Hudenholt Forest lies buried beneath a heavy shroud of snow, the kind that swallows sound and memory alike. Between the frostbitten trees and half-buried ruins, a crude camp clings to survival — igloos built from packed snow and the tusks of beasts long dead. Smoke rises weakly from a dying fire, and dark stains mark where the snow froze red.
Once, this forest was the frontier between the orcs and the people of Irmdaveigh. Whatever started their feud has long since been lost — buried under centuries of frost and pride. Now, only the echoes remain: cold steel, older grudges, and ghosts that never learned they were forgotten.
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