There’s arcana dwelling

Lune Dimune 

High in the upper foothills of a liminal range of crags, so lofty below the low-hanging moon, juts a gust-raked promontory over a void. There the honed eye might discern a line of perspective unhooked from the vanishing point and anchored to a distant summit, and the bold may step out into the field of vision to grow grotesquely disproportioned and vast. The line of peaks is now but a stair and the moon a balcony upon which to scrabble. A pioneer has dug out the further side, cut deep caverns and drilled peering holes down on the corners of the earth. Horrors called down from the rearward dark may lurk yet in the core chambers, and devices roam openly on the craterscape, but much fine cheese remains unmined.

Infernice 

Streaming a constant reek of steam, this slender chimney of stained stone rises thousands of feet through the twisted floors of a former urban spire, roost now to flocks of migrating beasts from far spaces, as alien as what lurks below. Perhaps. For beneath the sparse and barely recovered land around, down below the blasted strata of age-encrusted waste and past unutterable undegraded filth and lost wonders, lie the habdomes and meander the labyrinthine ways of a once mighty city, its name famed across the cosmos. And forgotten. The collapsed, compressed and drowned spaces are haunted by the wracks of what once lived and could not crawl out, and by what grew or crawled in over the millennia, from deep sumps and decayed matters, through ancient gates to other natures. Unbearably deep in this vast eldritch waste, toxic and beyond toxic, through slick and crushing rubbles on the twenty-seven hundredth level below, there nestles against the warmth of the chimney wall a complex of well-appointed living quarters and unparalleled investigative chambers carved in hardened liminal efluvia, all now long locked by outer rites and runes. The strange is on the very doorstep and has its foot in the door.

The Heap Unseen 

A fallen star that never shone, this invisible mound cloaked by unearthly technologies bars imperceptibly the path across a lonely field, long unploughed and gone far to seed. The rare passersby nurse their bumps, bounces and falls and learn to circle wide, and do so wide-eyed and wonderstruck. Regular visitors learn to count their paces in from the dawnward hedgerow. (For you, bizarre bipedal loper - what a freak you are! - the count is perhaps fifty; no, fifty-one.) Beyond the mound's angled airtight threshold, and the elegant pillars so artfully installed, the interiors with their sloping floors of crumpled metal and plastic matter thrum with a stellar power. The crystals of the walls speak of distant worlds and this hopefully careful owner studies with intent their gigatomes of sleekly folded data. And I gasp, I admit, at what our world too may yet become...

Ingrew Brew 

A prime example of liquid architecture, this architectonic recipe of only moderately fantastical ingredients needs but a fair-size tureen or cauldron and is very forgiving in terms of ritual and heavenly conjunction. Mix it all up on a good heat and in you step. Dry as a bone - that's the skull component - and more secret and spacious than a private sea - that'll be the conch. But keep the outside simmering or there's no getting back...