The Threshold Plains

A land of brittle grass, long shadows, and whispered caution, the Threshold Plains stretch like a sun-scorched gateway between Mordonia’s verdant heart and its most perilous extremes. These semi-arid grasslands mark the transition from the structured kingdom of Solania to the wild, ancient sands of Ramlat al-Sabatayn, and the deeper one ventures into them, the more unforgiving and lawless the terrain becomes. While technically a plain, the region feels like a borderland in more ways than one. The Threshold Plains are drier, dustier, and harsher than their southern cousins, The Solanian Timberplains, with scattered tufts of grass, rocky outcrops, and stretches of cracked soil under a scorching sun. To the east lies the creeping edge of La Forêt des Secrets / The Forest of Secrets, its shadowy boughs looming like silent sentinels. To the west, the dunes of Ramlat Al-Sab’atayn begin to rise on the horizon, the wind already beginning to howl with desert chill and heat.
This convergence of environments has long made the Threshold Plains a haven for the opportunistic and the desperate. Bandits, marauders, and outcasts frequently raid travelers along the dusty trails that cut through the plains, targeting merchant caravans and pilgrims seeking passage between Solania and Al-Zandhar. It is also a hotbed of smuggling activity, where those willing to brave the dangers of the plains—and the wrath of border officials—profit greatly from ferrying forbidden goods, rare desert relics, or even fugitives.
The northern stretch of the Threshold Plains is quieter—but not in comfort. There, the land grows eerily silent, punctuated only by the caws of distant carrion birds. Abandoned villages, remnants of old settlements or failed outposts, dot the landscape like the bones of past civilizations. Few dare to explore these husks, not only due to the risk of ambush, but because of strange occurrences—unsettling visions, unnatural chills, and the ever-present sight of the House of M, a swirling magical phenomenon visible from the cliffs of Ataraxia Bay. The House of M, situated at the bay’s center, churns the sea with magical turbulence and draws both fear and curiosity. Sailors and scholars alike tell tales of it, though few dare approach.
The only true mark of civilization in the Threshold Plains is the Sirocco Watchpost, a heavily fortified border checkpoint situated near the transition into the Ramlat desert. Guarded by joint forces from Solania and neutral trade guilds, it serves as the official processing station for all legal travelers moving between the two great regions. Despite its order, the Watchpost is surrounded by makeshift camps of hopeful merchants, migrant workers, and mercenaries waiting for clearance—or selling services to those who wish to skip the formalities.
To most, the Threshold Plains are a no-man’s-land, a dangerous necessity between the kingdoms—a region to pass through quickly, not one to linger in. Yet for those willing to brave its lawlessness, the plains offer profit, secrecy, and freedom. Here, ambition walks hand in hand with danger, and the dry wind always carries the promise of change.