⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

The Cold Wood sprawls along the edge of the Silver Marches, a vast, wild forest thick with towering pines, slender birches, and stout spruces dusted in snow. Unlike the carefully tended lands nearby, this forest remains largely untouched, a realm where nature’s will holds sway. Beneath the frosted canopy, elusive snow tigers prowl with silent grace, while fierce orc warbands and towering ettins carve out brutal territories amid shadowed glades. Scattered Uthgardt tribes roam these woods, living in harmony with the ancient trees they revere—never felling living timber, their nomadic paths weaving through the forest’s heart. The air here is sharp and clear, filled with the rustle of brittle leaves and the haunting howl of distant beasts. The Cold Wood is a wild, beautiful, and perilous wilderness, embodying the untamed spirit of the North.

Snow-dusted evergreens rise thick and silent, their branches heavy with frost. The ground is carpeted in pine needles and fresh snow, broken only by the tracks of stalking predators. Shadows gather in dense thickets, while distant howls echo beneath a pale, icy sky. Occasional flickers of movement—be it a snow tiger’s stealthy prowl or a roaming orc patrol—disturb the stillness. The forest breathes cold and wild, ancient and alive.