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From a distance the mountains appear to be on fire. Their whole face is filled with thick red dirt. Some of the dirt is darker, other parts lighter, fading to an orange, or even a yellow in some parts. It falls over the mountainside in time, drifting about with the wash of water during rain or melting now. The fine dirt blends together, sending long streaks through the hillside so that it can give that magnificent effect of flame, glinting brightly in the effects of the sun.
This is the mountain range to the west of Shrilal. They are rugged and rocky, and do not hold any particularily easy path up their sides. Shrubs and brushes coat their sides, resting in crusted dirt. The earth is hard, but it breaks easily, crumbling to dust beneath cloven hoof. The landscape is littered with precious gems and granite boulders, sometimes whole sides made of rock and shale.
Its sides don?t compare to the cliffs of Casa Tiner, but they are formidable for one accustomed to the sloping hills of Ziaho Nintuck Ri. They are riddled with caves gouging out rude holes into its old sides. Unwary Nequus have fallen into sinkholes and open pits that lay in wait of a victim. With a broken limb they have no way to recover even if they are able to escape, which is rare. Some have been known to retrieve their lives and escape from the mountain, but the number of those who do not return is far greater.
One must have their wits about them, not for dark creatures looking for flesh, but these deep caverns. As well many a Nequus has become lost in caves that stretch endlessly into the mountains. With no way of marking their path and no way of knowing where they are headed, death comes to them in the form of starvation.
Summers here are harsher, winters by far harsher, though still muted compared to the winters of Casa Tiner. Summers provide no rain for months on end, one must fight their way for water, often times venturing into the deadly caves that posses such. The thick dirt clogs their throats and the high altitudes means the suns rays are even more a potent force. At their peaks the mountains are always snow capped, though only at the very tips where the days stay just cold enough for thus. Winters turn the rockfaces icey and blizzards come rarely, though they do come. Mostly it is just a thick draft of snow that prevents one from moving further on, or have any hope of digging for the food that does not exist.
From a distance the mountains appear to be on fire. Their whole face is filled with thick red dirt. Some of the dirt is darker, other parts lighter, fading to an orange, or even a yellow in some parts. It falls over the mountainside in time, drifting about with the wash of water during rain or melting now. The fine dirt blends together, sending long streaks through the hillside so that it can give that magnificent effect of flame, glinting brightly in the effects of the sun.
This is the mountain range to the west of Shrilal. They are rugged and rocky, and do not hold any particularily easy path up their sides. Shrubs and brushes coat their sides, resting in crusted dirt. The earth is hard, but it breaks easily, crumbling to dust beneath cloven hoof. The landscape is littered with precious gems and granite boulders, sometimes whole sides made of rock and shale.
Its sides don?t compare to the cliffs of Casa Tiner, but they are formidable for one accustomed to the sloping hills of Ziaho Nintuck Ri. They are riddled with caves gouging out rude holes into its old sides. Unwary Nequus have fallen into sinkholes and open pits that lay in wait of a victim. With a broken limb they have no way to recover even if they are able to escape, which is rare. Some have been known to retrieve their lives and escape from the mountain, but the number of those who do not return is far greater.
One must have their wits about them, not for dark creatures looking for flesh, but these deep caverns. As well many a Nequus has become lost in caves that stretch endlessly into the mountains. With no way of marking their path and no way of knowing where they are headed, death comes to them in the form of starvation.
Summers here are harsher, winters by far harsher, though still muted compared to the winters of Casa Tiner. Summers provide no rain for months on end, one must fight their way for water, often times venturing into the deadly caves that posses such. The thick dirt clogs their throats and the high altitudes means the suns rays are even more a potent force. At their peaks the mountains are always snow capped, though only at the very tips where the days stay just cold enough for thus. Winters turn the rockfaces icey and blizzards come rarely, though they do come. Mostly it is just a thick draft of snow that prevents one from moving further on, or have any hope of digging for the food that does not exist.
