Travelogues & Cartography
Travelogues & Cartography
Crumbling civic stonework from an age that mistook order for permanence, its glyphs whispered into dream by things with no mouths.
Gorkross Hollow was never conquered, only fed. Those who stepped inside to prove themselves are still there, pressed thin beneath the stone.
The blasted industrial quarter of Soroth Kor, where rusted platforms and slag towers sink into their own smoke, haunted by workers long dissolved into function.
Collapsed remnants of ritual geometry, where broken columns still hum with misfired invocations and the moss grows in deliberate, unnatural shapes.
Sunk and broken beneath decades of moss and memory, this ruined vault still thrums faintly with the wards meant to bind what should never have been known.
A creaking lattice of scavenged walkways and leaning timber, lashed together by forgotten hands and now suspended over stories no one dares retell.
A roadside hamlet assembled and reassembled by passing pilgrims, unaware they’ve stayed. Every door opens to the same room, no matter where it stands.
The Waystation of the First Age is a ruined solar threshold where the forest once listened and answered, now guarded by the dream-struck faithful who mistake its silence for divinity.