Lands of Beramonia

No illusions here; the Emberlands want you gone. Heat rises in waves, thick with threat, and the hills glow with minefires like angry constellations. The gems burn hot enough to melt your gear, if the wild forges or roaming warbands don’t get to you first. The Loom threads thin and violent here, erupting in gemlight and fury. They say the land remembers names, resents them even, blaming old ambition for its molten heart.

Bero, the Chronicler:

“You can spot the newcomers by how fast they catch on fire. Stick around long enough, and your very plans start feeding the monsters. Worth it, though.”