Canterwall is a fertile region, watered by the Vistear River and checkered by fields and farms. While wolves and foxes endlessly torment farmers, the land’s greatest annoyances come on black wings — vast flocks of obstinate ravens, seasonally swarming locusts, cicadas, and earwigs wreaking arbitrary destruction. A balance between lightly wooded plains and bleak moors covers the region, all cloaked by dense fog that rolls into the lowlands from the southern mountains. Locals spread a host of warnings and superstitions about these mists, some old folks refusing to venture outdoors in fog without a symbol of Pharasma to keep at bay the spirits lost within, while others swear whole towns sometimes go missing in the mists, losing their connection to the world and vanishing forever in the haze.
Under the rule of the region’s Palatine Council, the people of Canterwall largely fend for themselves. With few members of the country’s nobility remaining in the rustic region, fiefdoms have given way to agricultural hamlets and townships To the east lie quiet islands in the fog, where simple, Pharasma-fearing folk live modestly off of bland food and hard work. To the west, the same can be said, but here the peals of yard bells signal danger, not meals, and the fire-scarred remnants of homesteads confirm the deadly presence of monsters lurking in the night.
A single vast moor surrounds Lake Lias, stretching to the boggy Eshirwood to the east. Here, wariness and ruggedness breed a sturdy lot, a county of quietly determined folk all too aware that fortunes in blood and backbreaking toil often buy rewards no greater than continued hardship and a swift death. The land of Canterwall — once known as Tamrivena — has no love for its people, even though generations of stalwart Ustalavs have poured their lives into its soil, only to fall under the wicked blades of Belkzen orcs (who still mount regular raids into the region) or be mysterious consumed, seemingly by the misty moors themselves.