Read the full region info from GM TheLoneCrusade.

The Grand Cleft is a long natural channel in Jaia’s southeastern coastline, where sheer sea cliffs rise like ramparts on either side. At its eastern mouth, where the channel meets the Sea of All and Naught, rocky islets and sea spires jut from the waves. In the thriving ages before the Doomful War, ships would avoid the Grand Cleft at all costs. Navigating the Rocks is deadly perilous, not only due to the environmental hazards, but a legendary beast is said to dwell in the final, narrowest passage.

During the War of Three Dooms, the city of Spireguard adorned the northern facing cliffs of the Great Cleft, a marvelous bridge of incredible construction linking the island and the mainland. Early into the conflict, however, Albali-Kath’s eastern neighbor, Chokra-Kath, deemed it acceptable to use the city as a testing ground for one of their allabons. The intended effect was to bring decay, to wither living creatures, devastate crops, and turn livestock to bones and dust. What happened, instead, was that the very fabric of time in The Grand Cleft was torn asunder for a few horrifying days. The inhabitants aged years in a matter of minutes. Families turned to dust and bone, crops turned to sand, and every living thing aged as though by centuries in a matter of days. Even the buildings and stones crumbled as though with aeons. By the time the effect ended, all that remained was dust and bone.

The aftermath of this first allabon, named in retrospect Hourglass of Doom, is a land a hundred years older than its neighbors. Some ruins still stand, but they are scarce. No one on the surface survived the spell, and only those far beneath the earth escaped its effects. The surface dwellers who now live there are descendants of those who migrated into the land from the neighboring regions, wrongly hoping that The Great Cleft was not as badly affected by the allabons. Yet, amongst all this doom, there was something else. Something… eldritch. The allabon awoke something in the waters, aged it to maturity, and gave it strength beyond its years. The natives call it “Akmun Clyeth” - The Thing That Eats. Its hunger brings the tide. Its temper brings the storms. And its cries bring madness to all who hear it.

Deadman’s Grasp

This makeshift settlement is located just inland of the eastern coast of the Great Cleft. Only a scarce few standing structures mark it as anything more than a pile of driftwood, and the people who live there agree. Most newcomers don’t last long, either dying to the land, leaving in hopes of finding somewhere better only to die alone in the waste, or losing themselves entirely to madness. But those who remain are sturdy. There is no fire in their eyes but there’s an indomitable grit in their gut that lets them weather the storms and fight out a brutal existence when everything around them wants nothing more than to see them dead.

Camp of the Red Tentacle

This nomadic camp rarely stays in one place long, but does not hide itself from other natives. Named after the appendages of the octopus, renowned for its flexibility, strength, and intelligence, this tribe models itself after those ideals. They adapt readily, pose a strength unexpected for their size and construction, and act with wisdom and cunning. They are fair but generous to natives and outsiders alike, but offer preference to their own before taking concern for those of foreign blood.