At the foot of steep cliffs where the waves crash furiously, there once stood the coastal village of Spotted Elm. It was once known for the majestic elm tree that grew peculiarly close to the sea, its roots woven into both the land and the villagers’ stories.

The tree was not only a symbol of beauty but also of protection, offering shelter from fierce storms and attracting abundant fish to the surrounding waters. The villagers performed rituals at the solstice, thanking the elm for its benevolence and asking for favors from the sea gods.

Over time, however, the leadership changed. A new chief, skeptical of the traditions, persuaded the villagers to set aside their customs, dismissing them as ancient follies. The elm tree was no longer cared for, and spots began to appear on its bark, reflecting sadness and loss of power.

Without the protection of the elm tree, the village was exposed to storms and creatures of the deep, which on a stormy moonlit night brought destruction and fear. The sea, once an ally, was now a constant threat. The survivors fled, leaving behind only wreckage and legends.

Today, the ruins of Spotted Elm lie forgotten, bathed in the eternal lament of the waves. It is said that, in the stillness, one can hear the sigh of the elm, the sole guardian of the memories of a time when land and sea danced in harmony. The few who venture to the site dream of obtaining its legendary leaves that can rekindle the ancestral connection with nature.

The Town of Danan was a monument to human stubbornness. The ruins of an ancient temple, discovered by a messianic wandering leader, attracted him and his devotees, who shaped their village around the sanctity of that place. They prospered under the grace of the ancient gods, even in the face of biting winds and raging seas. For some generations, they revered the deities that sustained them, until faith gave way to ambition.

A new spiritual leader preached redemption and hope, exalting a loving and liberating god, different from the entities of storm and wind that dominated their legends until then. So, a new statue was erected in the square facing the sea and its inauguration was celebrated with party, joy and obviously lots of drinking.

But the ancient Gods and Entities do not forgive so easily. Furious, they spoke through the roar of the waves. Violent waves suddenly invaded Danan, tearing bodies and souls, drowning the pride of a city that dared to betray its pact. Now, only desolation and ruins whisper of its forgotten history, and it is known to locals as Bashed Village.

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 😥

With permission, I add JimQuetzal's Pyramids to the map.

The Legend of the Pyramid of the Sun of Jimquetzal

Deep in the sweltering jungle, where trees stand like ancient sentinels and sunlight barely touches the ground, lies the legendary Pyramid of the Sun of Jimquetzal. Over the centuries, the jungle, like a patient beast, has reclaimed what was once its own. Lianas twine around the black stones of the pyramid, while colossal roots crack the ancient steps. Its blocks of black stone, covered in moss and grotesque roots, emerge like the teeth of a sleeping colossus, a scar on the earth forgotten by time.

Legends whisper that the pyramid of Jimquetzal was the throne of a long-lost sun god, whose name has dissolved like dust in the wind. It is said that the ancients who lived there did not build the pyramid, but dug it up, guided by feverish visions that drove them mad.

Other stories tell of the Faceless Guardian, a figure shaped by eternity, half man, half beast. He patrols the steps of the pyramid, protecting the secret of a hidden relic: the Eye of the Sun, a gem of living gold that, according to the elders, is the source of divine power. Anyone who dares to touch it is instantly consumed, their body transformed into ash that the wind carries away to feed the hungry jungle.

I used Google Translate, I apologize for any mistakes.

Cheers