The Massif Orcal is a barren, desolate place, a blighted region almost devoid of life. Scraggly pines cling to some of the upper heights, and equally sickly-looking brambles creep about the lower slopes, vainly trying to wrest moisture from the thin layer of soil that powders the rocks. It is a miserable region, shunned by the men of Bretonnia. There is no game to be hunted, no mineral wealth to be wrested from the mountains, no fertile land to claim and build upon. Only orcs and goblins call this place home, foul remnants of the once great hordes that had been scoured from the lands of Bretonnia during the founding of the kingdom. The ruined battlements of old watchtowers and keeps built long ago to guard against the threat of Greenskins sometimes loom into view, slowly crumbling away upon distant hilltops, forlorn reminders of a time when the goblins could still sometimes muster great armies to despoil the lands of Quenelles and Bastonne.