(There had been a bit of discussion about this on Steam.)
I like the original Conan terrain, and wish there was a bit more of it–without Siptah. The problem with Siptah is, that it’s too seperate. I might buy it anyway, but it’s not going to make the original area larger, is it?
Others have said that dungeon much of the remaining area, which seems to be true. Others have also stated that there is no more space left, which does not seem to be true, as there is a mod called, “Call of the Wild” which increases the original map, but it alters the original not to my liking.
Also, here’s some fanfic I wrote to explain the expansion:
The message came by Black-Hand courier from along northern edge of the jungle. I could not believe it myself, but there on beaten reeds, written with the darkest black-lotus ink, a seemingly impossible feat was described in sharp detail.
At first I held on to each passing word, but then in a fever, flipped page after page to read each side. For myself, I had to know what they had done. That far the words told only of an account of terrible toil of days, of years, that continued seemingly without end, but to what aim?
I skipped more pages until I saw one that said the words, “…no one had ever known how deep the wretched god-king’s stone-tree markers had gone, but their curse had run deeper than even the eldest sorcerer could have known…” It was then I knew what they were doing, but I asked myself, “who could accomplish such a thing?!” Vexed, my hand that held the pages fell to my knee. I thought, it was a fools errand larger than any other, and as hopeless as love itself. I shook my head. Again I lifted the pages to read once more.
By the hundreds, they picked at the stone, shoveled it into buckets pulled aloft with rope-withered hands. By the bucketful, they carried the stone out on their bleeding shoulders–until one day, seeming like any other and without a hint of warning but instead with a mighty rumble, the god-king’s stone-tree fell from sight, plummeting into the deepest pit ever dug, with a sorcerer and his eleven dedicated workers following it below, never to be seen again. Before the screams had faded, those who remained witnessed what they hoped was a break form in the Cursewall’s corrupted spell.
In frantic madness, they found another sorcerer in a nearby camp, torn from his restful slumber. When he heard what they told him, he also could not believe, but nevertheless had to see with his own eyes. Considering the wager of his life but yearning for freedom, he grabbed his robes and focus to go with them.
The workers brought the sorcerer to the ley-line formed by the rock-trees. There he stood, thinking. Even as rushed in spirit and manner he was, he spent many long moments before the sorcerer dare lifted his hand where the seal was. With his arm shaking in frightened reach, he forced his hand forward. At first it was only a finger or two, but as seventy-five people watched in baited whisper the sorcerer reached forward–and he still lived. The sorcerer put his whole arm through, yet he was alive. He closed his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath, perhaps his last, he leaned forward and stepped through. The workers gasped.
When the sorcerer turned back, his feet stood outside the Exiled lands. The haunting question remains, without dying how far could be traveled?
In disbelief, I lowered the pages, noticing a faint map impression showing through one of the papers. When I held it up to the light, I could see clearly for myself through the waft in the paper where the Cursewall opening was.
As I once-more folded the message, nearly tearing the pages between my thumb and knuckle as I dragged my unfeeling, seemingly elsewhere hand along them, I knew I must go.