"Geya's—no, Tang's Guide to the Tyron Empire"—
[The empire's border lay on a plain called the Firetongue Tundra.
Its unusual name came from an active volcano on the border. The entire mountain range stretching away from it was called the Ashen Mountains.
Year-round, the volcano's mouth hurled meteors and liquid fire, illuminating the ash and storm clouds gathered among the peaks.
Lava eventually rolled downhill during earthquakes, joining into a branching red river that flowed into the plain's many lava lakes.
The ground and rocks were either coated in soot or glowed an angry red. From the distant Great Wall, you could see the air around the volcano warping in the heat—
No one could live here.
Of course, that applied only to the frail species known as humans.
The Dragonborn, covered in fiery-red scales and resembling humanoid True Dragons, had inherited their ancestors' bloodline. They were another matter entirely.
They were born here, grew up here, lived here, and died here.
Their bodies were then cast into the river of molten fire. Legend said this allowed their souls to be reborn in this land and return to their families' embrace—
It sounded rather heartwarming. But why did it feel like a curse to me?]
Geya studied the old Dragonborn miner before her. He had covered his mouth and nose with a scarf, but particles in the air still found their way in, setting him coughing again and again. She stopped writing and asked, "So you don't consider the conditions here harsh? You may not fear the heat, but the particles in the air can still damage your lungs—not to mention how all that Rust Moss is ruining your health."
"Harsh? Cough, cough. Human, you probably haven't seen what harsh really looks like."
The old miner's bronze scales had grown