by Narrator » Tue Sep 28, 2010 2:01 pm
Tir na Nog. It was an Irish myth, not that such things mattered in the war-torn landscape that Europe had become. It meant "The Land of Youth," and as the caravan got further away from civilized areas one might even believe it was the paradise that others had claimed. Trees were here, unblighted. Birds could still be heard. Indeed, it seemed that the mountainous wilderness of Transia had continued on more or less as it always had, unconcerned with the fate of the rest of the world.
The roads here were less finished than those before, though perhaps in better shape by the simple fact of the lack of violence being waged upon them. It was peaceful, almost pastoral. One could be... happy, here.