The elevated northwestern interior of Mueras, a region of rocky, wind-scoured hills separating the Hammer Coast from the approaches to Labyrinth Sound. The Highlands are the forgotten corner of Mueras—too poor to interest the merchant-kings, too harsh to support large populations, but stubbornly inhabited by those who value freedom over comfort.
The terrain rises from the coastal settlements to perhaps a thousand feet above sea level, then rolls in broken waves of rock and thin soil toward the Dustwind Plateau. Sparse vegetation clings to sheltered valleys; the exposed ridges are bare stone, polished by wind and time. Rain falls here more often than on the plateau below, but the rocky ground sheds water quickly, leaving little for human use.
The Commons
The Highlands are sometimes called "the commons"—the one part of Mueras no merchant-king has bothered to claim. The soil won't support farming, the harbors don't exist, and the mineral deposits are too scattered to monopolize profitably. What remains is grazing land for those hardy enough to work it and mines for those desperate enough to dig.
The commons folk owe allegiance to no house. They pay no harbor fees, swear no pilot oaths, and answer to no council. This makes them poor by coastal standards—they have no access to the trade networks that create Mueran wealth—but free in ways the city-dwellers aren't. A commons herder owns his flock, his time, and his choices.
Yngli Herders
The primary inhabitants of the Highlands are Yngli herding communities, tending small flocks of the hardy goats that can survive on scrub vegetation and rocky terrain. The Yngli presence here predates human settlement—these hills were among the first places the silent folk fled when they left the coastal cities generations ago.
The Highland Yngli maintain a semi-nomadic existence, moving their flocks between seasonal grazing areas. They've developed breeds of goat specifically suited to the terrain: small, agile animals that can climb near-vertical rock faces and survive on vegetation other livestock would reject. The wool and milk sustain the herders; surplus is traded at the plateau's edge.
Communication between Yngli communities relies on visual signals—patterns of colored cloth hung from prominent rocks, smoke signals, and the elaborate sign language all Yngli share. A message can cross the Highlands in hours, passing from community to community faster than any rider.
Mining Operations
Scattered through the Highlands are small mining operations extracting iron and copper from shallow deposits. The ore quality is mediocre, the working conditions harsh, and the profits thin—but the mines provide employment for humans who have no other options and metal for communities that can't afford imported goods.
Most mines are independent operations, family-owned and family-worked. A few larger operations have backing from minor merchant families hoping to establish a foothold outside the major houses' control. These backed mines produce slightly more efficiently but answer to distant masters who care only about output.
The relationship between miners and Yngli herders is complex. They share the Highlands, compete for water in dry seasons, and occasionally clash over grazing rights near mine tailings. But they also trade—Yngli wool and goat products for metal tools and hardware—and a rough mutual respect has developed over generations.
Highland Mercenaries
When the merchant-kings need expendable muscle, they recruit from the Highlands. Commons folk know the terrain, can survive on minimal supplies, and have few qualms about violence—life in the Highlands doesn't encourage gentleness. The pay for mercenary work is good by Highland standards; the survival rate is not.
Highland mercenaries serve as caravan raiders, scouts, irregular soldiers, and occasionally assassins. They're deployed against rival houses' interests, never against the recruiting house's own operations—a mercenary who attacks his employer's caravans won't find future work. The arrangement is understood by all parties, and a kind of professionalism has developed around it.
Veterans who survive their mercenary years sometimes return to the Highlands with enough coin to establish their own herds or mines. Others develop a taste for violence and coin that the Highlands can't satisfy. These become permanent mercenaries, hiring out to whoever pays, eventually dying in some distant conflict. Few grow old in this profession.
The Cave Networks
The Highlands are honeycombed with caves—some natural, carved by water through limestone; others artificial, remnants of old mining operations or deliberate excavation. Local legend claims the caves connect, forming a network that spans the entire Highland region and extends down to the coast.
The legends may have truth. Yngli communities use certain cave systems for shelter during storms, for storage, and for purposes they don't discuss with outsiders. Human explorers who've mapped portions of the network report extensive passages, some clearly worked by intelligent hands, leading in directions that would eventually reach Labyrinth Sound—or beneath it.
What lives in the deeper caves is unclear. The Yngli won't discuss it. Human miners who dig too deep sometimes break into existing passages and report strange sounds, odd air currents, and occasionally glimpses of movement in the darkness. Most seal these breaches immediately. The few who don't tend to have accidents shortly afterward.
Relations with the Coast
The Highlands exist in a strange relationship with coastal Mueras—ignored by the merchant-kings, yet essential to their operations. Highland timber (what little exists) supplements Taflex supplies. Highland ore provides metal for tools and ships. Highland mercenaries fight their proxy wars. Highland goat products feed workers too poor for better.
This relationship is entirely on coastal terms. The merchant-kings take what they need, pay as little as possible, and offer nothing in return except the negative: they don't claim the Highlands, don't tax the herders, don't regulate the mines. For the commons folk, this is enough. They've seen what merchant-king attention does to a place, and they prefer neglect.
The arrangement is stable but not permanent. As the Taflex timber grows scarcer and shadow-trade becomes more profitable, some houses are looking at the Highlands with new interest. Rich mineral deposits may lie deeper than current operations reach. The cave networks might offer alternative routes bypassing pilot-guild control. The commons' independence may be a luxury the merchant-kings eventually decide they can't afford.