Shiverclaw Mountains
A land locked in ice and silence, the Shiverclaw Mountains rise like frozen sentinels against the northern sky. Their peaks, shrouded in eternal snow, carve through the clouds, untouched by warmth. Glaciers stretch between jagged cliffs, their frozen rivers moving slow as time itself. Villages are not built but carved—hollowed from the ice, shaped by those who have long made this frozen expanse their home. The air is sharp, the winds merciless, and the cold seeps into bone and stone alike. Life here is not for the weak, but for those who endure, those who have found strength in the frost and silence.
"That swing was weak." She grabs them by the wrist, twisting the blade slightly. "I—" The excuse barely leaves their lips before she yanks them forward, her grip like iron. "No ‘I.’ No excuses." She shoves them back into stance, her eyes cold, unyielding. "Weakness is not trained away. It is crushed. Again." The training sword feels heavier now. Around them, warriors watch in silence.
The tunnel curved beneath the snow, ice glowing faintly with embedded runes. A gust echoed down the passage, then stilled. She passed under the arch of carved bone, a glow blooming in the hearth ahead. Somewhere above, the storm shrieked—but here, all was still.
"You grip wrong. Again." She grabs your wrist, correcting the angle with a sharp twist. "Sword not extension? Then you die first." The scowl deepens as her breath fogs in the icy air. "Fix it. Or freeze trying."
She stepped into the perimeter ring, eyes narrowing. The ward had been disturbed—scratched. A spiral mark, carved deep with a nail. She ran her thumb over it, and the air grew cold. "They’ve been here," she whispered.
And then louder: "You don’t belong in this place. And I don’t freeze easy."
He pressed his palm to the ice. The rune beneath flared—then dimmed. "That’s not supposed to happen."
Behind him, a gust kicked up snow, shrieking like a living thing. He drew his axe in silence. "Show yourself, or don’t. Makes no difference to me."
He pressed his hand to the ice. It sang—high, sharp, wrong. The rune beneath pulsed once, then cracked. "That shouldn’t…"
The wind shifted. Something breathed back. He drew his weapon, fur bristling. "I know you're there. I know you feel it too."
A land of ice and endurance, where only the strong call home.
