On Nidala’s western border stands a vast woodland known as the Harrowgrove, where ancient, colossal trees—some over ten feet in diameter—knit their crowns together to form a dense, green-black canopy. These arboreal giants tower well over a hundred feet, their limbs draped in hanging moss and dark leaves that filter out much of the sun’s warmth, leaving the forest floor in a perpetual twilight. Beneath them, ferns and tangled briars crowd the underbrush, the silence broken only by the distant hooting of owls and the occasional twig snap under a hidden creature’s paw.
As one ventures further inland, the air grows cooler and thinner, and the whisper of leaves in the wind gives way to the distant roar of waterfalls and the eerie whistle of alpine breezes. Rising abruptly from the forest’s edge are the Theospine Mountains—massive, jagged peaks of gray and black stone that soar into the heavens. At their loftiest summits, ice and snow cling eternally, refusing to melt even under the summer sun. By moonlight, these peaks loom like ghostly sentinels, and their slopes are scored by treacherous passes and narrow ledges known only to a few daring travelers. Among the lower crags, hardy pines and twisted fir trees cling to cliffsides while small herds of mountain goats and elusive snow-cats prowl the ridges.
To the east of the mountains, the land relaxes into a series of wooded foothills—gentler, though still steep enough to discourage all but the determined. In the folds of these hills lie scattered hamlets: clusters of timber houses with moss on the roofs and shutters often kept barred. The names of these villages—Aubel, Renswick, Fallowcross—are rarely spoken above a murmur by outsiders. Beyond the fields of turnips and rye, narrow deer trails lead to hidden ravines and half-obscured caves, perfect refuges for outlaws and ravenous beasts alike. Smoke curling from a chimney in these remote settlements may signal a warm hearth—or a desperate family unwilling to trust strangers.
Where the foothills dip downward and the land levels out, the walled city of Touraine rises like a lone bastion of civilization. Its pale limestone walls contrast sharply with the dark woodlands that encircle it. Within its limestone walls, cobblestone streets and peaked-roof buildings lend Touraine a quiet veneer of stability. A few modest spires, crowned by a solitary clocktower, rise above the rooftops to mark the official temples of Belenus, the only god whose worship is sanctioned by Elena Faith-hold’s regime. The faithful whisper their prescribed prayers under ever-watchful eyes, while artisans and merchants conduct their affairs in tense, subdued murmurs. Yet this fragile peace rests on trembling foundations, as Elena issues new edicts weekly, outlawing once-innocent customs and practices. Those caught violating these capricious rules face swift, public punishment; the crack of whips and the grim creak of gallows echo through the city with chilling frequency. Despite these civilized trappings, Touraine’s energy feels stifled by the titanic presence to its west: Mount Malcredo.
Mount Malcredo’s shadow falls across the city like a perpetual omen. There, perched on a high, rocky spur stands the Faith Hold—Elena’s fortress, hewn from gray stone and designed for intimidation. Its battlements thrust upward at severe angles, and squat towers bristle with iron spikes. By day, the structure’s silhouette looms like a clenched fist against the sky; by night, the wind howls ceaselessly around its walls, carrying whispers of distant screams. Above its highest spire, clouds never rest. They swirl and churn in an endless vortex, a thunderous maelstrom whose lightning constantly strikes the fortress’s uppermost tower.
Within those storm-fed halls, Elena has installed strange mechanical engines—clockwork constructs, rumbling gearshafts, and alchemical dynamos powered by the endless chain of lightning. The resulting hum and rattle echo down the corridors of the hold and across the city’s rooftops, unsettling the populace. Thus, Touraine—Nidala’s tenuous heart—beats beneath an ever-present threat, hemmed in by dark forests, towering peaks, and the unrelenting vigilance of its grim mistress and her ceaseless storm.