Midgard
Midgard forms a rugged threshold between the myth-saturated lands of the West and the more settled, mortal-facing Midlands. It is a land of sweeping contrasts—broad, wind-carved hills that roll endlessly into misty valleys, broken by vast, ancient forests and a spine of mountains that cuts across the horizon like a jagged scar.
The hills are green but untamed, their beauty softened by constant winds and drifting fog. Valleys run deep and quiet, often holding hidden rivers, scattered hamlets, or ruins older than memory. The forests are immense and brooding, where light filters thinly through towering pines and gnarled oaks, and where paths seem to shift if one strays too far from the known way.
To the north and east rise the mountains—harsh, stony, and imposing. Snow lingers on their peaks even in warmer seasons, and narrow passes wind through them like veins, watched by crumbling watchtowers or something far older. These heights mark both a barrier and a boundary, separating worlds not just by distance, but by nature.
Midgard carries the weight of both neighboring realms. From the West, it inherits a deep undercurrent of myth—spirits in the wilds, strange echoes in the land, and a sense that something ancient is always watching. From the Midlands comes a gradual push toward order—roads carved through hills, settlements clinging to safer ground, and people striving to tame what cannot truly be tamed.
It is a land in tension, where wilderness and civilization meet but never fully reconcile—a place of journeys, thresholds, and stories waiting just beyond the edge of the known path.