A great plains area that goes from the frozen tundra, to the tropics.

Since it goes across many maps, I’ll post that later.

This where I placed B2, the TSR adventure Caves of Chaos, for my home players.

The north western edge of this island. Remember, North is at the bottom of the map.

Grelsh Swamp. Where the evil ones who ship wrecked live. The villages in the swamp are up on stilts.

Map is 20 miles wide by 20 miles tall. Each square is 2 miles by 2 miles.

Where it was located, no one knows.

From time to time, someone will tell of it, while eating and drinking in a Inn somewhere. Oh, they haven’t seen it, but have heard the story.

Unusually, the story doesn’t change as typical legends get embellished and changed over time.

The name of the city that built it is lost, but the fountain did exist at one time. Long ago.

Some claim to have seen it, somewhere.

It is surrounded by ruins and sand. Yet, the fountain still works. Water splashing about, across the statues, spraying upward from the fishs’ mouths.

Some say the sand covers it from time to time. Then some one, or a group, cleans it off so the water can splash once more.

Some say it is just a story, but elves claim to have seen it, before humans arrived on Crestar.

But even they don’t remember where it could be.

No travelers nor merchants have maps to its location. Maps that are found to have it marked on their surfaces, show paths and roads to it that do not exist. And name nations that none have heard of.

Yet. There will be, from time to time, people who say they have seen it. Splashing across itself in the sunset. Or framed by a rainbow. Mountains in the distance, sand nearby. Or mountains and hills surrounding it, protecting it from distant sands.

Such stories come about it that don’t match the original legend.

These stories last for a few months, maybe a year, then the story teller says they were mistaken, they weren’t talking about The Forever Fountain.

If pressed, they will mention their dreams were haunted by the sounds of a weeping fountain…

Most change the subject, and tell the one story about it most everyone has heard.

For a few months or years, no one will tell the story of that fountain.

Then at some outpost, out near a great nothingness, the Wildlands, or the Empty Lands, a traveler will stop for the night. A look of wonder on their face. Then they will breathlessly ask someone nearby, if they have heard, of a most wonderful fountain ?

So some say, it is still out there, off the beaten track, splashing water about forever more.

Old: 500 to 900 years ago (Age 10 year 500 up to Age 11 Year 1)

About this time a nation of various peoples; human, elf, and half-elf; formed between the Outer Ocean and the Mountains of Blissful Silence, called Licieria. They are called the Mountains of Death in these darker days.

Its lineage was short, its hopes long. The Last Queen died in battle against the lich-inspired hordes that came boiling out of Khzol Pass in the Mountains of Death. The common folk and weaker armies fleeing in the time bought them as that battle raged. Thousands of warriors and common folk died in that battle, which raged for days uncounted. Survival being more important than the mere counting of days.

Dragons, some say they were charmed, took part on the Final Day of Death. The forests caught fire. Some legends claim the very rocks boiled and melted. Burning evil orcs and good humans alike. Then the ghouls, skeletons, and ghasts rose out of the rubble and marched on the few remaining Good Peoples left. A scrap of cloth, or a necklace, or favored toy, in the arms and on the skeletons of the Undead, showing the living that the evil had taken their own loved ones and was using them to attack all whom held to the Light.

Clerics that tried to turn even the lowly skeletons, learned to their swift regret, that clerical ability had no affect on them. And after being savagely rent apart, they were put back together either by the hands of the Undead or by Magic, then they joined the Evil Hordes.

At the Final Hour of Doom, when the last of the Good were upon the Outer Ocean’s shores in what is now Dank Forest, their backs to the sea, and no ships to save them, a soft green cloud appeared from out on The Outer Ocean. Strong evil could not stand before it. It left green foliage behind it, a few graves, and those still living good were healed of all physical hurt. It consumed a number of evil dragons, their bones forming large mounds of debris, then they turned to dust and fertilized the soil.

The Good forces and peoples slowly returned westward. True, they had to fight the lower forms of Undead and various were-creatures that tried to relocate here in the power vacuum that was left, but there has been no outpouring of Hordes of Undead since. And the clerical abilities used to combat Undead and other evils had returned. Some say that evil came because of what one group or another did or did not do things another group desired them to live up to. But the sages feel this is a strange claim wrought of the death and destruction and give it no credence.

Humans, elves, and half-elves slowly journeyed back into this region, south of the Sea of Ghanuu. To make home and cities, and restore, somewhat, the days of Past Glory. A few halflings, dwarves, and the peoples that would become the Nomads arrived here as well. Whence the Nomads came from is unknown. They wore clothes of various hues not common to anyone’s sight before this. It is rumored that they came through a Gate. Such things being plentiful in days gone by. There are still some Gates found to this day, to trap the unwary or to send them aged back to their home lands. More peoples, hearing of open lands, arrived as the years went by. Some small families traveling with merchants, others with small groups of adventurers, even small hamlets of folks; arrived over the years seeking changes in life and liberties. Some were disappointed and left or vanished, but many more stayed here living new lives.