The Drakwald is place of dark mountains, and murky forest. A perpetual fog clings to the wooded areas, called the “dragons breath” by the local peasants because it seems to emanate from caves scattered about the forest floor. Over the years, many a “dragon-slayer” has disappeared into the woods, never to return. Most of these missing do-gooders most likely got lost in the vast forest and died of exposure, not felled by a mythical beast.
A few settlements have been carved out of the sprawling green vastness, among them Zwolen and Aversvald. Both places don’t have much in the way farmland so have survived by trading timber and furs for wheat and vegetables. This lack of nutrition has given Drakwalders a pallid, sickly complexion. Combine this with their rather somber outlook on life and penchant for dark clothes, and Drakwald doesn’t rise to most Unkerlanter’s lists of places to visit.
Baron Hugo Von Averswald, Order of St. George, holds the Drakwald for the king. Rarely at his castle, the baron prefers to roam the vast forest alone for long periods of time, some say in search for the dragons that give this land its name.
An Italian Wars Weekend, in Scotland.
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