It's not that the lands of the Balespawn are dead or dying. In fact, they're quite the opposite. The forests are thick with thorny vines and trees resplendent with acidic fruits. The fields are vast with poison-pollen flowers and grasses with blades as sharp as razors. Waves pound the island shores, where tidepools thrive with all many of tiny mutant creatures. Everywhere one looks, one can spot life, though it is rarely unwarped or devoid of the crackling green traces of balefire. Many Balespawn live here along with their servants, corrupted either deliberately or just from their deities' presences, blight itself a miasma that seeps from their presence and permeates the land they live in.

The great hall where Anathema Scalesbane, the Mother-Goddess herself, spends much of her time was once a cathedral devoted to a far lesser god. She devoured them, set the holy house aflame, and built her own lair among the stone and mortar ruins. Now the cathedral is the heart of a palace sprawling across a plateau overlooking the sea and delving deep catacombs into the stone below.