This time I take the liberty of invading Master @Quenten map to build the Shinem Tower. It is located in Fonlorn Archipelago > The Bleakness > Ashburton Region, near the Doom Chasm.

The Shinem Tower

About twenty-five miles from the village of AshBurton, Shinem Tower stands alone. Its rough, rocky surface is covered in half-dry, half-alive vines, as if the very vegetation that surrounds it were wavering between death and life. There are no doors. There are no windows. Just a lonely tower, of uncertain origin, watching over a desolate horizon.

The locals avoid talking about it. When questioned, their expressions darken, their eyes avert. Some make superstitious signs of protection, while others simply walk away in silence. None of them approach the tower willingly.

Yet someone – or something – still lives within.

The Hidden Inhabitant

For decades, every three weeks, a volunteer from among the villagers of AshBurton has brought supplies to the base of the tower. Bread, meat, fruit, water. Enough to sustain a man for a while. He always leaves without seeing anyone and returns the same way. In times past, villagers who ignored or refused to practice this ancient custom mysteriously disappeared, their homes found empty and without signs of struggle. The fear that the same thing will happen again keeps the tradition alive.

Sometimes, someone tried to watch the place from a distance, hidden among the shadows and stones. They never saw who was bringing the supplies. But, at dawn, the food was gone.

Legends and Whispers

The stories about Shinem Tower vary from villager to villager, but they all carry the same atmosphere of superstition and fear.

Some say that a reclusive sorcerer takes refuge inside, dedicated to obscure studies on the nature of the human body. A scholar who, according to legend, dismantles flesh and bone like a craftsman would dismantle an old carriage and then rebuilds it to his will.

Others believe that he is not human.

The most superstitious say that a pact was made long ago with dark forces. That on moonless nights, shapeless beings emerge from the darkness and crawl towards the tower, bringing with them lifeless bodies.

These bodies disappear without a trace, as do the supplies. But despite this, no smoke has ever been seen coming out of the tower.

If there is a fire inside, it is not fueled by wood.

The Signs of the Occult

Those who have dared to approach the tower have reported an abnormal silence that dominates the region. The wind, common in the surrounding plains, seems to cease as soon as one steps foot in its vicinity.

The surface of the stones is strangely cold, even under the heat of the sun.

Some swear they have heard muffled noises from inside. Not footsteps, not voices, but a slow and continuous dragging, as if something were moving within the sealed walls.

No one has ever managed to enter. No one has ever discovered the truth.

Staying at home in very hot weather (38-47 Celsius) has some advantages, making more maps sweating a lot and with a fan on Max on the CPU :). I've been studying the region and I'm taking the liberty of picking Bleak Castle @JimP <3. After all... one more ruin is always useful.

Chronicles of a Historian – The Terror of Bleak Castle

May the gods have mercy on my soul for all that I have seen and for all that I dare to recount in these pages. My name no longer matters much, for what I experienced in Bleak Castle has left such a mark on me that I am no longer the man I once was. For years, I have traveled through forgotten kingdoms, delved into dusty parchments, and listened to the whispers of the last old men who still remembered the horrors of the past. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for what I found in those cursed lands.

Ever since I heard the first reports about the three fortresses to the east, I have felt the call of history. They said that, at the foot of the Churning Mountains, stood the ruins of the castles Bleak, Arrow, and Good Behavior, sentinels of a dark past, abandoned to a fate forgotten by time. The few villagers who still lived on the edges of this forbidden land warned me with pale faces and downcast eyes. They whispered of night whispers, ownerless shadows, nameless misfortunes. They told me that those who dared to approach never returned. But I did not listen. A scholar does not bow to superstition. He laughs at the foolish fears of ignorant peasants.

And so I stayed three months in those lands and regret every moment.

The Three Fortresses and Their Secrets

Upon reaching the ruins, I was faced with a sight I will never forget. Bleak Castle, along with Arrow and Good Behavior, dominated the horizon like a trio of immortal shadows, relics of an era that time itself had tried to erase.

The walls were cracked, consumed by abandonment, but they still resisted, as if something kept them standing. The wind that came down from the mountains carried a chill that came not only from the altitude, but from something deeper, something that seemed to crawl under the skin and infiltrate the bones.

And then there were the stones. They were unlike any castle I had ever seen. They were not carved or stacked, but molded, cast, as if the fires of hell itself had created them. Some bore marks, symbols that time had worn away but could still be seen by the keen eye.

And there was silence.

Not an ordinary silence, but a suffocating emptiness, as if the earth itself held its breath in horror. No animal ventured there. No bird flew across the sky above the fortresses. It was as if the world had forgotten that this place existed.

Then I understood. Bleak Castle is not dead. It merely waits.

The Rites of the God of Blood and Darkness

My research led me to ancient accounts, forgotten fragments of a time that few dare to remember. I discovered that the castles were not military bastions, but temple-fortresses erected by an unholy cult. A cult of the God of Blood and Darkness.

These worshippers were not mere priests. They were warlords, sorcerers, and assassins, corrupted souls who served not men, but something far worse. With each great red moon, the gates of Bleak Castle would open and the followers of the cult would drag their victims to the Black Altar. Men, women, children… No one was safe.

Blood flowed like a river. Screams echoed through the walls, but nothing ever answered them. No benevolent god came to save them. No avenging warrior put an end to the carnage. The castle gates closed and the sacrifice continued, unwitnessed, uninterrupted.

The blood was not spilled in vain. It fed something. Something that waited in the depths. Something that, perhaps, still waits.

My Last Impressions

I will never forget that night.

Mist crept through the ruins, wrapping around the ancient stones like spectral fingers. My eyes were heavy with fatigue, but my ears picked up something I didn't want to believe was real.

Footsteps.

Footsteps shuffling, coming from the depths.

I closed my eyes, shivering, trying to convince myself that it was just the wind, just the cracking of stones in the cold of the night. But then I heard the whispers.

They weren't words. They were formless sounds, echoes of something that no longer belonged to this world.

I don't know how long I stood there, motionless, frozen in terror. But when the first ray of sunlight touched the broken walls of Bleak, I fled. And I didn't come back.

The lands around the three fortresses are dying. The rot spreads, slow and inexorable. Perhaps the cult has been extinguished, perhaps its priests have perished... but something still inhabits that place.

And I fear that, one day, it will awaken.

Lorenzo Vademecum – historian, philosopher and traveler

Although the mountains are not so "peaky" and are easier to fit together to make a Sierra/mountain range, I agree with Quenten.

If I could choose, I would leave these "peaky" hills - because more and more and infinite icons are always useful, but also smooth hills.

If I had to choose between the two, I prefer go with the smoother ones.

P.S.: The shape of the mountains is really beautiful. The first time I saw the image with all the icons together, they completely captured my attention.

I also comment that the viewing angle of the mountains and hills is very beautiful, I don't know if that is the correct term to express it.

Wait a minute! What would happen if there was no smalllandscape photo/map? 😅

I went to sleep thinking about Veilvale and woke up with the panorama of a destroyed city.

Veilvale’s Disgrace

There was a time when Veilvale was a haven among the hills. From its docks, fishermen returned laden with fish from Murky Lake. The fields around it were fertile, the taverns always full, and the winds that came down from the mountains carried the sweet smell of ripening crops. No army had ever marched upon its roads, no plague had ever plagued its people. Veilvale was a haven.

Then came the tremors.

The mountains to the north roared like awakened beasts, spewing fire and death. The sky darkened with ash, the air grew thick and toxic. Murky Lake became a graveyard, its waters tinged green and black, boiling with sulfur and consuming everything it touched. Pastures lay barren, livestock died in agony, and the earth itself opened up to swallow homes whole. The few who survived fled to the coastal lands, carrying only the rags they had on their bodies. Veilvale was abandoned and forgotten.

The Dark Heart of Veilvale

But one structure still stands tall amidst the ruins - a shadowy silhouette against the perpetually overcast sky, the Tower of Vessanthor.

No one knows who built it. Some say it was Abscess IV himself, or one of his alchemists. Others believe the tower is much older, built on something that should never have been disturbed. In the past, the people of Veilvale avoided speaking of it, despite its constant presence over the city.

Now, its forgotten halls are a pit of darkness. Its top is cracked, tilted like a bony finger pointing toward the merciless heavens. But its subterranean bowels remain intact, sealed with iron doors and carved with runes from times gone by.

The Black Blood Spiders

Veilvale may be dead, but something crawls among its ruins. Monstrous spiders, their exoskeletons hardened by sulfur, proliferate in the fallen structures, turning the halls of abandoned buildings into their lairs. Their bloated bodies are greenish black, and their fangs drip a venom that burns like acid. They do not hunt like ordinary predators—they wait, ambush, move in the shadows, and watch.

Some travelers say there is something wrong with them. That they are intelligent, that they work together, that they guard the Tower of Vessanthor like evil sentinels. As if they are not just creatures of nature, but guardians placed there by something much older and crueler.

At least for now, this section is finished @Monsen @Quenten 12 more maps to the Atlas <3.

Thank you very much!