The Jennarian Desert
When new arrivals disembark at Pilgrim's Landing they are often forced to wait as their guides arrange the onward travel. They stand in clumps tired from the long boat ride across the inland Garen sea and nervous of what awaits them. For a week their world had been blue. Vaulted heavens free of clouds and waves that twinkled as they lapped against the hull. Nothing to do but dwell upon the journey they were undertaking. As they sat upon the deck they swapped stories about the canyon and the sights they'd see along the way, taking turns frightening each other with whispered tales of trolls and the parties that vanished every year. But they were different from the thousands that descended into the Abysmal Canyon, they were ready and worthy of reaching Heaven's Spire.
But one thing they never prepared for, that none came there to see, was the desert, the vast emptiness that began at the wooden dock and stretched all the way to jungles on the other side of the continent. Men and women used to the close confines of sprawling cities stand slack-jawed while an army of guides set about arranging them into parties, careful to keep families and social groups together but sure to keep the numbers even. Plump donkeys drink greedily while porters loaded them with provisions, enough to keep the pilgrims fed and watered for a week.
If the pilgrims were lucky they might arrive just as one of the caravans emerged from the desert. The birds come first, long-legged and taller than the robed figures striding alongside the pack animals. They act as guards of sorts surrounding the ox-like beasts that carry the caravan's goods, pecking at nosey strangers that come too close to the precious cargo. No one is quite sure if they're pets or are just attracted to what is often the largest congregation on life as it moves across the barren sands. The traders never give an explanation or answer any question about where they've come from. Fledglings wander around the station scratching at the dirt and getting in the way but the porters are careful not to touch them or to let an inquisitive pilgrim get too close, aware of just how important the traders are to their livelihood.
Once a price has been agreed on the desert people start unloading the cargo onto a special platform behind the dock. People gather as the sheets of glass are uncovered and stacked together. Little care is taken since this is Jennarian glass and practically indestructible. A sword strike wouldn't scratch it, fire glides across its surface, and gaudily gowned people have danced on invisible floors. Gold is nothing compared to Jennarian glass.
Many a soul has set out to uncover the secrets of the sands only to face ruin. Some stumble into the towns and villages that surround the desert, driven mad by thirst and on the edge of death but only a few will talk of what they've seen among the shifting dunes.
Geography
Rivers once flowed across the Jennarian plain, fed by the mighty Intraana mountains that run from east to west, but they long dried up except for a small corner where they went underground. Marsh elves dug the caves and the channels, slowing the flow with dams or creating overflows to divert the spring surges that would otherwise flood them out. They created groves in the deep ravines, shielding trees from the harshness of the sun and watering them by hand. Birds moved in and adapted to the dark, feeding on the shoals of fish that in turn lived on the birds. For a race with no homeland of their own, it was paradise but then the humans found them and pushed them out. Unable to enter the mountains for fear of the expanding dragon empire the marsh elves returned to the sands and rejoined the tribes that roamed across the expanse.
Signs of their passing can be found everywhere from the drawings on the walls of the sandstone caves that litter the desert to the garden oases that the green-fingered marsh elves nurture.
At the centre of the desert, the land is punctuated by towering rock columns thrust from deep within the earth. Only one of them is made from obsidian and is known as the black mesa. It is the home of the high elves and its location a closely guarded secret known only to a few in the imperial family and the army of marsh elf slaves that toil in the obsidian mines that surround the tower's base. Only a few none elves have been inside, emperors and prisoners destined to never leave.
The Sondaran empire once laid claim to the southern part and built a highway through the dunes from Karalon all the way to the Blue Mountains. Legions marched in the boiling sun on hard-packed roads maintained by crews of humans and marsh elves that toiled to keep the way open but with the collapse, it has been claimed by the sand and only visible in a few places.
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