If a traveller from Fuk'Mar decides to travel north to explore the wilds, they may stumble across an eerie site.
Through thickening mists, they may stumble upon the 'City of Shards'.
When observed from a distance, it appears like shards of stone piercing into the sky, each shard consisting of buildings styled from cultures the world over.
When walking its many narrow winding streets, and crack-riddled alleys, they will observe dwarven masonry standing solid and immovable next to buildings decorated with the scrimshaw bone of the Yeti, or the stylized structures of Elves and Trolls.
Most who find this place leave without seeing another soul, and any memory of finding the city or the path there fuzzy and distorted, like some half-forgotten dream.
Sometimes however, an adventurer or avid explorer will return from those mists wounded and babbling.
They would tell anyone who asked of the bubbling ooze leaking through cracks in the walls and floors that coalesced into reaching hands, gaping mouths and smooth, empty faces. They will babble, attempting to describe a haunting chorus of hundreds of voices all attempting to reach out to his own. All desperate to share, some hungry for what the speaker may know.
The ooze would grow into strange, not-quite figures. Some would take up tools and engage in strange craftwork. Some would emerge from windows, doorways, and stalls, as if silently beckoning them to browse, to stay, and listen.
"You will weep" the speaker will say, "for the hundreds of voices pressing into your mind mean you no harm, but the weight of them will begin to drown you".
"They have each been alone for so very long, and now they can sing their silent song, and speak of things long gone. Things consumed, devoured, and remembered".