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Not far from the hamlet of kondemnita in the desolate rugashot valley, just northwest of kaperbulo, by the side of a quiet dirt track, there is an old cottage, no-body lives there now, or if they do they rarely show themselves, and only as ghosts.

It can be seen from across a tiled yard, opposite a rotting wooden barn.

There is an ancient well in the center of the yard.

The tiles of the houses roof are cracked and lightly covered with vegetation, but the windows are remarkably intact, with only a few cracks, in the panels.

Through them can be seen the backs of the ancient curtains, alongside the darkness of the house, and it is dark, darker even the wicked black heart of the land itself.

I know because I have been there, I know it, not too well but well enough.

Those of us that do know it know what an evil country it is. The tall black mountains that line the valley become frequently engulfed by the cruel nor' westerly gales endemic to the region, with a terrible high pitched roar they are sent howling down the slopes then rolling across the narrow sides of the narrow valley, where they chill the land and everything on it, when the east wind blows the valley provides it a channel.

Rugashot is a pitiful stream, fed almost entirely by meltwater and run off from the mountains, frequently as if from spite the mountains drown the valley with thousands of tiny brooks, that the slow lethargic river cannot accomodate and it breaks it's shallow banks and spills into the fields, turning every>thing into a horrendous bog, claiming great chunks of land flooding it, picking it up them depositing it along it's course, changing it's course and making itself shallower.

When the mountains are dry, the rugashot and it's tribuitaries slowly drain the land of moisture and dry up to almost nothing.

The mountains act as a partial rain shield so there are fequent dry spells, and the valley becomes almost a desert.

First the land becomes hard and cracks form, then in summer the earth becomes dust, and as the wind blows as the wind is wont to do the dust is blown over eveything everywhere, the air becomes dark with it.

Anything and anybody who stays there for any length of time will one way or another become coated in the bitter infertile mud.