The Rules:

1. The game starts with the following post. If you want to play, put me on your ignore list after you read this post.

2. The agreed upon topic is "fantasy settings" (specifcially, designing one).

3. Each post shall consist of one paragraph -- no more, no less.

4. This game shall consist of ten posts per player.

If you have no idea what this is, check out the "Exquisite Corpse (via IL)" thread in the Off-Topic forum. It comes complete with links and shtuff.

[Edit: While typing my post below, it occurred to me that the broad scope of the game may cause problems, as opposed to a true EC output. I may be wrong. We'll play this game out and see. Afterwards, we'll make adjustments as necessary (e.g., tighter topical focus, etc) for future games.]

Cloaked in shadows, the forgotten fortress city of Stronghold is nestled high in the Valley of the Seven Falls, overlooking the windswept Plains of Theor that extend far to the East.

The elves of this world have a unique history of achievement, progress and artistic grandeur.  This has earned them a reputation for excellence...and a kind of cultural neurosis, as they now feel as though they must be excellent at everything, all the time.  As such, individuals become very driven and self-critical, and groups are very judgmental: for instance, an architect asked to design a manor house for a noble will place upon himself great responsibility for crafting a very elven yet uniquely memorable structure, while the noble and his household will be scrutinizing him at every stage in the project -- and constantly questioning whether they should help, or get out of his way, or even if he was the right choice to begin with.  Stress-related illnesses are common.

The mosquitos hang over the Bahgram Fens not unlike the fog that hangs over distant Falcon to the West. Here, hidden amongst the tangled trees of ancient time, lies the long forgotten city of Barishan, City of Judgement and its library of laws. Here lies evil.

Dwarven culture centers around an immutable concept: Respect.  Every dwarven interaction is about showing, and receiving, respect.  They are unfailingly polite at all turns, and the reason is simple -- every dwarven child grows up knowing that impolite, disrespectful people are liable to get their clocks cleaned.  They extend this assumption and treatment to other races, believing that any other truly civilized culture either knows or will figure out that civility is preferable to getting a fist in the face, and thus assume that elves and humans and halflings and such will also be well-spoken and polite.  Orcs, however, are recognized not as a race but as a curse (the detritus left over from the death of a Filth God) and are not expected to attempt civility; in fact, it's best to just cut to the chase and whack an orc before it says something about your mom.

The small port city of Falcon is home to the famed Black Market, under the control of "Baron" Zapinski who resides in his fortified manor on nearby Pulpit Rock. The "Baron" has what you're looking for, but the price will be steep.

The gods of this world, having been created alongside humanity and all the rest when Gauldus struck the strings of his lyre, do not truly understand the people they are meant to rule.  The appetites and strivings of mortals are curious to them, and they often walk the earth among their charges, seeking insights into human (or elvish, or goblinish) nature.  Being immortal and amoral, the gods' actions when on earth are perceived to be almost childish and petulant.  As a result, mortals regard their gods with a kind of contempt, though they do their best not to anger them; even if the gods are childish in nature, they wield great power.

The monkish cult that has claimed the windy Yolinn Heights as their own are devoted to finding evidence the Music of Gauldus in the world; they believe enlightenment is achieved by hearing His theme and aligning themselves as best they can with the vibrations from the strings of his lyre.  One member of this order claims to hear Gauldus' theme in the wind.  Every morning, he is to be found atop the highest tower of the order's abbey, holding a trumpet-like seashell aloft; it catches the wind and plays longing melodies that can be heard in the valleys for miles around.

The Whitewater River flows from the Valley of the Seven Falls, winding its way across the Plains of Theor, not unlike a giant snake. It is here, along this river that the major cities of the region are located, including the famed inland trade hub of Evorgrath, which houses the bulk of the land's grain silos.

[Note: I'm doubling up on turns, as I'll be too busy to post later today.]

Marked on the horizon by plumes of flame and smoke far to the North, the industrial city state of Stahlfel is a vile place, simultaneously serving as a massive mining complex and commercial prison. While it boasts a great many clockwork wonders, the city state is only frequented by those who seek to purchase a large quantity of star metal or offload a large quantity of law breakers.

No single place on the map is as storied and feared as Castle Rytham-in-the-Clouds, an ages-old place of black stone and leaning turrets built high in the Brooding Mountains.  Its legend is as vast as its truths are unknown.  Hundreds of things are said of it: it is the hiding place of the ancient Ythrak treasure hoard; it is the lair of the dragon Omroth; it is haunted by the ghost of its last mistress, Queen Anna the Mad; it passes from this world to others for one week a year and returns from its journey filled with horrors and wonders from beyond; it is enchanted and can bring a man his greatest pleasures; it is a bridge across worlds.  Its location makes it nearly inaccessible, however, and so these tales are unsubstantiated; if only someone were to reach it and come back with the truth...

Amid the the jungles and volcanic rifts far south, beyond the ken of what most consider the civilized world, are the lands of the snake-men, known to the humans of that region as the Matahit (ma-TAH-heet), the slithering folk.  Their cities are comprised of needle-like towers of obsidian.  The Matahit enslave the humans in the surrounding lands, using them as laborers and beasts of burden.  They consider steps and right angles to be aesthetically abhorrent.

"When clouds of iron gather nigh, blackening the Winter sky,
Storms gather fury from the lake, best hurry home and refuge take.
Soon the worst will come to pass, and ice will turn the roads to glass,
While in the north the beast awakens, from his year long slumber taken.
His hollow howl the fury of the gales, a deadly curse that rarely fails,
To send your wagons into flight, through blizzard's curtain blinding white,
See the riding skills you lack with the -- flight of the Skajaquada!"
-- Grun Gelle, Metal Bard

[Note: Okay, so it's not at all original -- but I've wanted to do that for years! And, yes, I found time to post.]

(Crap, realizes that he didn't tell Dr. Rotwang to IL him...I swear I posted that!  Dr., you're on my IL right now for the game.  I'm sorry if I screwed things up. )

For the past 25 years, the halfling village of Lavis was ruled by the cruel wizard Wolmon.  The people of the village, with the help of a brave band of heroes, overthrew their cruel lord.  Sifting through the remains of Wolon's tower after his downfall, the halfling farmer Dwendil found a wand that allowed him to change things - people, animals, objects - into other things.  With this wand, he has now become lord of Lavis himself, threatening to turn any who dare disagree with him into mice.  He is guarded at all times by three great wolves, his old tired hounds rejuvinated by the powers of the wand.  Dwendil calls himself a wizard and demands the respect of all who pass.

The Kingdom of Gorgonfell, mighty and golden-spired, has its eye once again on The Dark Forest, that shadowed woodland where the faeries lair.  Every generation of kings from Gorgonfell has it in his heart to make Lady Oava Killiansty his Queen -- oh, the eternal beauty of her, her grace, her charm!  Thus are soldiers and adventurers ever testing fate and the whims of the Fae to enter that gloomy kingdom, and bring back Oava's hand for their King.

They always come back...changed.