Fumarole Fields

Tucked between the vast silence of the Barrenstride Plains and the windswept openness of the Windwhisper Steppes lies a land that feels as though the earth itself exhales—the Fumarole Fields. This strange and shifting landscape is marked by vents, geysers, and bubbling springs, where steam curls from hidden fissures and the air is heavy with the scent of minerals and heat.   The ground here is uneven, cracked, and colored in strange hues—rust red, golden yellow, pale green—stained by the slow work of the mineral-rich waters that rise from the deep. Some pools shimmer with unnatural clarity; others boil or hiss with trapped pressure. The very soil breathes. Travelers speak of the sound of the world beneath, sighing and groaning like an ancient beast.   Most avoid the Fields entirely. The heat can be unbearable in summer, and some geysers erupt without warning. Yet this land is far from lifeless. Sulfur is found here in abundance, scraped from crusted banks or collected in powdered form near fumarole vents. Caravans from the east and south make cautious visits to collect it, braving the noxious air and unstable terrain under guild supervision.   More valued still are the rare alchemical herbs that grow only in the margins of the Fields—plants that thrive in hot, mineral-saturated soil, surviving where few others can. Their properties are often misunderstood or fiercely guarded. Certain blooms only open at night. Others shimmer faintly in the steam. A few can heal; others, kill. All are sought by alchemists, physicians, and poisoners alike.   The Ambergleam River, famed for its golden hue, draws its name and character from this place. It flows out from the southern rim of the Fumarole Fields, its waters tinged amber by dissolved minerals. While safe to drink further downstream, the river near its source is considered dangerous and often avoided by herders or foragers.   No cities have ever been founded here. Only a handful of temporary camps dot the landscape—those of sulfur collectors, herb scouts, or researchers willing to risk short stays for high reward. Some say the land shifts slowly underfoot, as if it remembers being molten.   The Fumarole Fields are not friendly. But they are alive—and what they give, they give reluctantly, and only to those who walk lightly and breathe carefully.

“If it hisses louder than you breathe, walk the other way.”

— Darn Veklo, sulfur collector