#ragweeds

The wild lands of Thisaway hold no real dangers if you ask the people who call it home, so much as they are mischievous. The trees twist and turn, seeming to walk this way and that. Sometimes rocky, hard and cold as the depths, while other times soft, sandy, and warm with the suns rays, it's shores ever changing, the river winds it's own path, changing direction as it sees fit, rising and falling in its own time. The old growth and yong sapling create a maze where each new venture leads to new discoveries

Stories pass from elder to child of the fantastical creatures found there, from the fierce knuks the prowls the thick brush leaving only it's fowl sent behind, of the strange hedyn pobl, who make off with lost treasures and trinkets to add to their ever growing kingdom in the starlight bramble, and of the brave cerigyn pobl that wage endless battle on the shifting river sores against their sworn foe, the mighty Craw claw. They tell of the sweet mellon berries that hang in the branches and bountiful currants that grow in its shade. They say that those who are lost on the winding paths might find their way by the sun or stars, or for those brave enough by climbing the ever shifting branches and risk bind weed and tangle root will spy the clock tower at the center of the growing township at its edges.

The township of Cloccloch is nothing so special as the untamed frontier that acts as it's eastern border. A collection of people from here and there, small businesses and store fonts along main street, a few neighborhoods scattered to and frow, resent interest in its center piece and the old road that wind the wild woods has brought growth and change.