Of course. You're a minicyclops: only a few months old, yet already finished growing, you come up to the waist of the average human. And as a fully grown cyclops, you're expected to get a damn job already and stop being a burden to society, soonish. Better snap to it.
There are cyclopes all across Zamonia, that wide and varied land, but right now you're standing in...
[ ] Home Harvest Plain: the agricultural heartland of much of Zamonia, the majority of its produce hails from here. Thousands of square miles of grains, crops and grazing land, almost totally flat, giant windmills the size of castles dominating the views. The inhabitants can usually name as many as three hundred varieties of wheat, and several dozen species of cabbage as well. The towns are sleepy, the residents more so, and the local officials are just glorified farmowners, apart from the occasional Agrarian baron or Alchemaster.
[ ] Atlantis: that shining capital of Zamonia, forever excluding all humans, the largest and most variegated metropolis in the world, packed with folk of every race and kind, a vibrant and industrious city. Officially, is has a population as great as one hundred million, though estimates taking into account the unregistered, officially nonexistent, criminal, invisible or sewer dwelling put the figure as high as one hundred and fifty thousand thousands. Atlantis has been growing for millenia, and is subdivided into district upon district, each with its own unique culture, assortment of species and curious architectural style. Shark grubs, yetis, wolpertingers, poophs, antmen, troglotrolls, bollogs and lindworms along with countless other species pack the streets, and commerce of every sort goes on in the shady boulevards and mountainous throughfares.
[ ] Florinth: the western rival to Atlantis's glory, Florinth is a smaller city, ruled by princes rather than bureaucrats, but has a strong military presence, poweful industry, and is the Zamonian and thus world capital of confectionery. While the army brings back bounties and conquests, the bakers spend their days dreaming up exotic and sumptous dishes: non-euclidean pretzels, reverse pyramid gateaux, jam rolls as long as a Norselander warship and mile-long shavings of chocolate engraved with the complete histories of Zamonian city states.
Florinth is threaded through with canals and roads to other cities, expanding even faster than Atlantis. It is also the best place to go for budding alchemists and scientists, apart from apprenticeships and residencies with respected alchemasters, five-brained nocturnomaths or senior Ugglies.
[ ] Murkholm: forever clouded by a permenant meteorological occurrence known as the "jellyfog" believed by certified experts (some of whom didn't even steal their diplomas) to be a living unicellular organism, this squat seaside collection of haphazard, solid houses is shrouded in mystery and ever-present mist. The inhabitants, Murkholmers, are known for their piercing stares and uncommunicativeness, a phenomenon now believed to result from the opacity of their surroundings, but which previously gave rise to fear and distrust. In a modern and scientific age of reason, however, one can assure oneself that there is little out of the ordinary about Murkholmers or their quaint and charming way of life. Murkholm is a popular rest cure for those with agoraphobia, short sight or an inadvisably vibrant lifestyle.