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!

The Tomb of Abscess IV

In ancient times, before the skies were stained with soot and the rivers turned to sulphur, Abscess IV ruled with an iron fist and a sharp mind. He was no ordinary king – his crown was made not only of gold, but of alchemical secrets and formulas known only to him.

It is said that in his prime, the mighty King discovered the secret of ultimate transmutation. Some say he sought eternal life, others that his obsession was absolute power. Whatever the truth, he ordered the construction of a tomb even before his death – not as a simple mausoleum, but as a shrine of alchemy, a place where forbidden secrets would be buried with him.

The ancients spoke with reverence of his tomb, a pyramid of stone carved into the bowels of the earth. But then came the great eruptions—mountains spewed fire, the skies turned to perpetual night, and the purging of the earth devoured the entire island. When the ash finally settled, the Tomb of Abcess IV had disappeared beneath an even greater tomb: an ocean of volcanic debris.

The Forgotten Treasures

The old storytellers speak of unparalleled riches hidden within the tomb—not mere coins or jewels, but artifacts of unimaginable power. Alchemy manuscripts that could disintegrate mountains, elixirs that could turn flesh to gold, and blades that would never rust. But above all these treasures, one legend stands tall: The Abscess Machine.

The Abscess Machine

In the deepest chamber of the tomb, protected by sigils that not even the dead dare violate, lies the final creation of the alchemist king. A mechanism of living metal, pulsing with hidden energy. It is said that it was built for a single purpose: to consume souls and distill the very essence of life.

The Tombkeepers

Neither suffocating ash nor oblivion have extinguished the king's watchmen. Within the buried corridors of the tomb, beings still prowl. They say that the enemies who betrayed Abcess were melted down and molded into bronze statues, condemned to remain eternally as their master's guardians. Their metal armor creaks as they move, and their hollow eyes still burn with the glow of ancient enchantments.

Others speak of golems forged of mercury, moldable as smoke and sharp as blades. And there are those who say that even the dead of Abscess still walk, not as ghosts, but as experiments of twisted flesh, creatures that should not exist.

Plains of Ash - North

The winds that sweep across the Plains of Ash carry with them the unbreathable dust of volcanic eruptions, sometimes bringing with them the voices of the ancient dead - whispering tales of forgotten times. Once known as the Plains of Dawn, these lands were a verdant paradise, where rivers danced silver in the sunlight and forests rose in reverence to the heavens. The great Murky Lake reflected the vastness of the sky, its crystalline mirror nourishing life in all directions.

These were times of glory and life. The tribes that inhabited these lands saw them as a gift from the gods. It was sacred ground, where only the noblest sorcerers and warriors deserved to rest in their tombs. The ancients said that the spirits of these honored dead rose on nights of the full moon, watching over the crops, spreading their strength across the fertile soil. The power of the past flowed like invisible blood through the roots of the trees and through the golden grains of the fields.

But the old gods are capricious and merciless.

The Great Hecatomb came, and the earth roared like a caged beast, the mountains convulsed, spewing fire and destruction in every direction. Columns of black smoke rose like pillars from the underworld itself, and a storm of ash fell upon the earth, suffocating all life. Lake Murky bubbled in its own death, its waters poisoned by sulfur. The rivers became putrid veins, winding through the barren land, dooming any form of existence that dared venture there.

Now, the Plains of Ash are a wasteland of desolation. The ground is hard as iron, cracked and barren. Charred trees rise like twisted specters. The sky, often veiled in sulfuric mists, refuses to shine over this cursed place. The few who dare to cross this land swear they hear voices carried on the wind—murmurs of the ancient warriors and sorcerers who rest there, perhaps furious that their rest has been disturbed, perhaps still watching over something deep beneath the scorched earth.

Are their tombs strong enough to withstand the eruption? Do the spirits of old still lie sealed beneath the ashes, or have they awakened as dark guardians of a forgotten realm?