Altered cleft oasis

An oasis within a small mesa canyon.

The whole mesa / canyon system is perhaps 1 mile across. From afar it looks like an ordinary mesa, but with greenery and plant growth around the edges.

Strange, alien-looking plants grow within this oasis; they present all manner of dangers to those who approach them.

Cool grotto

A subterranean grotto with plants and a stream.

A cave in a twisting maze of valleys leads to a cool grotto. Plants climb up the walls and hang from dripping stalactites; this is a veritable subterranean garden, lit by glowing mushrooms, with a stream winding its way through it; insects and tiny frogs live among the plant life, and small, blind cave fish swim in the stream.

At the back of the grotto is a passage deeper into the earth, in which marks of some large predator’s passing may be found.

Drylake

Small town; one of the last outposts of civilization on the western edge of Donaille.

Drylake is a town of about 2,000, perched on the eastern edge of a bowl-like valley which once held a large lake (hence the town’s name). The shallower eastern slope of the former lake-bed now houses a dense cluster of farms, where crops of all sorts are grown. Two trade roads meet at Drylake; the travelers, pilgrims, and merchants along these roads are the town’s primary source of income.

Drylake is the western-most settlement which is formally held to belong to the Illustrious Kingdom. Of course, one would probably be hard-pressed to find anyone in Stavronne, the kingdom’s capital, who could locate Drylake on a map. Still, some of the older townsfolk remember the king’s tax assessors visiting the town within their lifetimes; so Drylake pays its taxes diligently. (The lack of raids from orcs or bandits within living memory must be taken as evidence that the people’s tax money is well spent.)

At one time, before the lake dried up, there was no town here, but only a scattering of fishing communities huddled all around the lake’s shore. Then the water level began to drop; eventually, what remained of the lake wasn’t enough to support even a meager fish population, and the locals faced a real threat of starvation. It was a stroke of tremendous good fortune that the lake’s receding waters left behind soil that (unlike much of the surrounding steppe) proved extraordinarily fertile. The fishing villages were abandoned, and the eastern slopes of the lakebed became farmland (the western part of the lake being too rocky or steep to be settled). Some enterprising residents of the newly unified community built a trading post on what was once the lake’s eastern shore, where travelers on the road that passed just alongside the lake’s edge could buy food and supplies. Soon a town had sprung up; “Drylake” was the name that stuck.

Dusthill

Frontier town at the edge of the western wastes.

Even though it’s the largest of the frontier settlements scattered along the edge of the western wastes, calling Dusthill a “town” might be giving it too much credit. The town center (such as it is) consists of ten or so buildings—the town jail, the tavern, a handful of shops. (There are no “streets” to speak of.) Loosely scattered around this core are a number of homesteads. The total population is not quite a thousand.

There’s no government in Dusthill—no mayor, no town council—because there isn’t really anything for a government to do (and the sorts of people who come out to the frontier aren’t keen on being told how to run their lives, anyhow). Anyone can come, claim a plot of land that isn’t occupied, build a house; anyone can trade or do business with whoever they like. That doesn’t mean that Dusthill’s lawless, though; there’s a sheriff here (elected by the locals, though word is that he runs unopposed every time—nobody else wants the job), and folks won’t tolerate antisocial behavior. Mostly, though, people just mind their own business.

With two exceptions, all the structures in Dusthill are built of mud brick. Wood’s too scarce to build with, out here; the few trees nearby are thin, bent, twisted things, no good for lumber. Food’s a perpetual problem, too; cattle don’t thrive here, nor many other domestic animals; and the land’s no good for most crops. Some of the locals raise goats or llamas; some grow beans and other legumes; some hunt lizards (and even stranger game) out in the wastes. A caravan stops by once a month, and the people of Dusthill trade for foodstuffs, metalworks, and other needed things, exchanging snakeskins, giant lizard teeth, “medicinal” cactus flowers, and some even more exotic products of the wastes.

Goblin warrens

Cramped, stinking cave-warrens teeming with goblins.

Entrances to the warrens line a deep ravine.

Lower caverns

Caverns that lead to the Master’s domain.

Old guard tower

An old guard tower on a hill.

Supposedly “haunted” by “ghosts”, according to some goblin.

The top of the hill is mostly flat, perhaps 300 feet across; low earthworks ring the hilltop. A path ascends to the hilltop up the hill’s south side.

The ground of the hilltop is strewn with a great multitude of bones. These poke out of the ground, or lie half-buried in the sand and dirt. The bones are scattered, and many are broken. Most of the bones look like they could be from humanoids, although there’s definitely a few which are clearly from somewhat bigger creatures.

There are some mostly-destroyed ruins of what were a small handful of auxiliary buildings. The tower itself is wholly intact, however. It is a very sturdy three-story stone structure, a bit over 40 feet square; the rooftop boasts crenelated battlements. The ground floor has a front door on the south, facing the center of the hilltop, and a back door on the north. The second and third floors have windows facing in the cardinal directions; the north and south windows are narrow and iron-barred (little more than arrow slits), while the east and west windows are large… but quite thoroughly boarded up from the inside.

The first floor of the tower is mostly open space; furniture, shelving, etc. stood here once, but what remains of these now lies moldering in piles of scrap in the corners. The second floor is a barracks—an open space with a number of cots, plus a half-dozen tiny, cell-like rooms. The third floor features a simple bed and a sturdy wooden writing desk a pile of smashed planks and scrap wood, which might have been a desk at some point. Staircases connect the floors.

On the east side of the tower is another door, which opens into a narrow corridor that runs along the eastern edge of the tower’s first floor. This ends in a set of stairs going down; an archway in the stair landing bears a magically glowing sun symbol—the mark of Pelor.

At the bottom, the stairs open into a crypt, wherein stands a single stone sarcophagus. A plaque at the foot of the sarcophagus reads:

Sir Berengar
the last paladin of the west
died 231 r.c.

In a side wall of the crypt is a doorway or tunnel opening; however, it is thoroughly bricked up.

Outcast cave-village

Cave-dwelling of a small band of exiles from the Master’s tribe.

A series of linked caverns, around a main cave whose floor and walls are built up with stone dwellings. Poor-quality construction here tells of a people who are unused to building and living in this way, and must adapt to novel circumstances. Less than a hundred people live here.

The outcasts here hate and oppose the Master, though they are nowhere near numerous or strong enough to challenge him. They hold the outcasts of other camps in the region (who hope to get back into the Master’s good graces) in contempt.

Andoras (formerly an enforcer in the Master’s service) leads these people. Mirala (formerly a priestess) is his wife.

Strange crystal cave

Damp cavern with glowing mushrooms and odd crystals.

A cave mouth high on a hillside opens into a cavern where strange crystals and mushrooms grow; moisture condenses on the cool walls and drips down in rivulets. Flowing water may be heard, but no source is visible.

The Master’s domain

Subterranean domain, inhabited by humans, ruled by the Master.

A series of caverns, inhabited by some thousands of humans. The Master rules here, following the dictates of “the Goddess”, and dispensing her gifts to his people.

To pass between the Master’s domain and the surface, one must pass through the Lower Caverns, where all manner of peril awaits.