Odrun Fell

Where the titan’s greatclub first struck the earth, the world changed. The impact birthed a twisted forest known as The Shroud, where magic leeches from root and stone like sap. Here, nature is no longer bound by old rules. Trees tower like giants, just like the rest of the forest's inhabitants. Insects grow larger, smarter, and stranger. The most terrifying denizens of the Shroud are the Hollowmasks—chameleon-born horrors warped by the club’s lingering magic. They wear the stolen faces of those who wander too far and do not return. Most Odrun delvers speak of them in hushed tones, and few who enter their territory come back sane, if at all. The Cudgel sometimes dares to scout its fringes, but no guild claims the interior. Its heart is reserved for mad prophets, dying beasts, and roots that drink from cursed bones.

The forest pulses with life unnatural. Massive, luminescent fungi cling to bark like bruises. Trees stretch impossibly high, their leaves glittering with iridescent spores. Thick vines and root spirals form makeshift tunnels between groves. Every footstep crunches on husks and beetle shells. The air glows faintly green from the ever-present pollen. Beneath the branches, half-seen figures flicker between the trees, silent and watching.