The Peyonette Slide

The bare lands notably wind to a set of braided trails, wide at times as a manse and perhaps as deep as a finger. Among them often are the black craggy shapes of abandoned vehicles, and a lone massive flag flaps from a high turret reaching towards the sky. The silt-salt sea could be simply dropped into here, as if this were well and truly the end of the world.
Deeper: 
An estuary. What was once the great river Char spread its thin hands into the sea and now in the wash of what once was, it is a graveyard of vessels.
Flies mark the border. No mountains circle the region and no holes dot it and no city has been groomed from its coarse, basalt rich soils. Flies first, then quiet eddies of sulfuric release, and where the abandoned carts and crashed skiffs and the single tremendous post of the Pearl Bruckheim, shoots her topsail from beneath the sand, wasps.
Ground wasps, flies, sulfur. The region is chock full of pell-bottom chickens who flourish, featherless and flightless, eating what insects exceed the boundary of the rancid shock of land.
The Pearl Bruckheim is a four-thousand year old crash of the largest effort at re-civilization elsewhere in Corrhéic history, a city boat that was sunk here in the young silt-salt seas wildest tantrum, The Howling Years.
Wasp nests wrap its great bulk and penetrate at points to provide entrance to the site of the tragedy.
1 in d4 chance that an adventuring party, The Doe Piri, are midway through pulling down the priceless sail at the mast's end have annoyed a Breaker of Stone.
1 on a d12 chance that passing across the flatland begins the active desiccation of the body, starting at the orifices. 1d6+4 bodies can be found in the state of being actively inhabited by the regions drying spirits, the helbore, newt-shaped creatures of the silt-salt sea who move at uncanny speeds over short distances, lurking in depressions that seem solid but which are in fact shallow pools of the sea itself.
It is perpetually visible except in sand storms, as with many coastal regions, but rarely is the sea so easy to slip into as the Peyonette. Average shiphands and veteran playa-walkers both mark the sight of the Pearl Bruckheim's 10' thick mast, 30' of flapping wince-trap sail as impervious as ever and know well not to land anywhere near the tortured landscape.
1 on a d6 chance the Last Resurrectionist has brought a small caravan to visit 'for tourist purposes' as the sight of the once-mighty government ship completely entombed is as monumental a sight as nature provides.
Generically, it is ill-advised to make passage across the drying estuary, but especially for raze hunters and scavengers, the access and ease can often be impossible to ignore. Too, rot-struck denizens of the country are often pointed to the wash for purification, especially if their skins have become swampy.
And enough have returned happy to suggest there's something to the detail.

Details on The Pearl Bruckheim on p. XX.