PLACES IN THAT PLACE

I needed a setting, so I threw some dice to set up stuff like size, climate, wealth, knowledge and chance of pudding.
Then I made up excuses for why somewhere had the least possible population and wealth and brains but the most possible military threat.
This is that.



Complete North, you have Hexam. A long stretch of tundra with this single giant mobile city that moves up and down it, stopping to harvest this vast array of greenhouse stations. It's a seasonal movement, as far as you get seasons in Hexam.
Crop rotation on a big scale.
I figure it's a giant artificial biome on wheels.
People that walk out have... the magical version of combat-armour-frame-suit-thing.
Big metal exoskeleton, powered by racks of "thermal cells' which are just batteries full of heat.
Even a civilian bodysuit has a big glowing red tube on his back.
They're refilled by chucking them into naturally occurring vents into the planet's core.
Or maybe they all lead into the lungs of a huge dragon, and all these holes are just nostrils.


Just below, in one corner, you have Tor-Fleiss, a frigid wasteland devoid of anything but these tiny groups of really, scary-tough barbarian dudes. (like, a 6 on the 1 to 6 of military power). The're cut off from the rest of the world by the slightly larger region of Gor-Fleiss, the other half of this once-whole region. The Gor a lot more polite and educationally minded than the Tor. They also have all the wealth of the united country and spend most of their time telling the Tor that they're right about the obscure political schism that broke them apart.
Gor-Fleiss is full of barbarian philosophers and berzerker diplomats.


Next to Gor-Fleiss and Hexam, you have Pajorh, A paranoid military state versed in both magic and science, and super rich from basically controlling trade between Megascience Fortress Hexam and the rest of the land.
They're also huge racists and won't let anyone that's not human inside with bomb collars that they sometimes trigger just to be safe.
They have spies everywhere, or so people say.
It would explain all the suspicious people that blow up when they're under scrutiny.
Very skilled, disciplined armies geared FOR EVERY EVENTUALITY.
They tend not to need to hire adventurers. Or don't admit doing so. Or blow up the adventurers they do hire.
Giblets tell no tales (except in some places)


Then you have Jaynesland, a large region of jagged, barren mountains. So everyone lives in this incomprehesibly vast network of bunkers built inside the mountains, sustained by advanced technology like mechanical vents and elevators and electric lights. They're the main producers of weapons in the land, and supply Pajorh and try to make sure Gor-Fleiss doesn't let any barbs through. People speculate that this tech level is somehow related to the ruins of Sjur, whom they neighbour.
It's almost all steam-powered. They really want to get more thermal cells from Hexam to power their giant steam golems and overly encumbrant power-armour.


The Cities Of Sjur are the perfect example of wizard states gone bad.
Now, it's nothing but ADVENTURELAND
The ground is either sudden, horrible chasms, flat beds of bones or solitary hills with the Cities perched on top.
The place is full of the previous inhabitants of Sjur and terrifying, life-stealing abominations.
Everything is grim and grey and probably going to kill you, and certainly going to try to eat your life-force.
There are some people that live there, in holes and tiny, terrified communities.
The tribes that live there have developed defences such as muted emotions and teleportation and unpleasant-tasting souls.
Sjur borders two other countries, first of which is The Committee.


A kind of oligarchy where the rulers are wise and immortal leaders, known as the Chairmen.
Uncharitable people might say that the name is from the fact that they're all basically the 40K Emperor, immortal but stuck to these giant life-support 'chairs'.
They mostly sit around being xenophobic visionaries.
They have big armies made of cyborgs and so-heavily-modified-as-to-be-unrecognisable specially bred animals that are used as weapon platforms.
 

Bordering both The Committee and Sjur, you have Eirstal, a pretty wide, flat, dry place, where life is ruled by local wizards that report to regional wizards that report to a big Council/Guild fo wizards.
This is because the only reason people can live here is due to the Wizards being experts in elementalism an Biomastery, genetically engineering animals and plants to survive in the harsh climate.


Then you have, in the lowest corner, the Freeholds.
A loose and barely civilised collection of small semi-independent villages, all bound together in some kind of religion based around a god of charity.
They're viewed in a mixed light. While they're super happy to help people, they'll somtimes just take your stuff because why wouldn't you be nice and lend/give them things they need?
It's a Giant Peasant Religion Communism Place with really, really kick-ass magics.
Their god may or may not be real.
If you want the best magic shit, you have to hunt down magical religious hermits in the Freeholds.


Lastly, the godawful jungle of Kvol-No-Reigh.
It's horrible. Full of ancient ruins (who even put them there?) and terrible, rapidly-evolving competitive species and also tribes of goblins because everywhere needs goblins.
They'll steal your shit then wig out on giant bug poison.
It's a thing.
Otherwise the place is hot and horrible and will eat you.

CARCOSA

This is the city of Carcosa.
No, not that Carcosa. This is the obligatory Carcosa that every campaign has.
It's that weird town that the party will likely never learn the story of.


Carcosa is, these days (years?) not much more than a large village on a rock.
The sea around the island is dark. The sky is dark.
Because that is what the King remembers.
(or other ruler-denomination of your choice)

A long time ago, Carcosa was a thriving, if small, archipelagic kingdom.
They fished a lot. Had a few islands just covered in livestock and a few strange farmer-hermits.
It was a good place to trade, and many coastal cities would make the trek so see the markets, because so were the other coastal cities, and it was a good stopping point for long-distance travels.

So it was very upsetting for everyone when the plague struck.
Whether by curse, infected parasites, tainted food or failed magic, the disease washed over the land.
It was a curse of hunger. Appetites swelled. Food dwindled.
Inevitably, the well-few fellow villagers started looking delicious.
And so, unpleasant descriptions of islands falling into flesh-rending chaos aside, Carcosa fell to home-grown ghouls.

The King was not happy.
He would peer out of his tower, and see his land awash in teeth and claws.
For whatever reason, by blood or artifact, the King of Carcosa at the time was not a man of small power.
In his first, and only, act of sorcery, he stalked over to his throne, sat down, and began furiously to remember.


It is now several decades on.
No-one goes to Carcosa anymore.
If you would, however, navigating the eternally darkening sky to the last remaining island, past the waving, excessively clothed fishermen (if you waited a week, you would not see them catch anything or go back to shore), you would reach the grim streets of Carcosa.
There is not much colour, everything seems like a dim shade of grey. At least, until you get closer to the castle. Don't get too far from the castle.

The streets are not desolate, however. Various people are bustling about on various tasks (whatever they are).
You may notice that they all wear a lot of clothes. No skin is within sight. Also, there's the masks.
Every citizen of Carcosa (except the king's Aide, when in the castle) wear a mask. It looks like they pillaged a party or something. Or just got bits of wood with holes in, in some cases.
If you are polite, and don't point it out too hard, you may choose to visit one of the many shops.
Let us walk into Egelbert's Apothecary.
A humanoid shape that you assume to be Egelbert will be stood behind the counter.
It's voice is... vague. Whispery? Faint? It's sometimes like having someone talk to you in a dream, where words are often missing, but meaning moves on regardless.
Egelbert only has a few products in stock, but is perfectly happy to prepare something for you if you'll come back later to pick it up.
If you stand around in the shop for the duration (the thing behind the counter won't stop you), or you were to scry the shop, or leave an eyeball in there, you might wonder why Egelbert will not move.
When you return to pick up your purchase, you will happily be given whatever you requested.
The shelves are always clean, if grey. There is nothing behind the counter.
If you steal something from the shelves, you'll note that the bottle doesn't feel like glass, nor do the contents move like liquid. Or, at all.
This theme will be found everywhere on the island.
If you go too far from Carcosa with something you have taken (not purchased), it will fade after a few miles.

This is, partly, because the inhabitant of Carcosa are ghouls.
They've been ghouls for several centuries now, and would really, really, like you to not mention that.
Unmask one, and you'll have a slavering ghoul and not an affable shopkeep or inkeep or somethingkeep.
The Carcosans will be upset at this, and try to reclothe the poor person, and ask you to please leave and not do that again.
They're all a second's concentration from returning to the monsters they are.
They know this.
They also know that they would rather be people, thank you very much.
Because the only reason that they are memories of people in the memories of a town, is that the King is busy remembering them.
The King's Aide, who has a human if withered and grey face, will tell you that no, you can't see the King.
He's very busy.


He's been busy for several centuries.
He'll always be busy.
You have been walking inside the King's memories, anchored to the land and people.
The King is, probably, mortal.
He's just too busy to die, even though he does nothing more than sit in his cobwebbed throne (there were a few spiders before they starved) with his eyes clothed.
He's not sleeping.

The memories are only so strong, and weaker the further they are from the King.
The ghouls wear these memories as much as they do the clothes.
The more you ask questions, prove strangeness, the more you are damaging the memories.
Startle the King, or kill him, or even just hit with a stick, and until concentration can be returned, you'll be on a sinking island full of ghouls.
And probably the only living things there.

You may try to reinforce the King's remembering, if you can find out about it.
You may purge this island of flesh-eating undead, when they are flesh-eating undead and not the memories of villages (don't get too near to the sheperds. Or the fishermen. Or the east end of the Island. Really. Half-remembered, living memories are not a good thing to have in the vicinity of real things).

The people will go around doing what the King remembers them doing. But he can't remember what he doesn't know.
He doesn't know how to cook a meal. Or to spin yarn. Or to mix a potion. Or craft a blade. So you get what he remembers. He's never seen a sheperd kill a sheep. Nor does he remember what a sheep looks like, up close. Or what exactly it is that fishermen DO.
He has no time for doubts and questions.
He has remembering to do.

People don't visit Carcosa anymore.