Vhalgrind Tundra

Vhalgrind Tundra – The Sleeping North

"Even the sun forgets to rise here."

Beyond the Blight Moors lies the endless pallor of the Vhalgrind Tundra, a realm of eternal dusk where time feels sluggish and the cold gnaws through armor, skin, and sanity alike. The air shimmers faintly with frost dust, and beneath the snow lies a slow, rhythmic tremor — the pulse of something vast and ancient. The Pale Wardens say this is the Heart Below, the slumbering Titan of Pale Flame, whose dreams keep the frost alive and whose awakening would melt the world.

Settlements are few: wandering encampments built from bone and ice, fires forbidden so as not to “wake the dreamer.” The Pale Wardens act as both priests and sentinels, listening to the tundra’s whispers for signs of stirring. Their faith teaches that warmth is sin — that to kindle flame in the north is to invite apocalypse. When the wind blows southward, it carries the echo of heartbeats, and the crimson auroras above are said to be the Titan’s blood trying to escape its frozen shell.

The Tundra is not lifeless, though what endures here has forgotten mercy. The beasts of Vhalgrind are gaunt, luminous-eyed, and silent — feeding without sound. The dead do not rot, nor rest; they merely wait beneath the snow, still half-alive.

To survive here is not simply endurance — it is devotion. The Wardens say those who die in the cold do not truly perish, but join the dream forever.