Troika green rooms. Arrive in the green rooms of troika, brightly painted streets designated for use by visitors not in possession of the correct and ever changing passes and permits. The area is small and rife with controversy. The spider bank offers papers of passage for an extraordinarily high price, allowing honest visitors to earn their way in. They are however forbidden to work without a permit. The easiest way to get a work permit is to work for the state. The Congress of Animals sets jobs which typically include repainting streets a different colour or demolishing a building. Typically multiple groups have been set to the same task with differing colours, or are set to repair or rebuild that which you are breaking. The constables insist the Congress did not make a mistake and all work orders are as intended.
War Sphere. The north and south hemisphere hate each other and have stripped the planet bare with their war. The origin of the war is something mundane like a border or trade dispute that escalated due to a few extreme actors. War crimes pile up on both sides, everyone is justifiably (and irrevocably) hateful towards one another and eager to enlist help. Hex crawl. Terrain is minefields, open ground/sniper alleys, quiet killing fields, shattered towns (25% chance occupied by a field command), active battlegrounds. These guys are using huge cthonic barges, flyers, heat weapons, psionic nukes, null bombs.
Palace of tigers. Hex crawl. Palatial rooms, solariums, halls, grand dinning rooms, water features, scent gardens, kitchens, towers (where up can lead to another ground floor). And endless palace that shifts through styles and one travels and makes little sense. The place is always clean and the cupboards are always stocked in the "wilderness". Non-wilderness is occupied by carnivalesque courts, each grander and more ridiculous than the last. People farm the fruit gardens and scavenge the dining halls.
The inner world. An inverted sphere, where life is on the inside. Inner sun, dinosaurs probably, large wilderness with isolated groups of marooned sailor civilisations. The only way to get off this sphere is to get outside, and to get outside you have to go through the crust. The crust is occupied by an advanced civilisation of rubber-clad anti-personality conformists who know nothing about the inner world and rightfully think their sphere is a lifeless rock.
The Living Room. A sphere that consists of a single room, about the size of a typical lounge. Every time it is visited there is a different monologue or kitchen sink drama occurring (50/50). The inhabitants can enter and leave the room but no-one can follow them; anyone leaving will end up where they came from. The inhabitants will monologue and not acknowledge anything outside of the context of their drama, doing mental acrobatics to fix or ignore it. The place is harmless, and harm rarely finds its way inside. Few people know about it and it's hard to get in to. The atmosphere is comforting and slightly smothering. Put on an Allan Bennett play if you can't muster the angst or twee to do it. The dramas often communicate useful truths.
Sun Chaser. Sunny desert hex crawl. Assemble your typical fantasy hexcrawl except there are no ancient well used towns. The towns that exist are indeed ancient, but the people there are effectively squatting in well kept ruins. All civilisation is nomadic, constantly outpacing the night, in which you all shall surely die. Every week in-game time the night covers the easternmost hex column. The night is cold, totally dark (the only light is what you bring), and full of monstrosities. Each nomadic group has different ideas about what's going on, though they all agree it wasn't always like this. Once a year (so somewhere near a century our time) the day reveals the source of the sinister night, or the origin point, or at the very least something that offers hope to crazy adventurers. Consider: the land is barren and desert-like near the dawn and becomes lush and pleasant as evening closes (plants and animals have time to re-grow in time for the night).
They are boarded up, but not in an unsightly manner. The wood is fine grained and varnished.
The resident, a yellow and blue fellow of an amorphous nature, leans out of the window and talks to its more recognisably hominid neighbours. You feel that you have seen an inappropriate amount of flesh, but you can't be sure by how much.
An alchemist, chemist, or possibly just a collector of caustic fluids is angrily clearing out their apartments by hurling their possessions in to the street. Some chitinous children are playing in the rainbow puddles, while other softer people are nursing colourful welts.
An elderly person in a dusty gown speaks meaningfully at the people who walk by. The window remains shut and no one hears. Anyone approaching will be met with angrily closed curtains.
The curtains move like kelp, the light enters the room thickly and shimmers. There is vivid moss under the sill, and you swear there are nicknacks floating about inside.
Seven fellows in large padded coats innapropriate to the weather dance around in circles, stomping and running until they bump together and roll around laughing. They repeat this over and over, but invite anyone who interrupts them in for a quiet interlude of tea and backgammon.
