Temple of the Infinite Now
A spiraling conical tower reaching towards the heavens, its base the size of a city, a mountain of carved stone. It grows a bit each day, screwing itself upwards. Here the past is made flesh; wars live as violent gods, historical figures embodied as consolidated gestalts of all their actions, the creation myths of countless civilizations playing out and blending. The tower is a madman’s timeline, spiraling backwards, upwards, to its point, towards the beginning of time. What sits upon the tip of that spire? What truths unfold within, trapped forever in the Infinite Now.
Call of Earth
A volcanic island, a towering cone of ash and pumice, holds a great shaft into the earth. Its bottom has never been seen but ancient ruins and primordial nature coat its sides. Strange ecology, unlike any found in the outside world, the remnants of old kingdoms built one upon another, relics and artifacts of unknown time. Discovered only recently, the great pit has drawn in countless hordes who seek to gain their fortune on its bounty, to secure their place in history with its exploration, or unravel the secrets hidden in its depths. The burgeoning city on its edge begins to spread into the shaft itself, mirroring the ruins below, and men speak of a place where the laws of the world are bent and frayed.
The Green Hell
Natives speak in whispers of the jungle within the caldera, of the ruins hidden deep within that fevered green, and of the “Bloodletting Curse”. They say the old gods of Thulentia dwell there still, awaiting the completion of a dark bargain that will grant them access to our world. The guardian bloodlines grow weak and diluted and the pan flutes can be heard echoing through the ever denser growth. The animals grow haunted and there are tales of warriors centuries old darting through the underbrush, howling and rabid. No one has entered the Green Hell in 200 years. At least, no one who has ever returned.
Deep Skies
You can get there sometimes, from the very tip of a mountain top or on a high frozen steppe. Jump and grab one of the dangling golden cords with your finger tips, letting yourself be dragged high, well beyond the sight of those on earth. Or bet your life in a leather skin balloon, buffeted by the ether tides and praying not to be dashed against the frozen cloud tops. Or maybe, if you’re very lucky, you can talk your way aboard an aurora ship somewhere in the north and ride shimmering magnetosphere waves the whole way there. Above the clouds, above where the sky turns black, to the wild frontier of the Lunar Kings where the burning starbeasts ride unseen tides and debts are paid in shaved years of life. The old firmament sea, the wandering isles, and the golden remnants of ancient man before his downfall. The Deep Sky.