Odrun Fell

Odrun’s Head marks the southeastern edge of the city. It's the colossal, warped crown of the titan’s greatclub, now sealed off by all four guilds. Unlike the Handle, whose infestations can be culled and harvested, Odrun’s Head teems with unnatural insectoid life—mutated, intelligent, and possibly arcane. Entire delving parties vanish within, and there have been no survivors to tell of the dangers within. The Barleys refuse to harvest from it, the Ashcoats have sealed its edges in molten chitin, and the Promissory halted trade routes nearby. Captain Orin’s Cudgel holds the perimeter with rotating squads, not to explore, but to contain. The surface pulses with bioluminescent cysts and fungal towers. Mist rises from its cracks like breath. Silk-strung watchtowers line its border, but few look too long. The guilds agree on little—but they agree on one thing. Odrun’s Head must remain closed... at least for now.

Odrun’s Head is the colossal, warped crown of the titan’s greatclub. It looks like a giant cliffside—its surface cratered with swollen cysts and spined ridges, slick with fungal bloom and insect resin. Massive warding pylons encircle the zone, humming with arcane bindings and strung with silk cables that shimmer in the dark. No mining echoes here—only the distant hiss of shifting chitin. The ground is uneven, soft with strange decay, and the air is thick with pheromone mist that clings to skin.