The Outlands
(This is from DMG 5e)
The Outlands is the plane between the Outer Planes. It is the plane of neutrality, incorporating a little of everything and keeping all aspects in a paradoxical balance — simultaneously concordant and in opposition. The plane has varied terrain, with prairies, mountains, and shallow rivers.
The Outlands is circular, like a great disk. In fact, those who envision the Outer Planes as a wheel point to the Outlands as proof, calling it a microcosm of the planes. That argument might be circular, since the arrangement of the Outlands inspired the idea of the Great Wheel in the first place.
Around the outside edge of the circle, evenly spaced, are the gate-towns: sixteen settlements, each built around a portal leading to one of the Outer Planes. Each town shares many of the characteristics of the plane where its gate leads. Planar emissaries often meet in these towns, so it isn’t unusual to see strange pairings, such as a celestial and a fiend arguing in a tavern while sharing a fine bottle of wine.
Given the fact that you can ride a horse in the Outlands from heaven to a hell, a planar-themed campaign can be set there without the need for planar travel. The Outlands is the closest the Outer Planes come to being like a world on the Material Plane.
From A Players Primer to the Outlands (2e)
Welcome to the Outlands, berk. Try to live long enough to learn a thing or two.
An Overview of the Outlands:
The Outlands are known to the clueless as the "Plane of Concordant Opposition." (Fact is, they get most of the planar names wrong, which is a sure way to mark a prime.) Just one of many Outer Planes, the Outlands are still a very unique place. For starters, it's got entrances to every other Outer Plane, making it a central clearing-house for all sorts of planar beings. And then, of course, there's the spire. A body'd have to be blind to miss that — it rises up out of the middle of the Outlands, infinitely tall, with the city of Sigil hovering on top. The spire's a good example of how primes worry too much. They always want to know how something that's infinitely tall can have something else on top of it. But that kind of thinking just drives a berk barmy. In the planes, things are the way they are, and it's best just to leave it at that. Another problem is that primes figure their out-of-touch universe is the centre of everything. When they found the Outlands — a plane connected to all other Outer Planes — they had to cobble up a quick reason why it couldn't be the centre of the multiverse. So they called it the "Plane of Concordant Opposition," the idea being that the Outlands are opposed to the other planes. Nothing is further from the truth, berk. The Outlands (sometimes just called the Land) are at the centre of all things, with gates leading to the other planes. A traveller headed for one of those planes just has to use the right gate. 'Course, creatures from the other side can come through the gates, too, so a berk's got to watch his step. The gates see a lot of use in both directions, so folks figured it'd be a good idea to build towns around each one. These settlements are known as gate-towns. Funny thing about gate-towns, though - they reflect the mood of whatever plane their gate leads to. For example, the poor sods in Bedlam are half-barmy (some would say more than half) just from living next to the Gate to Pandemonium. Even the town itself can take on the mood of a plane, buildings and all. Fact is, if the mindset of a town gets too morally and ethically aligned to its plane, it'll get sucked through the gate. The whole burg just disappears from the Outlands and moves to the other plane. If the town of Excelsior gets too good and too lawful, for example, then it'll join the choir on Mount Celestia. What happens next depends on the town. For some places, another copy just pops right up out of nowhere, taking the place of the original. Other towns, though, won't be copied. They'll have to be rebuilt by any cutters willing to lift a hammer. In any case, when a town's sucked away, the gate stays. 'Course, it might be a bit worse for the wear, but folks can't really say. Even a planar doesn't know the dark about everything. But remember, berk — the gates work both ways. If a town can go through, it can come back out. Parts of the Outer Planes that don't measure up morally and ethically with the rest of their plane can break off and slide into the Outlands. For example, if a paladin built his home on evil Baator, it just wouldn't work. Sooner or later, his place would drift back to the Land (and good riddance, the baatezu would say). This usually only happens to spots on the upper levels of the plane - the stuff farther down is pretty well anchored. And given the endless nature of planes, such swapping back and forth is minor. Besides the gate-towns, the Outlands have a good number of other spots a traveller should know about. Some are just small villages, but some are the realms of powers who like the unaligned, free-wheeling nature of the Land. 'Course, a truly evil power setting up shop in the Outlands suffers the same problem as the gatetowns. That is, Loki can create a citadel there and fill it with malicious berks, only to have it eventually slip into his native plane. This means that most of the powers of the Outlands are neutral, or, at least, amoral - beyond the ethical and moral definitions of most planars.
The Outlands are known to the clueless as the "Plane of Concordant Opposition." (Fact is, they get most of the planar names wrong, which is a sure way to mark a prime.) Just one of many Outer Planes, the Outlands are still a very unique place. For starters, it's got entrances to every other Outer Plane, making it a central clearing-house for all sorts of planar beings. And then, of course, there's the spire. A body'd have to be blind to miss that — it rises up out of the middle of the Outlands, infinitely tall, with the city of Sigil hovering on top. The spire's a good example of how primes worry too much. They always want to know how something that's infinitely tall can have something else on top of it. But that kind of thinking just drives a berk barmy. In the planes, things are the way they are, and it's best just to leave it at that. Another problem is that primes figure their out-of-touch universe is the centre of everything. When they found the Outlands — a plane connected to all other Outer Planes — they had to cobble up a quick reason why it couldn't be the centre of the multiverse. So they called it the "Plane of Concordant Opposition," the idea being that the Outlands are opposed to the other planes. Nothing is further from the truth, berk. The Outlands (sometimes just called the Land) are at the centre of all things, with gates leading to the other planes. A traveller headed for one of those planes just has to use the right gate. 'Course, creatures from the other side can come through the gates, too, so a berk's got to watch his step. The gates see a lot of use in both directions, so folks figured it'd be a good idea to build towns around each one. These settlements are known as gate-towns. Funny thing about gate-towns, though - they reflect the mood of whatever plane their gate leads to. For example, the poor sods in Bedlam are half-barmy (some would say more than half) just from living next to the Gate to Pandemonium. Even the town itself can take on the mood of a plane, buildings and all. Fact is, if the mindset of a town gets too morally and ethically aligned to its plane, it'll get sucked through the gate. The whole burg just disappears from the Outlands and moves to the other plane. If the town of Excelsior gets too good and too lawful, for example, then it'll join the choir on Mount Celestia. What happens next depends on the town. For some places, another copy just pops right up out of nowhere, taking the place of the original. Other towns, though, won't be copied. They'll have to be rebuilt by any cutters willing to lift a hammer. In any case, when a town's sucked away, the gate stays. 'Course, it might be a bit worse for the wear, but folks can't really say. Even a planar doesn't know the dark about everything. But remember, berk — the gates work both ways. If a town can go through, it can come back out. Parts of the Outer Planes that don't measure up morally and ethically with the rest of their plane can break off and slide into the Outlands. For example, if a paladin built his home on evil Baator, it just wouldn't work. Sooner or later, his place would drift back to the Land (and good riddance, the baatezu would say). This usually only happens to spots on the upper levels of the plane - the stuff farther down is pretty well anchored. And given the endless nature of planes, such swapping back and forth is minor. Besides the gate-towns, the Outlands have a good number of other spots a traveller should know about. Some are just small villages, but some are the realms of powers who like the unaligned, free-wheeling nature of the Land. 'Course, a truly evil power setting up shop in the Outlands suffers the same problem as the gatetowns. That is, Loki can create a citadel there and fill it with malicious berks, only to have it eventually slip into his native plane. This means that most of the powers of the Outlands are neutral, or, at least, amoral - beyond the ethical and moral definitions of most planars.
Geography
Moving Through the Outlands:
Between the gate-towns and other populated areas, the bulk of the Outlands is pretty much open, empty space. Here and there, a traveller runs into sharp-toothed mountains, rolling hills, windswept badlands, and forests of all kinds of vegetation. But these places have turned their backs on the "normal" rules for topography, geography, and climate. Also, with chunks of the Land always breaking off or adding on, long-term structures like roads don't usually last too long. A body has to make it on his own. But there's another way for folks who don't feel like walking: taking a gate from Sigil. The city's got a number of magical portals that lead to the gate-towns and some even go farther, right into the Outer Planes. These gates are real handy, but they tend to move around. Smart cutters will find themselves a local guide. Those who do cross the Land on foot often complain that it drives 'em barmy. Journeys take a random amount of time - as Outlanders say, "It takes as long as it takes, no more or less." A body can walk from Rigus to Ribcage in a few days, only to find the return trip takes several weeks. For gaming purposes, though, figure that it takes about three to eighteen days tomove between nearby points — for example, a trip from Hopeless to one of its neighbouring gatetowns, Torch or Curst. For longer trips, just add up the pieces. So, a body going from Hopeless to Ribcage must first get to Torch (three to eighteen days), and then press on to Ribcage (another three to eighteen days). Even if he tries to avoid any contact with Torch, the trip would still take from six to thirty-six days. Here's another example: A body wants to go from Hopeless to Thoth's Estate. (Folks who've been to Hopeless know why all the sods in these examples would want to leave.) First, it'd take three to eighteen days to reach the River Ma'at, then another three to eighteen days to follow it downstream to Thoth's Estate. By the way, Thoth's Estate and the city of Thebestys are the only spots that don't follow the travel rule — they're really considered to be one area, and it takes little or no time to go between them. The Clueless usually think that riding a horse will make a trip faster. Not so. It'll take the same amount of time, no matter how a body goes. Then again, sods who get lost in the Outlands might appreciate a horse - to eat. (Some planars do talk of a growing herd of camels, and another of buffalo, that've been brought into the Land and left to go feral.)
Between the gate-towns and other populated areas, the bulk of the Outlands is pretty much open, empty space. Here and there, a traveller runs into sharp-toothed mountains, rolling hills, windswept badlands, and forests of all kinds of vegetation. But these places have turned their backs on the "normal" rules for topography, geography, and climate. Also, with chunks of the Land always breaking off or adding on, long-term structures like roads don't usually last too long. A body has to make it on his own. But there's another way for folks who don't feel like walking: taking a gate from Sigil. The city's got a number of magical portals that lead to the gate-towns and some even go farther, right into the Outer Planes. These gates are real handy, but they tend to move around. Smart cutters will find themselves a local guide. Those who do cross the Land on foot often complain that it drives 'em barmy. Journeys take a random amount of time - as Outlanders say, "It takes as long as it takes, no more or less." A body can walk from Rigus to Ribcage in a few days, only to find the return trip takes several weeks. For gaming purposes, though, figure that it takes about three to eighteen days tomove between nearby points — for example, a trip from Hopeless to one of its neighbouring gatetowns, Torch or Curst. For longer trips, just add up the pieces. So, a body going from Hopeless to Ribcage must first get to Torch (three to eighteen days), and then press on to Ribcage (another three to eighteen days). Even if he tries to avoid any contact with Torch, the trip would still take from six to thirty-six days. Here's another example: A body wants to go from Hopeless to Thoth's Estate. (Folks who've been to Hopeless know why all the sods in these examples would want to leave.) First, it'd take three to eighteen days to reach the River Ma'at, then another three to eighteen days to follow it downstream to Thoth's Estate. By the way, Thoth's Estate and the city of Thebestys are the only spots that don't follow the travel rule — they're really considered to be one area, and it takes little or no time to go between them. The Clueless usually think that riding a horse will make a trip faster. Not so. It'll take the same amount of time, no matter how a body goes. Then again, sods who get lost in the Outlands might appreciate a horse - to eat. (Some planars do talk of a growing herd of camels, and another of buffalo, that've been brought into the Land and left to go feral.)
Localized Phenomena
Magic in the Outlands:
It's happened plenty of times: A prime makes it to the Outlands, gets herself into all sorts of trouble, and whips up a powerful spell or two to save her skin. Trouble is, if she's not standing in the right place or doesn't have the right key, the spell's likely to fizzle. The dead-book's full of the Clueless who didn't know the dark of how magic works in the Land. Here, the strength of magic depends on how far a body is from the spire - the centre of the plane. (Any berk who still has to ask how an infinite plane can have a centre is in the wrong universe.) The direction away from the spire is generally known as ringward or outward (toward the ring of the Outer Planes), while the direction toward the spire is called spireward or inward. The Outlands are divided into concentric circles, though the borders of the circles aren't marked in any way. As a body crosses these borders, magical abilities drop away. In the farthest circle ringward, all magic works normally (as normally as it ever does in the Land). But as a body moves closer to the spire, more spells are locked out, until at the spire itself no magic works at all (except for Sigil, of course). These circles are known as rings or layers, depending on where a body's from. Natives of Sigil call them rings, and count outward from the spire to the rim. Bashers from the Outer Planes tend to think in layers, and so that's what they call the circles, counting inward from the rim to the spire. The table below sums up how magic is affected on each ring and layer. It's not just spells, berk - all spell like abilities get knocked out, too. For example, a beholder's disintegrating eye is treated as a wizard's disintegrate spell, which is sixth-level. Neither will work within the fifth ring or fifth layer. These restrictions apply to magic for both wizards and priests. All of the gate-towns sit in the outermost ring/layer, where magic isn't affected (except by the normal restrictions of the Outlands). Most of the other important sites are found in the sixth, seventh or eighth ring outward, since that's where the powers of the plane usually set up shop. Here's why: Too far from the spire, their domains could slip into another Outer Plane; too close, and they couldn't grant their worshipers all the magic they'd like. Spell Keys:
Even if a body's standing in the right ring or layer, she still might find that some of her spells don't work. That's just the way it is on the planes. But don't give up yet, berk — a spell key might set things right. A spell key is a special item, method, or even another spell that'll allow a particular spell to be cast. Without the right key, a spell could putter out halfway through or not even work at all. They only work for wizard spells, though (priest spells use the mysterious power keys). Cutters have to tumble to the nature of spell keys on their own. A lot of that stuff is dark to most folks. But the kinds of spells that need keys are pretty well known:
Power keys are clerical in nature. Like spell keys, they're used to boost certain spells on a particular plane. 'Course, as there aren't a lot of powers or pantheons in the Outlands (not as many as on some other planes, anyway), there aren't many power keys, either. Fact is, the current chant says the Land's got no power keys at all. But cutters keep looking all the same. Here's the dark of it, though: If there were any power keys, they'd have to be created by a very high-up blood - in other words, the DM.
It's happened plenty of times: A prime makes it to the Outlands, gets herself into all sorts of trouble, and whips up a powerful spell or two to save her skin. Trouble is, if she's not standing in the right place or doesn't have the right key, the spell's likely to fizzle. The dead-book's full of the Clueless who didn't know the dark of how magic works in the Land. Here, the strength of magic depends on how far a body is from the spire - the centre of the plane. (Any berk who still has to ask how an infinite plane can have a centre is in the wrong universe.) The direction away from the spire is generally known as ringward or outward (toward the ring of the Outer Planes), while the direction toward the spire is called spireward or inward. The Outlands are divided into concentric circles, though the borders of the circles aren't marked in any way. As a body crosses these borders, magical abilities drop away. In the farthest circle ringward, all magic works normally (as normally as it ever does in the Land). But as a body moves closer to the spire, more spells are locked out, until at the spire itself no magic works at all (except for Sigil, of course). These circles are known as rings or layers, depending on where a body's from. Natives of Sigil call them rings, and count outward from the spire to the rim. Bashers from the Outer Planes tend to think in layers, and so that's what they call the circles, counting inward from the rim to the spire. The table below sums up how magic is affected on each ring and layer. It's not just spells, berk - all spell like abilities get knocked out, too. For example, a beholder's disintegrating eye is treated as a wizard's disintegrate spell, which is sixth-level. Neither will work within the fifth ring or fifth layer. These restrictions apply to magic for both wizards and priests. All of the gate-towns sit in the outermost ring/layer, where magic isn't affected (except by the normal restrictions of the Outlands). Most of the other important sites are found in the sixth, seventh or eighth ring outward, since that's where the powers of the plane usually set up shop. Here's why: Too far from the spire, their domains could slip into another Outer Plane; too close, and they couldn't grant their worshipers all the magic they'd like. Spell Keys:
Even if a body's standing in the right ring or layer, she still might find that some of her spells don't work. That's just the way it is on the planes. But don't give up yet, berk — a spell key might set things right. A spell key is a special item, method, or even another spell that'll allow a particular spell to be cast. Without the right key, a spell could putter out halfway through or not even work at all. They only work for wizard spells, though (priest spells use the mysterious power keys). Cutters have to tumble to the nature of spell keys on their own. A lot of that stuff is dark to most folks. But the kinds of spells that need keys are pretty well known:
- Divination spells that contact powers and creatures in the Inner Planes.
- Elemental conjurations that summon creatures or effects from the Inner Planes.
- Ethereal-based spells that need access to the Ethereal Plane.
- Energy Plane spells that need access to the Negative or Positive Energy Planes.
- Shadow magic spells that need access to the Demiplane of Shadow.
- Spells of any type that conjure, contact, or tap energies from the Inner Planes, the Ethereal Plane, or any of the Demiplanes. These spells (like dismissal or drawmij's instant summons) might work just fine in the Outlands, but if a body wants to use them to reach one of those other planes, it'll take a spell key
Power keys are clerical in nature. Like spell keys, they're used to boost certain spells on a particular plane. 'Course, as there aren't a lot of powers or pantheons in the Outlands (not as many as on some other planes, anyway), there aren't many power keys, either. Fact is, the current chant says the Land's got no power keys at all. But cutters keep looking all the same. Here's the dark of it, though: If there were any power keys, they'd have to be created by a very high-up blood - in other words, the DM.
Alternative Name(s)
Plane of Neutrality, Plane of Concordant Opposition
Type
Dimensional plane
Location under
Included Locations
Owner/Ruler
Ruling/Owning Rank
Related Reports (Primary)
Inhabiting Species
Comments