associations, and guilds constantly vie for control of the city. Power shifts can occur overnight; the seat of governor is never long tenured and oft esteemed unenviable. Thickets of masts routinely crowd the Port Zangerios harbour; a hundred or more ships of all makes can be moored here at any time. From these, Port Zangerios can call upon a formidable navy of privateers, some of whom are sanctioned by the governor to make “appropriations” when duty calls. Port Zangerios is reputed to be a favourite dwelling place of the god Rel, who is said to enjoy the revelry of the city’s culture of doxies and gaming houses; the deity himself is said to don a variety of elaborate masks. These visitations, however, do little to impinge on the Xathoqquan orthodoxy of Port Zangerios.