The Grand Gorge cuts through central Shdustu where the Shgutu River carves its way around the edge of the Tasgusun Hills. Hundreds of kilometers long, it averages two to three kilometers in width and two to three hundred meters in depth below the surrounding steppe though it is both wider and deeper at many points and narrower and shallower in others. Gorges are not uncommon in Shdustu, as the rivers carve formidable paths across the land fueled by the fury of the spring floods, but the Grand Gorge is notable for its considerable size. The division formed by this immense cut in the plain of grass presents an obstacle that travelers must work around. Though not impassable, it represents a distinctly variable environment from the surrounding steppe and is neither easily scouted nor crossed.

Fed by drainage from the steppe and hills, and by copious snowmelt in the spring, the gorge is one of the rare locations in Shdustu where a forest grows that is not high in the mountains. It is an unusual forest of pine, spruce, and fir, where the trees are tall, widely spaced, and possess few low-hanging limbs. Undergrowth, save for struggling saplings, is likewise minimal, as plants without deep roots to support them are torn away or drowned when the annual spring flood inundates this region. Similar patches of forest are found throughout the floodplains of the steppe, and these generally burst forth countless flowers and grasses when the floodwaters recede. Here, where the waters linger longer and flow deeper the bottom land bursts into greenery supplied by a thick cover of reeds and aggressive saplings. These grow in thick strands that can be impossible to a human traveler or even a camel if they can develop unimpeded. However, such vegetative expansion is halted by the massive descent upon the gorge in late spring and early summer by immense hordes of waterfowl that swiftly consume this growth down to nearly nothing. These birds include cranes of several varieties whose numbers, and I considered the estimates of the alchemists reliable, can reach into the millions, and even great quantities of geese to the point that wings blot out the sun in the sky. Wild boar are also found in the gorge in some number, as they are sheltered here from the worst of the winter blizzards, and their rooting further impedes the growth of saplings and bulbs. This devastation of the greenery is such that before summer ends there is sufficient open water to spawn hordes of toads and shrimp-like creatures that seek to complete their lives while moisture remains and before they vanish down the throats of the cranes.

A land such as this, beholden to the dynamics of water as it is, would seem a natural fit for the swamp-dwelling Rutar of Shdustu's south, but they do not live here. The gorge cannot host inhabitants throughout the full year, the flooding is too intense, and even the animal residents must abandon the sheltering slopes when the melt begins in earnest. Many, including the boars, rise up into the Tasgusun Hills, but this migratory motion carries with it great vulnerability. Old rings of standing stones and a handful of glyphs and signs carved onto exposed rocks suggest a previous community of people here, perhaps an early incarnation of the Rutar, many centuries ago, but that they abandoned the gorge following lengthy warfare with their neighbors. In the present era only bandits, who utilize wooden shelters they rebuild each summer, reside within the gorge. Such a strategy carries with it extreme risk, for while Kharal warriors rarely pursue down such steep slopes, evading the annual floodwaters and potential Nikkad reprisal expeditions is a serious challenge. Every year when the residents of Kudstugul emerge to collect the logs, bodies are always discovered.

Beyond bandit gangs, the gorge hosts some other inhabitants of note, befitting its unique environment. These include oversized red-crested boars as large as horses, which I am told move about similarly to the beasts of the distant east known as rhinos, though it is claimed these are unrelated. Impressively strong, and possessing thick hide and sword-length tusks, they are much prized as trophy animals but require consummate skill to hunt. The Kharal, with their powerful bows and swift steeds, possess such capability and now few of these mighty beasts remain. In the northern fourth of the gorge, where the river runs deepest and the slopes have broken off at many points to form sheer cliffs, burning eagles and thunder falcons are known to nest. These sites are often used over and over again for many years, as the birds can live for decades, and the accumulated assemblies of sticks and mud can approach the size of small houses. The raptors can often be seen flying high above the gorge, circling before diving to pounce upon the surefooted sheep that walk the slopes or small tusked deer that haunt the bottomlands.

Less graceful but more dangerous is another mystic form attributed to the gorge, one abetted by the annual floods. These are the Harabar, also called frog men. They are dissolute creatures possessed of a cunning distinctly superior to that of most animals, but below that of even the least-witted of humans. They are believed to have been made from humans distorted into amphibious form, a foul bending that left them shattered and savage. Strange, hideous beasts, they can both walk and hop about, propelling thick, elongated bodies possessed of stubby tails with notable speed in short bursts. They have strong but stocky arms bearing deformed hands that possess a mere three digits. These bent limbs struggle to reach beyond their barrel chests and enlarged frog-shaped skulls, making any attempt to handle objects difficult and awkward. They cannot make tools of their own, but understand their purpose. Many bear the broken stubs of spears or shattered knife hilts with surprising deadliness.

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These creatures gather in small bands among the reeds and pools at the depths of the gorge where the river bends and twists. They prey upon anything they can spear, grab, and swallow. This consists primarily of birds and fish, but they will consume any flesh, from boar to deer to camel to humans and even their own kind. Thick-skinned and sporting a row of spines down their back, they wear no clothing but may tie tools in place about their bodies using knotted vines. Perhaps most curiously, these bizarre spawn of twisted mysticism are only active from the beginning of the spring flood to the first frost in autumn. When Shdustu grows cold they burrow deep into the mud and spend the entire winter there, never moving for months on end.

Degenerate creatures, the Harabar speak only in croaks and will attack any human group they believe they can overcome. In recent times, such ambushes have been rare. The actions of bandits to claim the gorge for themselves has led to a precipitous decline in sightings of these unfortunate creatures. Legend holds that they were much more numerous in the past, created from the precursors of the Rutar who lived here subordinate to wizard masters to serve as a fearless army. A vile suggestion and a stain upon history, but regrettably it seems probably true. Many ancient tales from throughout Shdustu make it clear that prior to the spread of the Enlightened Revelation and before the arrival of the Kharal wizardry ran rampant in this land. Such prospects, dark though they may be to contemplate, are in tune with our knowledge of history. Even the lands of the Sanid Empire were once, in those dark eras, largely controlled by the wizards. In the case of the Harabar, whatever advantage their shifted forms once conferred in swamp fighting seems to have well and truly been erased by the power of present day composite bows. Simple bandits fighting them on foot can easily overcome these creatures, and soon even the mud will not serve to shelter them.

Such aggression is not purely motivated by defense. The hide of these frog-like mystic beasts can be dried and tanned to produce perfectly waterproof materials. Though difficult to shape, such properties are valuable to those who work in a flood-prone region and are also considered fashionable by certain Kharal and Nikkad elites as they tend to be quite colorful and possess shifting shading patterns. Though the idea of wearing a piece of such a distorted creature upon my body invokes nausea, it seems the ethics of such craftsmanship is not easily answered through consultation of the revelation. Harabar flesh is highly toxic, and their remains are always burned as a consequence, a trait that thankfully banishes the temptation to draw upon these creatures as food for even dogs, to say nothing of humans.

The disturbing trade in hides did allow, later on, an examination of the skeleton of one of these beasts of hybrid stature. It was a most curious thing, with bones of strange proportions and a seemingly absurd point of balance. The Lady Indili, sketching the remains, noted points at the hips, shoulders, and across the top of the skull where she claimed essence traces leaked away from the grafting process used in their production. It would seem that wizardry need not produce its monsters through singular grand rituals, but step by step one painful adjustment at a time.

The Dragon Expedition spent twenty days circling around the gorge on the path north. The route, which two other caravans with nearly three hundred camels between them were also following in the hopes of concluding the summer travel season in the same manner as us, was well established. Each of these caravans was overtaken and passed in turn as the expedition pressed ahead. Erun presented an absolute unwillingness to be caught out on the steppe in the snow, something far more hazardous to our party than one with only camels as pack animals. Many such caravans would continue to trade throughout winter, pausing in trade only when a heavy snowfall occurred, trusting in the strength and stubbornness of their hardy hauling animals. These traders and their guards moved slower than the expedition, primarily as a measure to remain vigilant against bandits, something our larger and better armed expedition had comparatively little fear of facing. The latter of the two caravans we passed had suffered an attack no more than two days prior to our meeting with them, and several of their party bore injuries sustained in the defense. We later happened upon the butchered bodies of a dozen camels rustled from a prior caravan and then, less than a kilometer further, the stripped remains of ten bandits killed by mercenaries in retaliation and left for the wolves.

On numerous occasions during this passage we spotted bandits at a distance. There were also mounted Kharal sentries, ever vigilant in the defense of their herds. This was, Master Lam explained, a most dangerous time of year as the bandits sought to secure sufficient stockpile of provisions to sustain themselves through winter, as profitable raiding would be nearly impossible following the coming of the snows. The vise of desperation tightened on these outlaws day by day, and as we witnessed exchanges of arrows in the distance, Erun ordered every member of the expedition to draw close and march in armor. Thankfully the Kharal, preparing to migrate to their winter pastures and busy with the annual slaughter of yearling males to supply meat for the months to come, had no time to waste on aggressive actions.

The days shortened, and we spent many hours marching through the long, slow twilight of the steppe, with the sun lingering in the west above the gorge. Meals were consumed in darkness and each went to their bedroll swiftly afterwards unless designated to stand the first watch as sentries. None were spared that duty. I myself stood four nights, damp and witness to the powerful chill that descends without the sun to warm the grassland. Toward the end there was much worry that snow would come too soon, for the dew lingered frosty on the ground and the grey clouds of autumn gathered high above. The Divines, however, were with us, and the Dragon Expedition concluded its first year on the road before the first flakes descended.