The twelve terrain types of Mistheim, from sea level to permanent snowfield.
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The cold shelf sea that rings Mistheim is rarely calm. Merfolk hold the deep channels and do not welcome surface traffic; fishing boats from coastal holds keep to shallows they have charted for generations.
Tide-scoured stone and kelp-choked crevices where nothing stays dry for long. Deepwalker stilt-towns perch above the splash zone here, their foundations driven into rock the sea has been trying to reclaim for centuries.
Wide flats of pale sand that hold heat through the afternoon and go cold fast after sunset. The sand makes poor farmland but good salt-flats, and several Markfolk clans run salt operations here that the Pandor Kloster networks quietly depend on.
Waterlogged ground where peat stacks to depth and the horizon is never certain. Lövfolk who know the routes can cross in a day; those who do not can wander for three. The smell of it — iron-water and old growth — carries half a mile.
Thin soil over stone, too dry for trees and too exposed for anything but heather and wind-hardened scrub. Viddfolk [Heralds] use the long sight lines to run their routes fast; there is nowhere to ambush someone who can see in every direction.
Salted upland where heather and rough grass share ground with occasional thornwood. The wind off the water shapes everything here — trees only grow where a rock breaks the line of it, and they grow sideways.
Open grassland with enough rainfall to stay green through dry seasons. Goblins favor meadows for surface camps; the sight lines are good and the soil soft enough that a burrow entrance can be hidden under a grass-covered hatch.
Broad-leaf canopy where the light arrives filtered and the ground stays damp. Most Lövfolk settlements are built into these slopes — suspended platforms, rope bridges, storage nets hung between trunks. The forest is not wild to them; it is home infrastructure.
Dense spruce at altitude where the canopy closes overhead and ground cover thins to needle-duff. The cold is bone-dry in winter; resin smell is the first thing you notice coming up from the lower forest.
Exposed bedrock at high altitude where soil is a thin seam between stones and frost cracks the rest. Bergfolk mining shafts have been sunk into granite like this for three centuries; the stone is older than any of their holds but they know its character well.
Wind-blasted ridgeline where nothing roots and everything loose has already blown away. The views are extraordinary and useless — nobody lives here. Bergfolk route-markers sometimes appear at these passes, carved into stone by people who came through once and wanted to be remembered for it.
Permanent snowfield at the highest elevations where the cold does not break between seasons. The Steinfolk say the first snowfields appeared when the first mountain did; they treat them as boundary markers between the world of the living and whatever is above it.