THUS, THE ABBERATION

Upon the horizon burned an abberation
brighter than suns beheld by mortal eyes.

All the world heard the dismal song
Made when a fair Godlyn dies.

Geography

Abberation.
Two hundred miles of blackcharred and crackling plain, stretching between the westmost border of Limneas to the eastmost border of Tol Garan. Here is forbidden power. The sun burns down upon cracked sands with no mercy, for there can be no mercy given to those who struck down a Godlyn with their atomic hubris.
Desolation.
The city-states of Tol Garan paint a brutal picture of the Abberation. To them, and their Glimtek advancements, Abberation is anethema. Crag-broken ground gives way under feet which march uncaring of cause or consequence. No natural life exists in Abberation. It is a dead zone in the utmost. Advancing into Limneas brings you to the Abberant Reach, a strange, time-twisting pocket of the world tucked into mountains that border Abberation itself. The citizens there cannot ever leave.

Ecosystem Cycles

Whatever is made here lives through tenacity and force of will alone, and doesn't live for long. There can be nothing long-lived within the Abberation itself.
The air is hot, and sears the lungs. Cracks the lips. In cold seasons, the wasteland is instead unbearably cold. There is no wind. There is simply a heavy pressure, ice air.

Localized Phenomena

Any individual crossing into Aberration while wearing Glimtek or any variety of non-biotech equipment will be ripped asunder by the force of old, clawing rage.
When the Godlyn Alma Hraul died in the first -- and only -- atomic test enacted by the Western Powers, her dying thrashing created the Abberation. Her soul, burning, atomizing into stone, into rockroot, into the very air, refused this advancement. In her fury, for the gentle goddess had done nothing but love, Alma Hraul declared one thing upon those who sought to bring their "inventions" to the lands which had never harmed her:
Death. And oh,
it is agony.

Tourism

Only the foolish come to tour the Abberation, regardless of one's augmentation level or advancement. Not even the ferocious Dyathi enjoy crossing its border, for they feel the rage of Alma Hraul in their woodbound hearts.

Type

Wasteland