THE FROSTSPIRE MOUNTAINS
The northern world beyond the reach of men is ruled by the endless fury of the Frostspire Mountains. Born in the same cataclysm that created the The Torn, the Frostspires erupted when the world itself was ripped apart by the unleashing of forbidden shard magic. As the earth split open in the south, the land of the north was driven violently upward. Mountains rose like jagged spears from beneath the frozen tundra, shattering ancient glaciers and piercing the heavens with blackened peaks of ice and stone.
Stretching from east to west across the entire northern horizon, the Frostspires are a wall of death that cuts through the frozen world for countless miles. Entire valleys vanished beneath collapsing ice sheets, while storms unlike any seen before were born from the collision of unnatural corruption and the bitter northern cold. Even now, endless blizzards rage across the mountains as the poisoned winds of the Torn sweep northward, twisting snow and darkness into ceaseless tempests that swallow armies whole.
The Frostspires are not silent mountains. They are alive with hunger.
Within the frozen wastes roam monstrous creatures warped by the dark shards buried deep beneath the ice. Gigantic ravenous bears stalk through the blizzards with glowing eyes and flesh blackened by corruption. Snow lions, lean and deathly fast, move soundlessly across cliffs before tearing prey apart with hooked fangs. Giants wander the mountain passes like living avalanches, draped in hides and carrying shattered stone clubs large enough to crush entire warbands.
Worst of all are the Razorhorns.
Massive shaggy beasts bred by corruption and endless survival, Razorhorns thunder through the snowfields on four muscular limbs, their colossal horned crests curving over their skulls like jagged blades. Beneath those horned ridges sit rows of grinding teeth capable of tearing through armour, bone and flesh alike. Entire caravans have vanished beneath their charges, leaving only blood scattered across the ice.
Yet the beasts are not the only horrors born from the tearing of the world.
Deep within caves, frozen caverns and lightless ravines dwell the Vraki tribes, savage mutations twisted into existence by the corrupt powers unleashed during the sundering of the land. Brutal, bloodthirsty and cruel beyond reason, the Vraki survive through slaughter and cannibalism beneath the shadow of the mountains. For centuries they warred endlessly amongst themselves, until the coming of the Kalfori.
The Kalfori, once proud Frost Elves of the north, fled into the mountains after their arrogance helped unleash the Torn upon the world. But the corruption they carried with them consumed their hearts and minds. Over hundreds of years they descended into something cold, merciless and monstrous. Using forbidden shard magic, they enslaved the Vraki tribes and bent them into armies of terror. Through torture, mutation and brutal breeding rituals, the Kalfori transformed the Vraki into weapons of endless war that now descend from the mountains to ravage the south.
Many of the Frostspire beasts have suffered the same fate. Corrupted bears, armoured giants and Razorhorn war-beasts are chained, controlled and driven into battle beside the Kalfori hordes. Entire warbands march beneath storms of black ice carrying hooked blades, jagged spears and banners stitched from the skin of their enemies.
Far within the deepest reaches of the Frostspires lies the hidden city of Valkrithar.
Buried beneath mountains of glacial ice and concealed behind storms that never cease, the underground kingdom of the Kalfori remains unseen by the peoples of the south. Twisted towers of black stone rise from frozen caverns illuminated by the glow of dark shards embedded within the walls themselves. Rivers of icy water flow beneath ancient bridges while corrupted crystal formations pulse like diseased hearts in the darkness.
It is there, in the depths of Valkrithar, that the Kalfori plan their endless wars.
They dream not only of conquest, but of vengeance. Against the elves who cast them out. Against the dwarves who resisted them. Against the kingdoms of men that still stand beneath the southern skies. Their hatred has endured for centuries, sharpened by corruption and fed by the whispers of the shards buried deep beneath the mountains.
The Frostspires themselves have become a living fortress of terror. Dark shard corruption spreads through every layer of rock and ice, twisting all who dwell there into increasingly murderous and treacherous forms. Blizzards scream through razor-sharp passes. Glacial cliffs collapse without warning. Black ice storms peel flesh from bone.
Few who enter the Frostspires ever return.
And those who do are changed and scarred.
ORDER RIFT SCARS
