Well met, traveller! I am Grendelf Erandir, cartographer and hedge wizard of these lands of Yore. Welcome to my account of the eastern reaches they call the Dragon Coast. All along this bleak and remote coastline, there still lie the skeletal remains of enormous winged lizards, the last remnants of the Age of Dragons, trapped in eternal slumber and oblivious to the passing aeons. Hundreds of these archaeological remains litter the beaches and coastal plains; many plundered for teeth and marrow, some yet intact and half-buried. Deep in the dark woods, esoteric sects enact their occult rites, whilst high in the hills ravening tribes of gnolls and goblins bicker between themselves and raid the vulnerable human outposts of Astlav, Wolden and Vorgrast. The husks of abandoned forts litter the hills and headlands, and there are rumours of a powerful sorcerer who lives alone in his tower out on the infamous Dragon's Claw peninsula. Once these untamed lands were more populous, but their remote location, cut off from the rest of Yore by the vast, stinking swamps of the Festering Marshes, their barren soils and their thriving tribes of vicious raiders, make living here a bleak prospect. Most who make their home here are either stubborn, doughty and resourceful, or on the run. Pirates plunder the villages, and fey creatures haunt the forests. The small settlement of Wolden is beset with corruption and poverty. I'll admit, I did not tarry long in this forsaken region, and returned quickly south and west to more civilised country.