A small town at the foot of the Mountains of Triz, limited in its growth by the encircling mountains. Triz Valley is very popular amonst travelers to and from the Mountains of Triz. Adventurers often find their way to one of the many taverns and inns of Triz Valley.
At the entrance to the valley of Triz is a wide path leading through an area of thick plates of stone. This path leads on to the peak of a mountain and then it turns and moves over to mountain of an almost impossible height. In its lower part is a short tunnel which leads out of the valley. It is only about 10 meters long. It is said that the mountain coveres a Scale
The people of Triz Valley have learned to build fast, dig deep, and argue louder than their neighbours. Dwarves arrived first, tunnelling out the mountains for gems and iron veins, followed by humans fleeing war, looking to forge something better. Then came the goblins—sly, nimble, business-savvy creatures who offered to guide travellers through the treacherous passes… for a price, of course.
Nowadays, Triz is a stewpot of cultures and ambitions. You’ll hear a dozen dialects in the market square before breakfast, and twice that number in the taverns by dusk. Deals are struck with a handshake and a glare, contracts are signed in chalk on tavern walls, and more than one trade dispute has been settled with a punch and a drink.
Trade is the lifeblood of Triz Valley, pulsing day and night through muddy lanes and market stalls. Miners drag cartloads of ore up from the belly of the mountain, farmers haul sacks of golden grain down from the angled fields of the Asara Plate, and somewhere between the two, goblin guides haggle for coin, bragging of “safer than average” routes through the mountains.
The area has many quarries. Marble, limestone, onyx, andesite and granite all important export product for Triz Valley, used as building materials and by many artists throughout the continent.
The Flatstone family—wealthy dwarves from the City of Or—have secured exclusive trade contracts with key goblin clans, stabilising the economy while driving up prices. Some say the goblins got the better end of the deal; others claim the Flatstones always play the long game. No one seems to mind much, as long as the ale keeps flowing and the roads stay passable.
The heart of the valley is Guidepost Plaza, where dozens of would-be escorts shout over one another to attract customers. At its centre stands a statue of a blindfolded goblin clutching a cracked compass—equal parts warning and welcome.
Nearby, the Amber Horn Tavern offers strong drink and stronger opinions. Every third night is “Guide or Die,” a chaotic affair where self-proclaimed mountain guides must withstand heckling, riddles, and increasingly absurd questions from the crowd. Survivors earn unofficial approval. Losers often leave town in shame—or in barrels.
Above it all looms the Triz Watchtower, built on the slope of a hill, leaning at a questionable angle, but still manned day and night. From here, lookouts monitor weather changes, troll movements, and the occasional smoke signal from a stranded caravan.
But not everything in Triz is laughter and ledgers. Beneath the valley stretch ancient tunnels—some carved by dwarves, others by things less easily named. There are whispers of strange echoes in the deep, of glowing ore that sings when touched, and of miners who return changed, or not at all.
Some say there’s a hidden Scale fragment buried beneath the town, pulsing with dormant resonance. Others speak of a ghost guide—a woman in green, pale as moonlight, who appears only to the lost and never accepts coin.
The officials of Or dismiss such tales, of course. But Or maintains a quiet diplomatic presence in Triz all the same—just a few envoys and accountants. Just in case.
There’s something about Triz Valley that draws a certain kind of soul. The risk-takers. The deal-makers. The unlucky and the unafraid. It's the kind of place where fortunes are won or wasted before sundown, where everyone has a scheme and nobody asks too many questions.
And though the passes remain dangerous, the ale far too strong, and the guides occasionally dishonest, Triz Valley endures—wild, crooked, and alive.
As the locals like to say:
“You don’t live in Triz. You bargain with it.”
The thick plates that look like stone are actually part of a Scale thats hidden in plain sight.
Triz Valley has many taverns and inns where adventurers meet each other and make daring (and often deathly) plans to enter the Mountains of Triz.
The Merchants Guild in Triz Valley is well respected. They are a community of collectors, miners and other craftsmen who’ve made a lot of progress in the field of technology.