The Traxton Highlands are a sprawling region of vast plains and low, rolling hills that stretch across the eastern edge of Kalamar. Located between the cities of Traxton and Lakegard, this wilderness area is bordered by the coastline to the north and the Vikholm border to the east. Despite its name, the Traxton Highlands have no mountains to speak of, and only a few frozen canyons remain as evidence of ancient lakes that once dotted the landscape.
The region has long been left to the forces of nature, with only a few hardy souls braving its harsh conditions to eke out a living. The area's sparse population consists mainly of nomadic tribes of hunters and herders who roam the plains with their flocks of sheep and goats, hunting game such as elk, deer, and bison that roam the region in large numbers. The nomads have learned to live off the land, using every part of the animals they hunt for food, clothing, and tools.
The Traxton Highlands are known for their unpredictable weather patterns, with fierce storms, high winds, and extreme temperatures being common occurrences. During the winter months, the region is blanketed in snow and ice, with temperatures dropping to well below freezing. In the summer, the area comes alive with the lush growth of grasses and wildflowers, and the wildlife becomes more active, making it a popular destination for hunting parties.
Despite its natural riches, the Traxton Highlands have never been a major hub of human activity. The area's rugged terrain and harsh climate have made it difficult to establish any kind of permanent settlement, and attempts at mining the region's few mineral deposits have met with little success. However, some of the more adventurous residents of nearby towns and cities have begun to explore the region's many natural wonders.
As for the wildlife of the Traxton Highlands, it is truly remarkable. The region is home to a diverse range of creatures, from the massive kalamar bison that roam the grasslands in search of food, to the elusive lynx that stalks the forests along the canyons. Eagles and other birds of prey are common sights, soaring high above the plains in search of prey, while wolves and coyotes hunt in packs, their mournful howls echoing across the hills at night. Wyverns have been spotted hunting in the region. Despite the challenges of living in such a harsh and unforgiving environment, the people of the Traxton Highlands have managed to coexist with this wild and beautiful landscape, forging a unique way of life that is as rugged and untamed as the land itself.
The Deathmarch Massacre
In the annals of history, the grim tale of the Deathmarch Massacre etches a haunting chapter within the lore of the land of Kalamar. In the year 582 of the Fourth Age, a rising threat shadowed the tranquil landscapes of the Traxton Highlands, casting a pall of apprehension over the locals. Unprecedented reports of black dragons amassing in the highlands sent shivers through the hearts of the people, a sight and notion both alien and terrifying. Fearing the might of these formidable beasts, the land's Duke summoned the Earls of Kalamar, rallying their combined might with the approval of the Church of the Silver Dominion.
United by the shared urgency to quell this monstrous threat, a great army was mustered, its ranks consisting of both seasoned professional soldiers and the valorous commoners who stood to defend their homes. Four thousand souls answered the call, braving the foreboding highlands as they marched forward, their determination unwavering.
As the midday sun bathed their initial steps with its reassuring warmth, the army plunged into the treacherous terrain of the highlands, intent on surprising the dragons under the veil of the sun's radiance. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, the very sky seemed to conspire against them. Swiftly, dark clouds amassed, obscuring the sun and plunging the landscape into an eerie darkness. Torrential rain erupted from the heavens, a relentless downpour that soaked the courage and resolve of the soldiers. Amidst the deluge, the army pressed on, their general's rallying cries a beacon of hope amidst the tempest. But hope proved fleeting as the clouds seemed to birth a harbinger of doom. A haunting whistle pierced the air, and the rain morphed into a malevolent acid, scalding and corroding all it touched. Chaos reigned, screams merging with the hissing of acid, and terror became the uninvited companion of those valiant souls.
The canyon walls became both refuge and prison as the dragons swooped down, their black forms casting shadows of impending death. Acid spewed forth from gaping maws, the very earth trembling beneath the fury of their assault. Amidst the carnage, brave individuals stood tall, their bows and crossbows delivering defiance in the form of steel-tipped arrows and bolts. In this cacophony of agony and resistance, the dance of life and death played out in every heartbeat.
The annals of history speak of four black dragons felled that day, their deaths etching a shred of triumph amidst the bleakness. Yet, the cost was staggering, for only thirteen souls emerged from the Deathmarch Massacre. The names of these survivors have faded through the corridors of time, their identities lost in the fog of sorrow and oblivion. Whispers among the Kalamar patriots persist, voices that weave a narrative of conspiracy and manipulation. Rumors suggest that the very church that sanctioned the endeavor may have harbored ulterior motives, that the gruesome outcome was, in fact, the church's covert strategy to weaken the able-bodied men and women of Kalamar. A silence that hangs over the Church of the Silver Dominion regarding this event lends credence to these whispers.