Site: The Glimmer Isle

Here is a site I came up with for the Gray Waste. It is loosely inspired by a famous poem... I'll let you guess which one. References to many things abound, though they will probably only make sense to my currently fragmented mind. Anyway, I hope it adds some life to the Darkest Gray project. Tell me what you think.

Edit: Huh.. I can't seem to add indents. Sorry that it doesn't look pretty.
Edit2: This has been accepted as an article on Planewalker. It looks prettier there.

HEARSAY. Some members of the Seelie Court occasionally visit this far off corner of the Gray Waste for reasons unknown. The passion of the fey affects even this emotionless plane, mingling with the underlying despair to create an area of bittersweet melancholy.

DESCRIPTION. Deep in the third gloom of Pluton, as one passes the nightmare graveyard and beholds the bare, dark peak of Hagsend, the fortunate traveler, or as fortunate as one can be in the Waste, may come upon an unassuming forested highland. All the trees there are dead, their bark peeling in great, gray sheets to curl about their twisted roots. The only living things that survive in this desolate place are the occasional clouds of biting midges and the ubiquitous trailing nightshade vines that twine about the bone-dry timbers.
Once a body enters this eerily quiet wood, he has no hope of finding a way back out. As he wanders the labyrinthine paths among the boughs and boulders, he will notice a malign watchfulness permeating the silence. Soon he will see shadows from the corner of his eyes that dart away when focused upon. The growing sense of paranoia, however, conceals the fact that the Waste’s usual apathy is slowly being replaced by more passionate hopelessness. If the traveler has enough ambition to persist, he will eventually stumble upon a narrow stream, murky but surprisingly unpolluted by the pervasive foulness of the Styx. Following the stream, he might discern a hint of red among the usual gray that permeates the land, tinting the poisonous berries growing on the vines as well as his own itchy rashes left by the flies.
The stream soon widens to a gurgling rapid until it finally gushes over a rocky cliff, which dips steeply into an enormous lake a few dozen feet below. The lake spans for miles, reflecting the dull gray of the sky above, until it peters out at its edges into shallow pools and mires. These are infested by abortive larvae that chew listlessly on tangles of giant rushes until they are themselves devoured by one of the warring flocks of diakka roosting among the reeds. If one manages to approach a carcene without being noticed and inevitably attacked by the varath, he can attempt to deal with the fiend by exchanging the life of an ally or a diakka from the opposing flock for information and goods. The diakka make simple reed rafts and will provide safe passage to the edges of their territory after a decent deal, especially if the dealer seems strong enough to severely diminish the flock before going down.
In the center of the lake lies a large, elongated island. If a traveler makes it this far, he will notice that a few pastel colors saturate the landscape. The nearest half of the island is hilly and bare, culminating in a large crumbling tor. A narrow path winds down the side of this hill to a small cove at the base, allowing for safe harbor. The other half of the island is covered in weeping fern trees as it slopes toward a gray, sandy beach on the farthest shore. The leafy undergrowth is pale but noticeably green while the sky here seems darker, almost black. At times, a dim, moonlike light shines from Cegilune’s distant cave, glossing over the area like a searchlight, but mostly, the island remains uncharacteristically dark for a part of the Waste.
In the shadow of the tor, protected from any seeking moonlight, stand the ruins of a once great granite fortress. Surrounded by boulders that have fallen from above, the citadel is carved from the largest of these stones. It’s entire exterior is plated in beaten copper, and while it has obviously been abandoned for centuries, it still retains hints of its original terror and splendor. Emanating from the stygian bowels of the ruin is an aura of lassitude that spreads over a good portion of the island. The only remaining inhabitants are a group of rat-like nalg that comb the rea in a narcoleptic stupor, supposedly searching for something specific. They prefer to flee rather than fight, but will not reveal the target of their search under any circumstances, displaying a psychotic terror at the thought of even greater punishment from some unknown master.
As one makes his way to the relatively more verdant side of the island, the lethargy is replaced with a feeling of bittersweet longing for all the good things that once were but are no more and all the possibilities missed out on because of loss. While sad, it is a substantial improvement over the apathy and hopelessness that rules without this one small area. Here, among the ferns, one can find a few small joys. Bright red berries, just sweet enough to leave one dreaming of sweeter fruit, grow in hidden clumps. Mushroom rings are common, smelling faintly of rain soaked earth. The fey folk of the Seelie Court come here on rare occasion for reasons known only to themselves. Some say they make forays into the ruins, seeking the same thing that the nalg are after, while others believe that they are simply trying to bring a bit of happiness to the most dismal of places. Either way, if a traveler is lucky enough to encounter them, they will happily guide him to the nearest way out. A dance about the fairy rings will open the hidden portal to Ysgard and to salvation.

SPECIAL FEATURES. Aside from the fiends and the fey, the region’s fauna is relatively primitive. Sparse patches of spectral dog cockles, an inedibly tough sort of freshwater bivalve, grow among the shallows. They have been known to produce rare baroque pearls of shimmering gray, but finding such a treasure is depressingly unlikely. A breed of large silver trout float around the island. They are edible, if somewhat bland to the taste, but can only be caught with a net, since they do not have the motivation to stay awake for any length of time, much less go after a baited hook. The lake water is not clean by any stretch of the imagination, but it does not have the forgetful influence of the Styx and is thus safe to drink if thoroughly filtered and boiled.
The diakka have learned to stay away from the fairy hosts when they visit, but they do occasionally row out to the island to chase stray nalg, vandalize the ruins, and otherwise act like total rotters. Only the nalg have gone far inside the copper fortress and survived, and they never reveal what they see there. Some of the braver and more foolish mortal explorers (read: Sensates) have gone past the entrance hall and reported seeing small winged shadows so dark that they appear as a tear in space, as if a sphere of annihilation were given fiendish shape. Not even these adventurers, however, have stuck around to interact with the mysterious apparitions.
The fey folk are most often encountered with the moonlight, dancing on the beach and singing in its direction until it passes. They also seem particularly interested in the umbral creatures, and any report thereof will be met with an uncharacteristically serious response within the fairy ranks. Scouts will be deployed as the informant is ushered to the nearest portal ring. Although they seem frivolous at first glance, as most fairy folk do, the fey here have a pressing purpose and understand the dangers that surround them.