Post by Briena_Skysong on Jun 18, 2012 1:36:46 GMT -5
If you were to ride a flying creature over this part of the continent, the first thing apparent is the fact that the edges of Lycan Territory hardly are different. The weather patterns are milder on the Human side, snow beginning to fall about a mile into Lycan Territory.
The Dark Forests, filled with bandits and rogues, thieves and criminals, range for the entire edge of the boundary of Human territory.
They start as thin groves of aspens along a small river, at the edges of the nearby steppe lands. The trees thicken, and as the climate grows cooler, the trees become more and more interspersed with oak, evergreens and low plant growth like large bushes.
The sadness of these shadowy places is as strong as the fear in the Lycan Territory. It is a dangerous place.
There are a good many game trails, but they are old, and beginning to grow over.
There is one main road, the Caravan road. It runs straight north and south, until midway, where there is a crossroads.
From above, the roads coming in from all points of the compass make an asterisk. Very often, the sides of the largest road, the main trade route, are littered with wrecked wagons and shattered barrels and empty coffers. Signs that this road is not one to travel alone and unarmed on.
The trees do little to stop the winds that blow harsh and cold from the steppes.
The Steppes range for fifty miles toward the center of the Human Kingdom. This area is cold, and unforgiving. Wind blows harsh, with no trees to slow it's assault. Those who live out on the steppes are often thick skinned, their faces weathered and creased, tanned by the sun that shines down with little warmth, even in Summer.
One of the trade roads runs across the steppes, deep wagon marks showing the way. Here you still are not safe. Bands of mounted brigands roam the area, swift horses and fast cunning keeping them from losing an attack. They take prisoners as well, often women.
All Around:
The poorest of villages, when you pass through them, are painfully sparse. Some homes are in utter disrepair, roofs falling in, and others are merely a stand of stone walls, behind which huddle families, trying to keep warm by a fire. Thin children, with haunted, hungry eyes watch you, and men and women gaze on with hard, wary eyes.
Tyranis City: This city smells as bad as it looks. Horses clatter through the streets, riders and drivers uncaring. Even the wealthiest houses have a look of desperate need of repairs. This even continues to the Kings Castle. The castle, it is said, was white once, but whether that is true or not, only the old folk know. For now, the stone structure has been worn black from lichen and perhaps even the despair of harboring such a King.
Despair... This is what one feels when he steps through the gates.
-To be continued.-
The Dark Forests, filled with bandits and rogues, thieves and criminals, range for the entire edge of the boundary of Human territory.
They start as thin groves of aspens along a small river, at the edges of the nearby steppe lands. The trees thicken, and as the climate grows cooler, the trees become more and more interspersed with oak, evergreens and low plant growth like large bushes.
The sadness of these shadowy places is as strong as the fear in the Lycan Territory. It is a dangerous place.
There are a good many game trails, but they are old, and beginning to grow over.
There is one main road, the Caravan road. It runs straight north and south, until midway, where there is a crossroads.
From above, the roads coming in from all points of the compass make an asterisk. Very often, the sides of the largest road, the main trade route, are littered with wrecked wagons and shattered barrels and empty coffers. Signs that this road is not one to travel alone and unarmed on.
The trees do little to stop the winds that blow harsh and cold from the steppes.
The Steppes range for fifty miles toward the center of the Human Kingdom. This area is cold, and unforgiving. Wind blows harsh, with no trees to slow it's assault. Those who live out on the steppes are often thick skinned, their faces weathered and creased, tanned by the sun that shines down with little warmth, even in Summer.
One of the trade roads runs across the steppes, deep wagon marks showing the way. Here you still are not safe. Bands of mounted brigands roam the area, swift horses and fast cunning keeping them from losing an attack. They take prisoners as well, often women.
All Around:
The poorest of villages, when you pass through them, are painfully sparse. Some homes are in utter disrepair, roofs falling in, and others are merely a stand of stone walls, behind which huddle families, trying to keep warm by a fire. Thin children, with haunted, hungry eyes watch you, and men and women gaze on with hard, wary eyes.
Tyranis City: This city smells as bad as it looks. Horses clatter through the streets, riders and drivers uncaring. Even the wealthiest houses have a look of desperate need of repairs. This even continues to the Kings Castle. The castle, it is said, was white once, but whether that is true or not, only the old folk know. For now, the stone structure has been worn black from lichen and perhaps even the despair of harboring such a King.
Despair... This is what one feels when he steps through the gates.
-To be continued.-