“Where the roads lead
Where the roads end
There is naught to be found
At Ruvergne’s end”

~ Anonymous wanderer

Once a bustling hub of trade some centuries past, Ruvergne is but a shadow of it’s former glory. With the fall of the Rhoan Dynasty, roads west to the rest of the empire were all but cut off. Without the flow of trade and gold to sustain it, much of the region has fallen into ruin, and it’s denizens into poverty. It is now a desolate place, where the encroaching sands slowly claim what is left of it’s once prosperous cities.

Some still make their homes in the ruins that speckle the region. Some even by choice. There are those who have lived their entire lives there, either due to a lack of means to leave, or due to plain stubbornness to abandon their ancestral homes. There are bandits, thieves and other ne’er-do’wells who use it as a haven, safe from prying eyes. There are others still who just want to escape something, to leave their lives behind, and be forgotten in the sand and dust.

What little farmland that was to be had in the height of the empire has long since been claimed by the sands, and with no food flowing through the trade routes, food became one of the most prized commodities in the region. Most people survive through foraging, hunting, or by stealing what they need.

The notable exception would be those ostensibly in power, the gangs and other criminal organizations, who have the muscle and coin to bring food from other areas, either legally or illegally. They are the only form of authority, each trying to carve out their own slice of the world. For many inhabitants, they are a blight. But for a lucky few, they can be a way out.

The Hive

It was once a large city, built high and wide at the base of a massive stone mesa, perfect to shelter it from the relentless winds coming off the vast desert. It was the last stop before traversing the sand to the old world, and the first bastion of civilization when arriving in the new one. Since those days, the desert has been slowly closing around the city as the sand flows around the mesa, choking it, and forcing it’s inhabitants to move inwards and upwards, building ever higher against their stone protector.

The city is dense and complex, the product of desperate necessity rather than careful planning. A place where windows were doorways, rope ladders were stairwells, and precarious boards were walkways. From a distance, it resembles more of an insect hive than a city, hence it’s name.



Thesta: An Heir Denied Mechayahiko Poxworm