Durras
An endless plain of tall, windrippled grass broken by stands of ancient, gnarled oak. There are no mountains, only gentle, rolling hills that hide shallow, clear lakes. The only stone is a massive, solitary glacial erratics draped in lichen and offerings. The horizon is a perfect, unbroken line, a land that teaches you to read the sky, not the ground.
Marches with
Last inscribed 28 August 2026