Odrun’s Head

Odrun’s Head

Far to the southeast, where the greatclub’s crown meets the earth, lies @Odrun's Head—a warped and swollen mass of petrified wood, stone, and living infestation. No banner flies here. The guilds have sealed its borders with molten chitin, ringed it with silk-strung watchtowers, and posted @The Cudgel to guard it night and day. They do not guard to keep thieves out—they guard to keep what’s inside from ever leaving.
Bioluminescent cysts pulse in the open air, fungal towers ooze spore-mist into the wind, and the ground itself seems to breathe. Mutated insect colonies have taken root here—too intelligent, too coordinated, too wrong. @The Barleys will not harvest, @The Ashcoats will not mine, and @The Promissory will not trade. All agree on this: Odrun’s Head stays shut, or the city will drown in whatever nightmare breeds within.