This is Oars Rest
Wren Smith winds her way through the mess of chairs and patrons, nodding here and there to familiar faces, an especial eyebrow raised to those just in from the cold waters of the Agglehorn Sea. She settles herself upon the perch of her tall chair (she is human, though her manner birdlike) and scans the room. Cracks in the ceiling let in the sharp rays of the sun, which scatter patchwork around the main hall.
It’s a beautiful day on this tiny atoll, not a cloud in the sky. The peak of its highest rock reaches right up from the calm break waters into the pale blue sky. And from the top, you can see quite far, and if you peer close you may think you can even see the very edges of the Icosahedra, perhaps the peak between seven, fifteen, five, and thirteen. But, you can’t.
Built into a flattened portion of rock, the eponymous Oars Rest, is a well known gathering place and rumor mill, some say intrigue (though that is a matter of perspective). It’s really just a pile of weather worn planks, parts of old ships both loved and otherwise; all built and rebuilt upon a generation of the acquired flotsam of doomed adventures.
Oars Rest is also known as a good way point between the port city of Bellows and the hundreds of islands that dot the outer rim of the mysterious Thousand Island. Sailors and adventurers skip along the islands, careful to avoid the Bland Sirens, some then disappear into lands and waters to the west or south.
From windows along the outer wall, still in site of Wren (always) watching the activity around her, it is possible to see these occasional ships, arriving and departing into the rest of this known and unknown world, seeking opportunity from rumor.