Glimmer Isle

The Glimmer Isle

Mysterious Island Ruin

Location: Gray Waste / Pluton

HEARSAY: Some members of the Seelie Court occasionally visit this far off corner of the Gray Waste, for reasons unknown. The passion of the fey affects even this emotionless plane, mingling with the underlying despair to create an aura of bittersweet melancholy.

DESCRIPTION: Deep in the third gloom of Pluton, as one passes the nightmare graveyard and beholds the bare, dark peak of Hagsend, the fortunate traveller—or as fortunate as one can be in the Waste—may come upon an unassuming forested highland. All the trees there are dead of course, their bark peeling off in great, gray sheets which curl about the twisted roots. The only living things that survive in this desolate place are the swarming clouds of biting midges, and the ubiquitous trailing nightshade vines that twine about the bone-dry timbers.

Once a body enters this eerily quiet wood, they have no hope of finding their way back out. As they wander the labyrinthine paths among the boughs and boulders, they’ll notice a malign watchfulness that permeates the silence. Soon they’ll start to spot shadows moving at the edge of their vision that dart away when focused upon. Doubtless, their growing sense of paranoia will conceal the fact that the Waste’s usual apathy is slowly being replaced by a more passionate kind of hopelessness. If the traveller musters enough ambition to persist in their exploration, they’ll eventually stumble upon a narrow creek, murky but surprisingly unpolluted by the pervasive foulness of the Styx. Following the stream, they might begin to discern a hint of red among the gray that permeates the land, tinting both the poisonous berries that grow on the vines, as well as the itchy rashes left by the biting flies.

The stream soon widens to a gurgling rapid, before finally gushing over a rocky cliff, down into an enormous lake of unearthly still waters a few dozen feet below. The lake stretches for miles, reflecting the steel gray sky above, until it peters out at its edges into shallow pools and mire. These are infested by abortive larvae that chew listlessly on tangles of giant rushes, until they are themselves devoured by one of the warring flocks of diakka that roost among the reeds. If a cutter manages to approach a carcene without being noticed, or attacked by a varath, they can attempt to cut a deal with the avian fiends by exchanging the life of an ally—or a diakka from an opposing flock—for information and goods. The diakka make simple reed rafts and will provide safe passage to the edges of their territory after a decent deal, especially if the cutter seems strong enough to diminish the flock before they go down.

In the centre of the lake lies a large, elongated island. If a traveller makes it this far, they’ll notice that a few pastel colours have somehow saturated this landscape. The near-half of the island is hilly and bare, culminating in a large, crumbling tor. A narrow path winds down the side of this hill to a small cove at its base, allowing for safe harbour. The distant half of the island is covered in weeping fern-trees as it slopes toward a gray, sandy beach on the farthest shore. The leafy undergrowth is pale but noticeably green, while the sky here seems darker, almost black. At times, a dim, moon-like light shines from Cegilune’s distant cave, sweeping across the lake like a searchlight, adding uncharacteristic contrast to this part of the Waste.

In the shadow of the tor, shielded from Celigune’s nosiness, stand the ruins of a once-great granite fortress. Surrounded by boulders that have fallen from above, the citadel is carved out from the largest of these stones. Its entire exterior is plated in beaten copper, and while it has obviously been abandoned for centuries, the keep still retains hints of its original terror and splendour.

Emanating from the stygian bowels of the ruin is an aura of lassitude that spreads over a large portion of the island. The only remaining inhabitants are a group of rat-like nalg that comb the area in a narcoleptic stupor, supposedly searching for something specific. They prefer to flee rather than fight, but if they are ever captured, they will refuse to reveal the target of their search under any circumstances, displaying a psychotic terror at the thought of even greater punishment from some unknown master.

As a body makes his way to the relatively more verdant side of the island, the lethargy is replaced with a feeling of bittersweet longing for all the good things that once were but are no more and all the possibilities missed out on because of loss. While sad, it is a substantial improvement over the apathy and hopelessness that rules without this one small area. Here, among the ferns, one can find a few small joys. Bright red berries, just sweet enough to leave one dreaming of sweeter fruit, grow in hidden clumps. Mushroom rings are common, smelling faintly of rain soaked earth. The fey folk of the Seelie Court come here on rare occasion for reasons known only to themselves. Some say they make forays into the ruins, seeking the same thing that the nalg are after, while others believe that they are simply trying to bring a bit of happiness to the most dismal of places. Either way, if a traveller is lucky enough to encounter them, the fey will happily guide then to the nearest way out of the Waste. A dance about the fairy rings will open the hidden portal to Ysgard and to salvation.

SPECIAL FEATURES: Aside from the fiends and the fey, the region’s fauna is relatively primitive. Sparse patches of spectral dog cockles, an inedibly tough sort of freshwater bivalve, grow among the shallows. They have been known to produce rare baroque pearls of shimmering gray, but finding such a treasure is depressingly unlikely. A breed of large silver trout float around the island. They’re edible, if somewhat bland to the taste, but can only be caught with a net, since they do not have the motivation to stay awake for any length of time—much less go after a baited hook. The lake water is not clean by any stretch of the imagination, but it does not have the forgetful influence of the Styx and is thus safe to drink if thoroughly filtered and boiled.

The diakka have learned to stay away from the fairy hosts when they visit, but they do occasionally row out to the island to chase stray nalg, vandalize the ruins, and otherwise act like total rotters. Only the nalg have gone far inside the copper fortress and survived, and they’ve never revealed what they’ve seen there. Some of the braver and more foolish mortal explorers (read: Sensates) have gone past the entrance hall and reported seeing small winged shadows so dark as to resemble a tear in space, like a sphere of annihilation given fiendish shape. Not even these adventurers, however, have stuck around to interact with the mysterious apparitions, and their nature remains a mystery.

The fey folk are most often encountered with the moonlight, dancing on the beach and singing in its direction until it passes. They also seem particularly interested in the umbral creatures, and any report thereof will be met with an uncharacteristically serious response within the fairy ranks. Scouts will be deployed as the informant is ushered to the nearest portal ring. Although they seem frivolous at first glance, as most fairy folk do, the fey here have a pressing purpose and understand the dangers that surround them.

Canonical Sources: Dragon Magazine #086 p20 (nalg, a NE familiar from the Gray Waste)

Source: Iavas