“They say that fortune favors the bold, but that’s a lie told to the stupid and the drunk so they might throw their lives away on a distant hope of getting their filthy hands on a speck of hell iron. Truth is, fortune comes or goes with a single choice: heads or tails. But here, at least that choice is yours to make. Welcome to Chernabos! And whiskey’s half-price for the next thirty minutes.”
- Ol’ Mister Scratch -
Fiery wind howls above Chernabos (CHURR‑nuh‑bohs) and casts a strange reddish glow across its scorched wastelands and deserts dotted with ashen, skeletal remains. It is a land of extremes: blistering heat, relentless drought, and violent eruptions and earthquakes, all laced with the promise of wealth beyond one’s wildest dreams. Beneath fiendish volcanic peaks that belch forth ash and the ashborn that thrive in the province, rich veins of gold and—even more valuable—hell iron ore draw treasure hunters, opportunists, and the truly desperate from far and wide to seek their destiny here.
There is no law in Chernabos, save for what its people get away with or enforce, whether it be through their might, guile, or luck. If all of this wasn’t enough, every inch of the province is tethered to the otherworldly realms of the devils, so sin itself suffuses the land, air, animals, and people of this harsh land with one clear ruling vice: greed. No matter how the dice fall, Chernabos is one hell of a place to make one’s fortune.