On a lonely and forgotten path, between the Lonely Lighthouse and the enigmatic village of Salt Gatherers, lies Wagon Stop, a place shrouded in mystery and a sinister attraction for the few travelers who dare to pass through it. Over several generations, the Vice family has put down roots in this wilderness, transforming it into a dark refuge where the winds whisper secrets that they keep hidden from the world.

Don Johnson, the enigmatic patriarch, observes the world with eyes that have accumulated more knowledge than they could possibly share. He lives with his wives, two cousins ​​from Lonely Hamlet, whose blood ties weave an oppressive air around them. His children, Philip Michael and Saundra Santi, live in adjacent houses, like shadows of a legacy that oscillates between fear and fascination.

Wagon Stop is more than just a stopover; it is a land of ancient and forbidden pacts. Behind the strange and almost oppressive hospitality lies a dark deal with underworld beings. In exchange for protection and wealth, the Vice family hands over the life energy of the unwary travelers who stop there. As the travelers make their way, few escape without feeling as though they have been touched by a secret they wish they had never known.

Poor city 😥

Master Quenten assigned me a new zone (the part I chose) to map in the same area as Fisher Island in the Fonlorn Archipelago. I try to adapt the style according to the first maps of this region, using the new Ancient Realms Revisited + elements from Mike Schley.

Work in progress on the first Overland.

Cheers

Where the reefs rise like the teeth of a sleeping leviathan, the Monolith of Lost Sailors stands. A pile of dark rocks and reefs, each bearing the weight of a soul swallowed by the sea before the Lonely Lighthouse was built.

It is said that ancient fishermen began to build the mound in memory of those who never returned, each stone a silent epitaph. But legends whisper that the monolith grows alone, fueled by the cries of victims the ocean will not forgive.

On stormy nights, the winds carry wailing voices that can be heard from the nearest hamlet, and those who dare approach swear they see spectral figures wandering among the rocks.

The Curse of Sinkhole

In the heart of Stormy Point, where wind and hostile storms are a constant, lies Sinkhole, a vast crater with eternal flames licking the void. And its history is a tale of greed and punishment.

It all began with the discovery of a small mine by prospectors hungry for fortune. They spoke of a vein of metal so bright it blinded the eyes. They dug furiously, their tools biting into the rock as their souls sank into shadow. Then, on the thirteenth day, the earth answered them.

A roar split the air, and the ground gave way like a hungry mouth, swallowing men and their machinery. The ground shook, and from the newly created abyss burst red flames and a heat that tore the skin from the bones. The survivors fled, but they brought with them whispers of a curse: that the miners had pierced the heart of an ancient god, and now its fire would burn forever.

Locals tend to avoid Sinkhole. They swear that on the darkest nights, groans echo from the abyss, as if the spirits of the damned still roam the flames. No one dares approach. They say the fire is not just heat, but the very rancor of the earth. And in Sinkhole, the earth never forgets.