The Kladar Plain
Why? Why is there water in the well? Why should I not walk along the levee? Why does wood burn? Yet, children never stop to think about the weirdness of the names of the places they live in. They simply accept the names of the places they are born into. I cannot remember the first time it crossed my mind to wonder about the name of the place in which I was born and have been living ever since. The Kladar Plain? The landscape is bitten into chunks by the fangs of rocks, infested with dense forests, and you can think yourself lucky to take a view of an area farther than a few miles without your sight being wrecked by a mountain, a hill, or a mound.
While studying in Roden, however, it dawned on me that for this part of Euthia, plain might well be the most suitable name. All the cities shown in maps seem to be connected by roads which, even though they wind and curl with fury and effort, always manage to find enough room to squeeze through the narrowest of slits at the foot of the mountains, work their way along precipices, calm themselves while ambling around lakes. Pilgrims, carriages, or riders never have to exert much effort when following this flat road, where even the slightest rise livens up the experience of the journey. Solitary rocks stick out of the land like rotten teeth fallen from the mouth of an ancient god of giants, without any desire to come together to form the larger masses of mountains.
In the Chronicle of Davir, there is a story about the flourishing cities of Leradin and Pryskora, packed with citizens, merchants and culture. Schools, colleges, and academies attract educated people from all over Euthia. Yet, ease of travel also troubles this land. Men-at-arms go unhindered by snow-covered passes, rough terrain, or troubled waters. The armies of rivalling families, dukes, and rulers have always hurtled in with the speed and ferocity of a deluge after the spring thaw. Hordes of highwaymen and marauders wander the country, terrorizing both common traveller and wealthy men with their escort with indifference. No wonder so much Faer sorcery thickly stews in the soil, soaked with the blood of battles and solitary murders which first covered and smothered the land with Rasgaroth’s black cloak, to scorch it and leave it fuming its life away in dragons’ claws.