The north was a place that had forgotten the meaning of warmth.
Snow fell in endless curtains, blanketing the fortress of the Delanivis Arctic Wolves in a shroud of white so complete that it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the ground began.
The wind howled through the battlements, carving ice into the stone and frost, into the bones of anyone foolish enough to stand in its path.
The fortress itself was enduring, walls of black stone that had weathered centuries of blizzards and sieges, towers that pierced the grey sky like frozen fingers reaching for salvation.
Fires burned in every hearth, but they seemed more for show than warmth. The cold had seeped into the very foundations,no amount of wood or coal could ever fully evict anyway.
From the highest tower, the view was endless and merciless. Snow. Ice. The jagged peaks of mountains that had never known a green summer.
