High upon the wind-swept cliffs of the Storval Plateau lies Bolt Rock, a jagged outcropping marked by strange, spiraling patterns carved into the earth. The locals claim these symbols were burned into the stone by lightning itself — the divine touch of a storm god, or perhaps the wrath of something older.
Two enormous trenches divide the plateau, forming natural paths that converge upon a narrow pass. The air smells faintly of ozone, and even on clear days, thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. Ancient cairns and scattered stones hint at rituals long forgotten — sacrifices or offerings to appease the sky’s fury.
Those who linger too long say they feel the hairs rise on their arms and the pulse of energy beneath the ground — a storm waiting to be born.
Flameford
Nestled at the edge of the Cinderlands, Flameford is a nomadic settlement of brightly colored tents and smoke-filled fire pits. The air hums with life — laughter, trade, and the rhythmic chants of the Shoanti tribes who call this place home. A massive central bonfire burns day and night, its flames said to represent the spirit of the people: unbroken, ever-burning, and proud.
Though peaceful at first glance, the ground bears the weight of ceremony and blood. The tribes gather here to forge alliances, settle disputes, and test their strength in ritual combat. The half-built wooden structure at the camp’s edge hints at preparations for a greater event — a meeting of chiefs, or perhaps the rekindling of an ancient oath.
For outsiders, Flameford is both a welcome and a warning — a place where the line between hospitality and challenge is as thin as smoke in the wind.
