The Northern Highlands
The Northern Highlands of Vel'Nathar stretch proudly from the northernmost slopes of the Greyspires to windswept cliffs that gaze out over stormy seas. It is a rugged land, defined by mountains, rolling moors, glens, and perpetual mists. To the south, the jagged spine of the Greyspires rises from the Lowlands, dividing the dense forests of the Bleakthorn Wilds to the west from the sunlit hills of Eastmarch to the east.
Here, civilization tenaciously grips the rugged terrain, as though daring the mountains themselves to cast them aside. The people who dwell in these lands are bound by honor, elemental magic, and an unyielding resilience, maintaining ancient traditions amidst the ever-present mists and wild majesty of their home.
The Highlands are a land where strength defines destiny and ancient traditions endure, where every village, fortress, and forgotten ruin tells a story of survival, honor, and the whisper of old magics.
The Highland Landscape
The Highlands are defined by rolling heather-covered moors, windswept crags, and foreboding valleys, veiled in near-constant mists that curl between the hills like spirits searching for something lost. Towering pines stand sentinel along narrow trails, their trunks gnarled with age, while hidden lochs mirror the brooding sky, their depths keeping the secrets of forgotten ages. Rain lashes the land in sudden bursts, and thunder rumbles through the valleys.
The rugged terrain of the Highlands is rife with environmental hazards. Treacherous scree slopes give way underfoot, hidden crevasses are veiled by sudden snowfalls, and unpredictable avalanches thunder down mountain flanks after thaws. "White squalls"—sudden, localized blizzards—can reduce visibility to nothing in moments, while the piercing winds carry disorienting noise. On high peaks, the groan of shifting ice signals potential collapse, and thin ice can hide deep, frigid pools. Even along established paths, rockfalls and flash floods in narrow glens pose constant threats, reminding inhabitants of the land's unforgiving nature.
Despite the relentless environment, unique flora and fauna persist. Hardy, gnarled pines cling to rocky slopes, their roots seeking purchase against the wind. Resilient heather and wild grasses cover the moors, their colors muted by perpetual mist. In sheltered valleys, ancient Silverleaf Trees pulse with subtle life, their roots drawing energy from the land. Wild beasts adapted to the cold, mountain goats that navigate seemingly impossible cliffs, and birds that ride the powerful gusts call these lands home. Whispers tell of rare, elusive creatures that blend seamlessly with stone or mist, and others whose calls seem to carry the static of thunder.
Among these rugged landscapes, settlements cling stubbornly to existence, strongholds of stone and wood built to withstand both time and tide. The people who dwell in these lands, be it humans, goliaths, orcs, or firbolgs, carry with them a fierce independence, a culture steeped in oral tradition, and a reverence for the untamed forces that shape their world.
Dun Karak
Carved into the Greyspires, Dun Karak stands as the mightiest dwarven fortress in Vel'Nathar. A testament to the dwarves' unyielding spirit, it is a sprawling complex of stone and steel, its walls as ancient as the mountains themselves. The fortress’s vast halls hum with the rhythmic hammering of master smiths, their anvils ringing out the sounds of creation as they forge weapons and armor renowned for their legendary durability. The forges themselves are infused with the radiant energy of Galarium, allowing the dwarves to craft weapons that can cleave through even the toughest foes. These enchanted forges, are as much a part of Dun Karak’s identity as the very stone it is built upon.
But Dun Karak is more than just a bastion of craftsmanship—it is a living archive of dwarven heritage, preserving the stories, traditions, and wisdom of the dwarven people for generations to come. The fortress is lined with rune-carved stones that tell the tales of past heroes, battles won and lost, and the unbroken line of dwarven kinship. These runes, glowing faintly with a magic of their own, are carefully tended by the Runekeepers, dwarven scholars who devote their lives to recording and protecting their history.
The halls of Dun Karak serve as both a sanctuary for the dwarves and a living testament to their enduring legacy.
Khalduran
Further along the mountain paths, the outpost of Khalduran stands as a vital crossroads between the Southern and Central Highlands. Its fortified watchtowers rise high above the rocky landscape, providing a commanding view of the dangerous mountain passes below. Built originally as a haven for travelers and merchants braving the treacherous trails of the Greyspires, Khalduran has grown into a bustling settlement. It is a melting pot of humans, half-orcs, and dwarves who have come together, united by their shared duty to provide shelter, safety, and guidance in a wilderness that can turn from peaceful to perilous in an instant.
It is here that the outpost’s defenders prepare for the unpredictable dangers that lurk in the mountains—the wild beasts, roving bands of marauders, and, in darker times, the shadow of unseen forces that have begun to stir. Khalduran is a place of hardened resolve, where the clang of weapons being sharpened and the distant roar of fire can be heard echoing from the smithies. Travelers passing through are met with a combination of stern vigilance and quiet hospitality, ensuring that all who seek passage are given both protection and guidance.
Mistglen
Where the mist-cloaked slopes bridge the Southern and Central Highlands, Mistglen rests nestled within a sheltered valley, a quiet sanctuary of life amidst the harsh expanse of the Greyspires. This tranquil settlement, founded by a fellowship of humans and firbolgs seeking refuge from the relentless peaks, is a land of resilient orchards and thriving herbal gardens. The land is damp but fertile, its soil nourished by the ever-present fog that rolls through the valley. At the heart of Mistglen rise the mystical Silverleaf Trees, their silvery leaves shimmering softly as they sway in the wind. These ancient trees are believed to have a special connection to the land, their roots reaching deep into the mountain's life force, while their branches shelter rare and mystical herbs prized by alchemists and healers.
The settlement’s lifeblood flows through its connection to nature, and at the center of Mistglen stands the Verdant Spire, an ivy-draped tower where the Leafkeepers—a group of druids devoted to the elements of nature—dwell. These druids act as stewards of the land, imparting their wisdom on the delicate balance between civilization and the untamed forces of the Highlands. The Leafkeepers are revered not only for their deep understanding of healing and elemental magic but also for their ability to commune with the land itself, fostering a harmony that allows both the people and the wilderness to thrive.
Stonecross
At the heart of the Highlands, nestled within a broad valley, lies Stonecross—a bustling trade hub. This fortified town, with its weathered cobblestone streets and towering stone walls, serves as the Highlands' primary center of commerce. It is a place where the past and present converge, its foundations laid by forgotten hands, yet its streets are alive with the sounds of daily trade, politics, and intrigue.
Stonecross is a city defined by contrasts: human clans, each with their own customs and allegiances, share its alleys and markets with half-orc mercenaries, who are as much a part of the town’s identity as its stone buildings. The relationships here are delicate and complex, a dance of mutual need, ancient debts, and tentative alliances. The half-orcs, many of whom have wandered the mountains as hired blades or mercantile guards, are a respected force—often the enforcers of the delicate balance that exists within the town. Their presence is a reminder that Stonecross has a history of bloodshed, though it remains a place where most prefer to keep things at least outwardly civil.
Commerce in Stonecross is as much about tradition as it is about trade. Merchants, coming from the distant reaches of the Greyspires, tread carefully when passing through the town's gates, fully aware that every deal is recorded meticulously—both in the books of the merchant guilds and in the more personal ledgers kept by the town's elders. These iron-bound ledgers contain not only financial debts but also more personal, sometimes dangerous, obligations—blood debts that span generations. In Stonecross, a handshake is as binding as a written contract, and every favor is paid in full, for better or worse.
At the heart of this bustling hub, the ancient ruins are still visible beneath the streets. Forgotten pillars and cracked foundations jut through the town like the bones of an ancient beast, hinting at the powerful civilization that once called this valley home. Some say that the founders of Stonecross built it atop these ruins in search of power—others claim it was to honor those who came before.
Loch Drunhar and Brackenmere
To the west of Stonecross, at the very heart of the Highlands, lies Loch Drunhar, a vast and eerie lake whose surface is as still as glass, reflecting the storm-laden skies and the towering, ancient pines that line its shores. The loch is a mirror to the land—its surface calm, yet beneath lies an unfathomable depth that few have dared explore. The air around it is heavy with a sense of mystery, and the deep fog that often rises from the water only adds to its otherworldly aura.
On the mist-veiled shores of Loch Drunhar sits Brackenmere, a village perched upon stilts and stone piers, where the winds are ever-carrying the scent of salt and pine. Here, fishermen, warriors, and druids live in solemn reverence of the loch, believing it to be a living force that requires respect, if not fear. The villagers' lives are tied to the water—its bounty providing sustenance, its rhythms dictating their days, and its moods shaping their destinies. Life in Brackenmere is slow, deliberate, and deeply connected to the land and water.
Legends abound of the loch’s mysterious powers. Some say the spirits of ancient beings walk the shores at twilight, silently watching over the water and its people, guardians of secrets long buried beneath the surface. These spirits are said to have once been the protectors of the lost civilization that once inhabited the valley—a civilization that vanished without a trace, leaving only whispers and unanswered questions.
In Brackenmere, the loch is not just a source of food—it is a force of nature to be respected. The villagers speak of the loch’s depths in hushed tones, warning outsiders not to venture too far into its waters. Those who have tried to explore its depths often vanish without a trace, their boats found floating empty on the surface, or worse, found shattered against the rocks. There are those who claim the loch is a gateway, its depths leading to realms unknown, but no one knows for certain.
The Western Moors
To the west, beneath skies perpetually shrouded in a blanket of grey, the Highlands stretch endlessly into vast moors, their rolling heather and wild grasses sweeping across the land like a restless sea. This desolate yet beautiful landscape shelters Braehold, a proud settlement built from timber and stone.
Braehold is a place where the rugged, raw spirit of the people mirrors the land itself. It is a diverse gathering of goliaths, humans, and half-orcs, each bound by fierce loyalty to their clans. Under the banners of their ancestors, the Iron Moot is convened—an ancient and solemn council where warriors speak plainly and honor is paramount. Disputes are resolved through sacred, honorable duels, held near the Black Cairn—a towering, ancient monolith that stands as both a marker and a reminder of a long-forgotten chieftain's final resting place. The cairn is said to be a guardian, its silent presence a testament to the history and power of the land’s first rulers.
Above Braehold, perched upon rugged cliffs marking the western boundary of the Highlands, stands Varokh'Tal, a formidable fortress of stone and iron. Here, the Varokh Orcs make their home, a people deeply connected to the ancestral spirits who once roamed these lands.
Their culture, fiercely rooted in tradition, revolves around the reverence of elemental forces and the untamed nature of the world around them. Guided by powerful shamans, who commune with the tempestuous skies, the orcs of Varokh'Tal follow the old ways, with ritual combat serving as both trial and tradition. To them, each battle is a sacred act—a test of strength, spirit, and resolve. The thunderous winds that whip through the cliffs are seen as the voice of the gods, and the warriors, their hearts full of primal energy, fight not just for honor but for the approval of the spirits above.
Further along the cliffs, in the shadow of the storm-swept peaks, lies Raven's Roost, a strategic stronghold inhabited by a coalition of firbolgs and goliaths. This settlement is built upon ancient stone watchtowers that rise like sentinels over the valleys below, their weathered surfaces standing firm against the unrelenting winds of the Highlands.
Here, the vigilant guardians keep watch over the rugged terrain and the ominous Bleakthorn Wilds that stretch into the unknown. Their eyes are ever watchful, prepared to alert the surrounding lands to any emerging threats from the wilds. The firbolgs, with their innate connection to nature, and the goliaths, with their stoic presence, make a formidable partnership in this bastion of defense, where they endure the harshest elements to keep the rest of the Highlands safe.
Eldershade Grove
To the north of Stonecross, nestled in the lush seclusion of Glen Gwyrd, lies Eldershade, a sacred firbolg grove hidden from all but the most discerning eyes. This serene sanctuary, protected by powerful natural enchantments, is a place where the firbolgs live in harmony with the ancient rhythms of the forest. The grove is guarded by druids who act as both protectors and keepers of the land’s secrets.
Eldershade’s inhabitants are fiercely protective of their secluded way of life, revealing themselves only to those whom they deem worthy—those who respect the balance of nature and are guided by wisdom and humility. The grove itself is a place of profound quiet, where every rustling leaf and whispered breeze carries meaning, and the boundaries between the mortal world and the spiritual realm seem ever thin.
Eastern Highlands
Nestled deep in the eastern reaches, Wyrmbarrow is a tranquil village that seems to exist in perfect harmony with the surrounding wilderness. This serene community is primarily inhabited by firbolgs and humans, both of whom hold deep reverence for the land’s ancient history.
The village is set against a backdrop of immense burial mounds, the final resting places of long-dead drakes. These mounds are revered as sacred ground, the resting places of powerful ancestors whose spirits are said to still linger, guarding the land and its people. The villagers, ever vigilant, serve as devoted custodians of these hallowed grounds, ensuring that no disturbance or disrespect ever threatens the spirits of the past. They regularly perform rituals, offerings, and prayers, asking for guidance and protection from the spirits that watch over them.
The village itself is small but strong, its structures carefully constructed to blend into the natural landscape, respecting the traditions of both the firbolgs and humans. Wyrmbarrow is a place where the living and the dead are inextricably linked, and its people understand that their peace comes only with constant respect for the spirits that inhabit the land.
Carved into the rugged eastern foothills, Dun Mordain stands as an imposing bastion of the Runeborn dwarves, a people renowned throughout Vel'Nathar for their unparalleled mastery of elemental and runic magic. The fortress-hold, hewn directly from the mountainside, hums with the resonance of age-old rituals and the power of the earth itself. A quiet but palpable energy flows through its stone walls, as if the mountain and the runes that inscribe it are alive. The dwarves of Dun Mordain are not just warriors or craftsmen; they are scholars and practitioners of ancient magics, their spells woven from the very elements of the world—storm, earth, and sky.
Dun Mordain is illuminated by the soft glow of inscribed runes, glowing softly at night like the embers of a long-burning fire. The fortress serves as both sanctuary and stronghold, its halls a safe haven for those who seek refuge in the dangerous eastern highlands. As the key gateway from Eastmarch into the Highlands, Dun Mordain's inhabitants are ever watchful of the border, extending a welcome only to those who honor their ancient customs and respect the power they wield. Outsiders must prove themselves worthy, for the Runeborn do not tolerate those who would use their power recklessly or disrespect the traditions that have kept their people strong for generations.
Beyond the foothills, hidden beneath the shadow of towering peaks, lies the secluded village of Eldarûn. Distinguished by its massive runestones inscribed with ancient elemental glyphs, the village pulses with an aura of mystic energy, as though the very land itself hums with power.
The people here—both Runeborn dwarves and humans—live in a delicate balance, guided by the intertwining forces of elemental and druidic magic. While the Runeborn are masters of the elements through their runic practices, the druids of Eldarûn guide the land itself, keeping the natural world in harmony with the power of the mountains.
Encircling the village are towering monoliths, each etched with protective runes, forming an unbroken ward around Eldarûn. These monoliths stabilize the land's turbulent energies, preventing the wild forces of the Highlands from overwhelming the settlement. They stand as silent sentinels, ever watchful, ensuring that the delicate balance between civilization and the natural world is maintained.
At the heart of Eldarûn is the Circle of Twilight, an order of druids who guide the settlement through sacred rituals of renewal and protection. These druids maintain a deep bond with the runepriests of neighboring Dun Mordain, sharing knowledge and wisdom to ensure that the elemental forces they both wield do not come into conflict.
Northern Strongholds
Perched atop a rugged plateau, Caer Dran stands as a vigilant sentinel, its towering walls guarding the northern highland passes, vital rivers, and expansive valleys. Built to withstand the fiercest elements, Caer Dran is a stronghold of resilience and defiance, home to both goliaths and hardy humans who have adapted to the harsh highland life.
The settlement’s primary focus is the revered Trial of Blades, a test of strength, honor, and redemption. Every year, warriors from various clans gather to participate in this rigorous challenge, proving their worth to their people. Those who emerge victorious earn esteemed positions within their mountain-born clans, securing leadership roles and cementing their legacy as paragons of valor.
Guiding the people of Caer Dran are the Stormsages, a group of revered seers whose wisdom is sought by all who reside within the stronghold. The Stormsages interpret the omens carried by the ever-shifting storm-laden skies above the plateau, providing counsel on matters both mundane and sacred. Their stone-carved halls are filled with ancient texts and sacred relics, where the guidance of the heavens meets the warrior’s will. The winds that howl through the pass are not merely gusts to the people of Caer Dran—they are messages from the storm itself, offering insight and direction to those who know how to listen.
Far to the north-central reaches of the Highlands, surrounded by a landscape alive with primal forces, lies Stonegale—a settlement renowned for its deep connection to elemental magic.
The village, nestled in a volatile region teeming with steaming geysers, fiery vents, and pools of bubbling earth, hums with raw, untamed power. Here, humans and goliaths coexist in harmony with the earth, dedicating themselves to the study and practice of ancient rites that honor the elements. The very air pulses with energy, and the earth beneath their feet quivers with the might of nature’s forces.
The people of Stonegale are attuned to the shifting winds, the rolling thunder, and the rumbling earth, each element a teacher, each force a guide. In this sanctuary, scholars and mystics come from far and wide to deepen their understanding of the primal magics that pulse through the world. It is a place where the elements are not feared but revered, and where those who seek wisdom can find it in the roar of the wind, the crackle of lightning, and the steady rumble of the land itself.
The Northernmost Coast
At the northernmost boundary of the Highlands, the jagged Howling Cliffs rise defiantly above the churning sea below. Winds scream through the caverns and cracks in the stone, creating a ceaseless wail that echoes across the coastline. This mournful sound is believed to be the voices of ancient warriors—guardians of the land who once protected these shores from invaders.
Today, goliath sages and human mystics make pilgrimages to the cliffs, seeking guidance in the eerie whispers of the wind. They believe that the voices carry the wisdom and lessons of those long gone, teaching of strength, sacrifice, and the indomitable spirit of the Highland defenders. The cliffs themselves are an ever-present reminder of the land’s legacy—both a source of mourning and reverence for the people who call this rugged wilderness home.
Rising above the storm-ravaged seas, Varrad’s Watch stands as a fortress town, its stone towers battered by relentless winds and waves. Situated atop the high northern cliffs, the settlement overlooks the vast and tempestuous ocean, where the waves crash against the shore with a fury unmatched.
The inhabitants of Varrad’s Watch, a mix of humans and half-orcs, are ever watchful, standing guard against both the natural forces that constantly threaten them and the darker, more mysterious threats whispered in distant legends. Varrad’s Watch is more than a mere military outpost—it is a living testament to the strength and resilience of those who live within its walls.
Beneath the town, hidden deep within storm-carved caves, lie tunnels that reverberate with the sound of the crashing tide. These dark, winding passages are said to conceal treasures and relics from ancient ships lost to the ocean’s fury, remnants of a time when explorers braved the tempestuous waters.
The past lingers here like the salt-laden winds, carrying with it both warnings of what has been lost and tales of wonders yet to be uncovered. Varrad’s Watch stands as a constant reminder that the forces of nature are not to be underestimated, and that even in the face of relentless storm and sea, there is always a need to watch, to guard, and to remember.