cross a sulfur-yellow skyline, a lightning bolt strikes a black, bubbling pools. It is nearly out of sight, just below
the horizon.
A few yards from the pools, there grew a short, irradiated shrub, and though it seemed to be living in the otherwise toxic environment, nothing else did. These were the Badlands, were even Greens dared not tread. The air was a miasma of burning fumes that seemed to grip one's throat from the inside, seeping out of sable pools of nuclear waste that dotted the Earth like tiny wounds. One of the pools of toxic waste, the darker and farther of the two, began to bubble with an aggressive vigor, as if something thrashed about under the surface. The ground shook for a moment. A tiny red arm peeked out of a hole in the ground some fifty yards away, closing a hatch that had been hidden by debris. Whatever was attached to that arm realized something horrible had happened. Thunder boomed, and the sulfur yellow sky began to slowly change to a darker copper color. Before long, a shower of acid rain had picked up, hitting the ground and evaporating instantaneously into steam. The pool bubbled once again, thrashing worse than it had before. Without warning, an oily black creature erupted from the pool. It twisted about in the air like a fish pulled out of the water, thrashing against the irradiated muck it found itself in, and shrieking a most horrible shriek. It pulled itself to the edge of its toxic pool and lifted itself out with two great, long arms that reached out of the blackness like a spider.
The Badlands were otherwise quiet, with a soft backdrop of acid rain against the poisoned desert. The creature's pained shrieking pierced through this -- It did not sound like any animal. It did not sound like a beastfolk, or a green, or any thing. It was an otherworldly sound, only half-comparable to a hundred rusty hinges swinging at once, or perhaps a troupe of howler monkeys dropped into boiling water. It was truly the worst noise anyone could have ever heard, if anybody had dared venture out onto such an irradiated surface. The creature's screeching began to subside, fading lower and lower into a growl. It shook itself for a moment, flinging toxic waste off of itself, standing still for the acid rain to wash away the remnants of its recent birth from Terra. It opened two yellow eyes and surveyed the landscape.
"Excellent."
The Badlands were otherwise quiet, with a soft backdrop of acid rain against the poisoned desert. The creature's pained shrieking pierced through this -- It did not sound like any animal. It did not sound like a beastfolk, or a green, or any thing. It was an otherworldly sound, only half-comparable to a hundred rusty hinges swinging at once, or perhaps a troupe of howler monkeys dropped into boiling water. It was truly the worst noise anyone could have ever heard, if anybody had dared venture out onto such an irradiated surface. The creature's screeching began to subside, fading lower and lower into a growl. It shook itself for a moment, flinging toxic waste off of itself, standing still for the acid rain to wash away the remnants of its recent birth from Terra. It opened two yellow eyes and surveyed the landscape.
"Excellent."
The Badlands
It is currently halfway through the wet months, though it has not been an especially fruitful season. Usable rain has been overshadowed by the year's strong prevalence of acid rain showers, the shelter they necessitate, the crops they destroy, and the water they pollute. Needless to say, things have been bad in the Badlands. The tensions caused by the acid rainfall has brought a rise in the number of bandits, be they water thieves on the highway, legions of well-armed fighters taking over isolated towns, or simple spree killers. With this rise in crime, there have been many well-intentioned Goodlanders poking about, seeking adventure and a chance to make the planet -- though, the parts they do not see -- a little better.
The Goodlands
Autumn is ending, and with it comes the Great Harvest Festival within the human city Edenhold. Because this year's harvest has been especially bountiful, the city's mayor has extended invitations to peaceable Goodlanders by way of a message on the tailfeathers of his Dire-Eagle, displayed in the sky. Aside from the usual festive activities you're skimming through to look for -- vendors, games, and music -- there is a warrior's tourney with a sizable, mysterious prize being offered.
riggs closed his journal and quickly rappeled down the vine he had used to climb up in the first place. 
