Neverwhere - Traversing the Far Realm
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d8Far Realm Sights
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1Neverwhere. At the edge of the Outlands hovers Neverwhere, an irregular, cyst-like growth the size of a small mountain, where the palpable strangeness of the Far Realm bleeds into the known cosmos. From outside, this growth appears as a bubble of dense blue gas surrounding a cluster of bloated, pulsating, yellow, red and purple pustules. Denizens of Neverwhere - eking a living from trading with explorers or folk of the plane beyond - have, no doubt with great difficulty, built onto this cyst, turning this into a semi-permenant settlement of those who are stranded here or came in some misguised hope of scratching a living from this foul place. Ramshackle towers and shanties, formed from scavenged bits of wood, stone and metal, patched with plasma that oozes from the planar cyst itself, are anchored into the surface of the cyst with hooks, gargantuan nails and, in some cases, actual anchors. Running along the length of Neverwhere is a jagged rift that bleeds the lifestuff of the Far Realm, a sometimes-liquid, sometimes-gas substance that shimmers and pulsates with strange, unearthly colours. Beyond the rift lies the Far Realm proper. Thankfully for dwellers of the Outlands, it is far more difficult to leave the Far Realm than enter it through the rift, so far at least.
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2Imperfect. Floating in the alien seas of the Far Realm is Imperfect, a misshapen, forgotten and ill-tempered creature that could have been a god, where it not for the abandonment of its Sister-Mother. Measuring roughly two miles in length - though even that is subject to change as Imperfect's form shifts and reforms - this creature's natural form is little more than a porcelain-white translucent membrane enclosing its slimy, undulating mass and colossal skull, a jawless, cyclopean thing almost one hundred feet tall, the only solid aspect of Imperfect. Constantly attempting to achieve impossible perfection in its form, this would-be godling constantly sprouts new appendages and organs from its membrane, arms, tentacles, stalks, eyes, ears and mouths, ranging from a hundred feet in length to human-sized. Narcissistic, convinced of its deserved godliness and impossible of size, Imperfect rarely notices the creatures that live on its surface - living off seeping fat deposits that form in the valleys and troughs of its "skin" - until it needs to feed.
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3The Swiftwing. Still covered in the fouling of a long sea voyage - including still-living barnacles, limpets and mussels - , the Swiftwing is an Elven warship, long-believed to have been lost at sea. The Swiftwing's constant passage through the multitudinal layers of the Far Realm has battered the ship - and its crew - with waves of psionic energy, weathering the prow of the vessel and leaving crystallised growths of pulsating purple and green along its hull. Most of the crew, peppered by these layer-storms, are covered in similar crystallisations, some - the lucky ones - only having small patches over exposed skins, others have been rendered blind as crystals formed over (or in) their eyes, completely faceless, with limbs made useless and immobile by the bulk of growths. The Captain, Elisandre, is trapped against the upper deck, her body completely covered in crystal other than her face. Still, the crew that are able continue to man the ship, mindlessly maintaining it as it hurtles through the Far Realm while the layer-storms continue to batter it.
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4Miasmic Vortex. Cloudy wisps of vapourous gas and coagulated clots of plasma swirl in a unending vortex, drawing in uncautious travellers and surrounding flora and fauna as it continues to expand, tearing unprotected creatures and objects to fragments. Looking from the outside, this miasmic vortex swirls too quickly to see its individual components, but from within one can see the remnants of destroyed Spelljamming craft, decomposing cadavers and other detritus that has been sucked into the vortex over eons. A diving bell-like craft plumbs the depths of the miasma, its thick hull so far proof against the destructives forces at play within, as its inhabitants observe the miasma and attempt to discern what lies at its centre. No-one in living memory has ever reached the miasma's centre, but experienced travellers of the Far Realm speculate that it might be some diabolic machine that produces the miasma and its gravitic force, or a super-dense core of the same material, or perhaps even some immense aberration that uses the miasma to feed. Or it could be that the miasma propagates and feeds itself, like a hive-sentient swarm of ooze. It's the Far Realm. anything goes.
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5The Great Migration. Millions of bizarre creatures gather in an migrating school that, at a distance, might resemble a sleek, shimmering vessel traversing the infinite layers of the Far Realm. Questing tendrils, each made of thousands of creatures, venture out from the body of the school, seeking safety or prey. No two fauna of this school are the same, some scuttle on pincers, others swim or walk on tentacled appendages, some resemble fishes of the Prime Material, or crusteceans, but all have some abberant quality about them. The migration never stops, rising or descending through the layers of this plane, rendering anything in its path to scraps Some travellers believe a superior intelligence directs this swarm of impossible proportions, urging it toward some grand design of its own creation, others suggest that this might be an instinctua defensive measure to protect against some larger predators, though no-one can conceieve of a predator so large as to threaten a swarm of this size.
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6Warring Hiveships. Serenely floating in the strangeness are a pair of discus-shaped craft made of some strange, unterrestrial materal, smashed together and locked in place by some terrible impact, meshed like a pair of gears. Some kind of viscous, amber liquid trickles from the impact tear of one of craft (and it is particularly flammable, should it be exposed to a spark or naked flame). The craft are of the same basic design, a thick, concave disc, punctuated by "pods" raised from the surface of the craft, but whilst one is covered with crustacean plates, with flowing, cord-like tentacles originating from its underside, the other is sleek, with four pincers jutting from side of its hull. Experencied travellers of the Far Realm would recognise the two craft as Tyrant Ships, piloted by beholders on a genocidal mission to rid the world of each other. Within, an all-out war erupted between the two hives of beholders, and the half-disintegrated, half-gnawed cadavers of the dead continue to float through corridors, whilst the last two beholders on board have retreated to the far ends of the two craft, out of sight until they are ready to strike. Shorvash, a talkative, mottled green-brown beholder of unusually large size, and Mothlyn, a particularly twitchy purplish beholder with an unusual double-iris in its central eye, are looking for something that might give them an edge when their enemy inevitably attacks. If they discover someone that will not willingly help them, they're more than prepared to use magic to get what they want.
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7Graveyard of Forgotten Gods. Far from the most-used routes through the plane lies The Graveyard, a mile-long lump of rock that hurtles - tumbling end over end - ever further through the Far Realm. Dotted throughout the Graveyard, interspersed with half-built shrines, carefully-tended (but by whom?) ornamental trees, and faceless statues, are the graves, each measuring between ten and forty (roll 2d8 x 5) feet long, and marked by a headstone. No names are inscribed on the headstones, which range from ornate baroque to crude, almost-paleolithic stone-work, but the occasional epitaph can be seen, usually some variant of "Herein lies a god, forgotten by their people." These gods, though dead, remain particularly jealous, and any attempt by a Cleric to contact another plane, a living deity, or even pray for spells results in a psychic backlash as taunting voices scream insults at the offending caster, dealing 1d4 psychic damage per Cleric level (Wisdom Save DC 18 halves). In an ampitheatre-like construction in the centre of The Graveyard is the Watcher, an unblinking yellow-red eye almost ten feet in diameter, capable of the most terrible psionic magics. Some believe the Watcher uses the forgotten gods as fuel for its psionic powers, but whether or not that is true, most steer clear, as the Watcher is cruel and capricious.
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8Planar Remnants. In ages past, Elven arcanists and scholars of the Prime Material tried to peer beyond their own dimension by building a great gate capable to transporting material and people to and from the Far Realm. Unable to control the wild energies that surged through the gate, most of the arcanists were pulled through to the other side in an instant, the rest driven insane by what they saw. Before the madness could spread beyond the gate's immediate area, one enterprising individual managed to sabotage the gate, forcing it to collapse inward on itself before imploding, pulling in segments of the surrounding buildings and countryside through to the otherside before the way was shut. Floating through the Far Realm, these remnants of the original gate and parts of the arcanists' lodge remain, some of the original knowledge of the gate still contained within. The Elven arcanists, twisted, warped and completely mad by the revelations of the the Far Realm still lurk amongst these remnants, hungry, angry and eager to propogate their horrific new forms.
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