Set within the orderly blocks of Precinct Two, Griffin Heights is an elite residential quarter home to senior Azorius officials and influential Orzhov nobles. The refined, high-end houses feature immaculate stonework, polished metal fittings, and carefully maintained courtyards—subtle markers of wealth and power without ostentation. Behind these quiet façades, political favors, legal maneuvering, and private dealings circulate constantly among the district’s well-connected residents.
Security is exceptionally tight. Any disturbance is answered swiftly by nearby Azorius arresters, while Orzhov knights discreetly monitor the area to ensure nothing threatens their clients’ comfort. The locals, long accustomed to privilege, show unwavering loyalty to whichever authority best preserves the order and stability they depend on.
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[Ravnica Battlemap]Precinct Four - Commercial District 32x56
In the bustling heart of Precinct Four, the Commercial District unfolds like a living mosaic—a reflection of Ravnica’s endless complexity. Towering stone arches, etched with the faded glyphs of forgotten empires, now bear the weight of vibrant banners, merchant sigils, and magical illuminations. The streets overflow with life: vendors hawking everything from Selesnyan herbal tinctures to Orzhov binding contracts, while traveling tinkers, illusionists, and street bards weave their own kind of commerce into the tapestry. Shafts of light fall between the high towers, but they do little to pierce the shadows where secrets are bartered and power quietly shifts hands. This is not just a marketplace—it is a crucible of ambition, and its connection to Tin Street, the city’s longest and most vital artery, makes it a crossroads of unimaginable influence.
[Ravnica battlemap]Zonot One - Zegana’s Glimmering Depths 32x56
Zonot One stands as the living heart of the Simic Combine’s ancient knowledge—a hidden sanctuary beneath the surface of Ravnica where nature and science blend seamlessly. Within this smallest and oldest sinkhole, glowing currents flow through coral-laden caverns, nurturing ever-evolving life. It is a place where bioengineered wonders bloom, embodying the delicate balance between growth and control.
In the forgotten shadows of Precinct Four, nestled just off the bustle of Tin Street, lies the alley known as the Backstreet—a place where sunlight feels like an intruder. Crumbling stone tenements press in from both sides, their sagging facades draped with torn banners and broken scaffolds. The cobbled path is slick with damp and decay, and the only light comes from sputtering arcane sconces and the occasional flicker of a passing thopter—though none dare linger long here. This stretch of alley has fallen firmly under the control of the Shattergang Brothers, where even guild enforcers tread lightly.
Deeper into the alley, the space opens into a ruined courtyard: a clutter of fallen stalls, shattered crates, and crooked wooden walkways. At the center stands a half-collapsed wooden shack—seemingly abandoned, yet carefully rigged. Hidden within its warped beams and floorboards are volatile explosives, scavenged from Izzet scrapyards and old battlefields. The goblins work quietly inside, the flicker of lanterns casting twitching shadows through the broken walls, waiting for the right moment.
Unseen by most, near the southwest corner of the courtyard, lies a rusted manhole cover. This concealed entrance leads down into the old Ravnican sewer lines—long-forgotten tunnels that the Shattergang have claimed as their true stronghold. Below, their network sprawls beneath the district like a festering root system: reinforced chambers, trap-laden corridors, and hidden bunkers where their leaders plan raids, hoard stolen materials, and brew the chaos to come.
This is more than just a hideout—it’s a trap, a message. The Shattergang is far from broken. Here in the depths of Ravnica’s neglected quarters, they plot revenge against Krenko’s crew and any who would stand in their way. The Shadowy Backstreet is the baited snare in their growing war, and those who wander in uninvited may not live to see the streetlights again.
Deep within the monument of Rhonas, the Trial of Strength awaits. There is no announcement, no ceremony — only the weight of stone, the grinding of ancient mechanisms, and the silent judgment of a god who values might above all.
Every wall bears scars of past attempts: shattered bricks, claw marks, and crushed remains left where they fell. The path forward is not marked by guidance, but by obstacles. Stone doors refuse to yield without brute force. Collapsed passages demand sheer effort to climb or clear. Thorn-covered constructs and serpentine traps lash out at the unprepared, their venom stripping away any hope of magical aid.
Here, spellcraft is useless — severed by the divine toxin infused into the trial itself. Only the strength of your limbs, your reflexes, and your resolve can carry you forward.
Those who endure long enough may reach the trial’s heart: a sealed chamber where an ancient basilisk waits in restless silence. Its scale contains the antidote, but the creature will not give it freely. And even then, the exit remains barred — the final challenge demanding everything the initiate has left.
Only the strong emerge. The rest become part of the monument’s history.
[Ravnica Battlemap]Duckmantle - the Sunken Shrine 32x56
The Sunken Shrine is buried within the deepest shadows of Duskmantle, sealed away by illusion, fog, and deliberate forgetting. Not even the most loyal Dimir agents speak of it—perhaps they no longer remember. No wayfinder stone points here. No teleportation circle can find it. The only known path lies through the spectral folds of Agyrem, the district where death brushes against reality. Slick stairs descend into a waterlogged hall where warped statues and echoing whispers guard secrets long erased from the surface world.
Wurmgrave Grotto lies hidden within the fractured cliffs of Ravnica’s Red Waste, where the land is scorched by ancient wars and dotted with the scars of forgotten battles. The colossal wurm that once burrowed beneath these plains died ages ago, its skeleton bleached and cracked by the dry, copper-red winds. Its bones rise from the cavern floor, scattered yet unmistakable, a silent reminder of a creature that once commanded these lands. The place feels untouched by time—a relic of a wilder Ravnica that existed long before the guilds carved their lines across the world.
Deep within the molten heart of Rix Maadi lies the Pit of Pandemonium, the personal lair of the demon lord Rakdos. This immense cavern stretches beneath the guildhall’s grand stage, a fiery abyss split by rivers of lava. The cavern walls are etched with scenes of ecstasy and agony, illuminated by the flicker of hellfire and the dance of crimson flames. When the lord Rakdos awakens, his laughter rolls through the tunnels of Rix Maadi like an eruption, and every cultist knows that the time for blood and spectacle has come once more.
