The Lands of Trone

These lands, harsh and unyielding, have been my home and my curse. Trone is a place where stone meets sky, where the mountains loom high and grim, their peaks lost in cloud and shadow. I have walked its winding paths, felt the chill of its northern winds, and tasted the salt of the western sea that hurls itself mercilessly against cliffs sharp as knives. Life here is hard, and only the strong—or the lucky—last long enough to tell their tales.

In the west, where the mountains fall into the ocean, villages cling to the rocks like limpets, their people bound to the sea and its fickle generosity. The storms are fierce, and many a ship has been dashed upon the jagged rocks, leaving only broken wood and drowned men to tell of their fate. Yet, the people here are as hard as the stone beneath their feet, unbent by wave or storm.

Further inland, the forests stretch deep and dark, a tangle of ancient trees where light struggles to reach the forest floor. Here, legends tell of spirits and beasts that stalk the shadows, watching travelers from the corners of their eyes. I have heard tales of men who ventured too far and returned changed—or never returned at all.

To the north lies the tundra, a desolate realm of ice and wind, where nothing grows and no man lives by choice. Only the desperate, the exiled, or those cursed by the gods find their way here. The northern tribes, fierce and wild, guard these borders and speak of great beasts that roam the icy wastes, creatures as old as the mountains themselves.

Southward, life flourishes where the rivers flow, and small kingdoms rise and fall as quickly as the tides. Here, cities are built atop the bones of ancient ruins, and merchants and thieves walk the same cobbled streets, both seeking fortunes in the dust of fallen empires. It is a land of intrigue and blood, where alliances shift with the seasons, and betrayal is the coin of the realm.

Beyond the eastern mountains, few dare to venture. The land there is half-myth, a place spoken of in hushed voices. Some say it’s cursed, others that it holds treasures beyond imagining, guarded by guardians neither man nor beast. I do not know, for I have never crossed those peaks, nor do I intend to. Some secrets, I believe, are better left undisturbed.

Yet here in Trone, we are bound to the land as much as it is bound to us. For all its cruelty, there is a beauty to these lands—a fierce, unyielding beauty that beckons even as it warns. Perhaps one day, the legends will tell of those who conquered these lands. But until then, we endure, for Trone takes no mercy on the weak.

Commissioned by His Majesty, King Alaric IV, Sovereign of the Western Hills and Keeper of the Shielded Coast. Compiled and inscribed by Edric of Brae, Royal Cartographer.