A PERILOUS PLACE TO BE
Dennis L. McKiernan on the world of Mithgar
Mithgar is a wondrous world, or so I have been told . . . and yet . . . People cite the folk who live there: the Elves and Dwarves and Baeron and Humans and Warrows of the world, as well as Fox Riders and Children of the Sea and Groaning Stones and Living Mounds and Tomte and Woodwers and other Hidden Ones. They talk of the places wherein folk do dwell: the Boskydells, a rolling farmland dotted with small villages and surrounded by the Thornring, a barrier of living stilettos fifty feet high and miles wide and so thick that even birds and small animals find it difficult to make their way through; the forests and glens of the Elves, some where twilight ever cloaks the land; the living stone of the mountains wherein the Dwarven folk abide; endless grassy plains across which the Vanadurin ride fiery steeds; deep fjords sheltering Fjordsmen and their roving Dragonships; the Greatwood of the Baeron, some of whom at times take on the shapes or Wolves and Bears; Black Mountain, wherein Wizards reside; and more, much more of these remarkable places wherein the folk do dwell. They cite the friendly taverns, where Elven Bards sing and ale is plentiful along with mulled spice wine, where tales are told over a brew and a roast, and laughter fills the air. They speak of marvelous sights: the thousand-foot-high Great Escarpment down which Bellon Falls roars into the Cauldron below; Darda Galion, a forest of mighty trees towering upwards hundreds of feet where Silverlarks herald the dawn and dusk; the Wolfwood, wherein creatures of legend shelter; Dragonslair Mountain, spewing out molten fire; the incredible Avagon Sea with its indigo waters blue . . . just to name a few. And they say they would like to live there, drink the beer, speak with the remarkable variety of folks, hear the tales, listen to Elven Bards sing, sit at a simple campfire beneath a silver-bright moon, or pace through the Elven ritual of the changing of the seasons. These are the things they dream of in Mithgar . . .
. . . yet 'tis a perilous place as well, where Rucks and Hloks plunder and pillage and dreadful Ghuls astride hideous Helsteeds seek ride over all. It is a land of massive Trolls and appalling Gargons, Fearcasters to freeze the blood . . . and Dragons and Krakens and the Great Maelstrom, and the Great Swirl in the Sindhu Sea, where many a ship has been trapped in the clinging weed. There are Black Mages and Cold Iron Towers, and ghastly things beneath the land, and tombs and temples of death, and many a terrible foe . . .
. . . and more, much more, in this land of heroes and villains, of peace and peril, of sights and sounds and tastes and smells to bring both wonder and dread to the heart, this place where at any moment an adventure can grab you by the throat and drag you from here to there, at times laughing, a times screaming, at times weeping copious tears. . . .
. . . and yet, even though Mithgar is at times a perilous place to be, I hope you visit here often to travel across these wondrous lands with me.
Dennis L. McKiernan ~ 1998
BACK TO MITHGARPEDIA