How I Created a Fantasy Map with Realistic Geography

And how you can build your own world, one tectonic plate at a time. Seriously, it's really fun.
Written by
Ayan Ray
Published on
May 3, 2025

From Greenterra to Terrarium

Terrarium didn’t start as Terrarium. It used to be called Greenterra, a name I chose when the world was a lot more… idealistic. But the more I fleshed it out—the cultures, the conflicts, the Trionfi system—it became clear that this wasn’t just a green utopia. It was layered. Torn. Beautiful and brutal. So I renamed it. “Terrarium” felt like a better fit—an artificial container for life, observed and shaped by forces bigger than it. Like the gods. Like me ;)

Before I drew a single river or clicked a generator, I had a few core ideas locked in:

  • The world would be about 66% the size of Earth.
  • It would be split across two major continents (a soft nod to Pangaea, but fractured).
  • Nine supernations would dominate the world, united post-conflict during the Revival Era.

That context was key.

If you're building a world from scratch, don’t start with shapes—start with the story’s time period. What does the political structure look like right now? What conflicts came before? Has the planet settled, or is it still shifting?

Once I had those ideas, I moved on to the fun part: controlled randomness.

Generating a Seed, Then Breaking It

I used Azgaar’s Fantasy Map Generator—an insanely useful tool that lets you generate detailed fantasy worlds with tectonics, rivers, climates, borders, and more. I didn’t settle on the first seed I got. Or the second. Or the fiftieth.

I kept hitting “Generate” until something clicked. Not because I was looking for perfection, but because I wanted potential—a layout that could evolve. Eventually, I found a base that gave me enough natural curvature, interesting coastlines, and continent splits to build on.

But here’s the thing: even with a good seed, I didn’t stop there. I manually added landmasses, tweaked coastlines, and adjusted tectonic regions. I removed redundant islands, reshaped continents, and basically turned Azgaar’s starting point into my own sandbox.

Tip for creators: Don’t let a generator lock you in. Treat it like a canvas. If it gives you something cool—awesome. But don't be afraid to destroy and rebuild.

Once the base landmass felt right, I started thinking about the Revival Era. The world of Vow of Eden takes place long after global war and magical collapse. So I asked: what kind of borders would form after massive upheaval? Would small kingdoms still exist? Or would large powers have absorbed them? I leaned toward the latter. Hence—nine supernations.

But I couldn’t just place them anywhere.

Borders Follow More Than Politics

Once I had my two main continents shaped and the general idea of supernations in mind, I didn’t just draw borders arbitrarily. I considered geography first.

Mountains form natural boundaries. Rivers split civilizations. Deserts isolate. Forests protect. And oceans can be walls—or highways, depending on your tech and culture.

Each supernation in Terrarium was placed where it made sense both narratively and geographically. For example:

  • Caspecorgia, the necromantic empire, sits far south among the most beautiful land, drained from it's life force.
  • Titalos, home to the Ocea Naleas, spreads across coasts and underwater cities—because their power (Hydronfi) thrives in water.
  • Xa’nia, the floating kingdom, isn’t even on the surface. It levitates over its continent, but the land below is still part of its influence, which added another layer to how I handled vertical space and Xu'rith politics.

Tip for creators: Don't place nations on the map. Place them in environments that reflect who they are. Climate and magic influence how people grow, fight, trade, and survive.

Once I had the Supernations locked in, I used Azgaar’s built-in climate and elevation tools to refine it further. That’s when I started adding finer layers—like specific cities, magical landmarks, and terrain names.

From Functional to Beautiful

Once I was happy with the geography, borders, and elevation—it was time to bring Terrarium to life. Functional is great. But beautiful is what pulls people in.

I exported my adjusted map seed and moved the project into Inkarnate. This is where the geography turned into a living world.

I spent weeks placing:

  • Custom mountain ranges that reflected tectonic logic and national identity
  • Hand-painted forests and deserts based on biome data from Azgaar
  • Coastlines and archipelagos with natural erosion and weathering in mind
  • Region-specific colors and lighting to give every part of Terrarium its own mood
  • Landmark icons, from skybridges and crater ruins to cities built around ancient magical relics

I wasn’t aiming for realism alone—I wanted a map that looked like someone from inside the world might have painted it. Something immersive, textured, and full of personality.

Tip for creators: Treat your fantasy map like environmental storytelling. Every terrain choice should say something about who lives there.

Inkarnate gave me the tools, but it was still manual work. I redrew borders by hand, gave each sea a different tint based on magical energy or undersea activity, and carefully lit areas based on how magic affected their growth.

And then I realized: I wanted flags.

So I made them.

Designing Flags with Purpose

Once the land felt alive, I wanted to give each supernation a symbol that represented its soul. Not just pretty patterns — but flags that told a story.

That’s when I started designing the flags of Terrarium.

Each of the 9 supernations has its own unique history, values, and relationship to Trionfi. So I made it a rule:
No colors. Only black and white.

Why? Because in Terrarium, color itself is political. Each Trionfi is tied to a specific hue.
Using those colors on flags would have turned national identity into Trionfi hierarchy, which goes against the post-war Concordance that ended centuries of discrimination and war.

So, black and white became a statement — a sign of unity across magical lines. And a design challenge I absolutely loved.

Each flag was:

  • Drawn by hand, no pre-made templates
  • Symbolic, with layered meanings
  • Grounded in culture, often inspired by real-world iconography

This part of the process became one of the most fulfilling. I didn’t just want these nations to feel like countries…
I wanted them to feel remembered.

Tip for creators: Flags are more than decoration. They’re propaganda, pride, and perspective — all boiled into a square.

And once the flags were done, I was finally ready to bring everything together and make it feel finished.

Finishing Touches in Photoshop

Once the geography was in place, the nations were defined, and the flags were inked, it was time to bring it all together.

I exported everything from Inkarnate, pulled it into Photoshop, and started layering the final details — shadow tweaks, ocean texture refinements, coastline glow, slight grain overlays.

This was less about raw design and more about polishing. The kind of polish that says “Yes, this is a place people can live in.”

Once it was done, I had something I was proud of—something that didn’t just look like a fantasy map, but carried the history, politics, and spirit of an entire world.

Final Thoughts

Worldbuilding is more than filling out a blank canvas. It’s asking why, again and again, until every mountain, river, and nation has a reason to exist.

If you’re building your own world, don’t be afraid to revise, refine, and rethink it. Use tools like Azgaar, Inkarnate, and Photoshop. But more than that—use your mind. Geography can be beautiful, but meaning is what makes it unforgettable.

If you want to explore the final product yourself, I made the interactive map of Terrarium available here:
👉 https://www.creativeayan.com/terrarium-map

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope this helped.

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