Ravenbreath

The Frozen Graves of Shiverclaw

High in the Shiverclaw Mountains, where breath becomes ice and the winds cry like mourning souls, something long-buried stirs. Once believed empty, the peaks now whisper of unseen watchers and frozen silhouettes that vanish when followed. Travelers speak of lights moving beneath the snow. Of soft voices, chanting in languages older than history.

Legends tell of a vanished people—worshipers of the frost, believers in the purity of stillness. They did not fear death. They embraced it. In frozen silence, they sought eternity, preserving body and soul beneath enchanted ice. Forgotten by time, they were mistaken for myth. But the thinning cold has revealed their sanctum. And it has not been empty.

Now, necromancers, zealots, and scholars are drawn to the caverns below, each seeking power, secrets, or salvation. But the cold does not gift—it preserves. And those who linger too long find themselves changed. Or claimed.