- Pronoun
- they or she
They say that time wears down all things, but time needs its tools. Chief of these are wind and water, the latter of which has sculpted the earth with its passing.
Welcome to the age of ice. Various glaciers dot the northern expanses of Luctemar, but one massive glacier in particular endures in Malantau as the southernmost of these massive frozen bodies. It would seem that the energies of the local mystery dungeon have preserved it in the face of a changing climate, and this billion-ton ice-river has steadily been encroaching on the frozen tundra. Or… is it receding? It’s hard to tell in the perpetually shifting dungeon structure. As hostile as it is confusing, the dungeon is a maze of hard-packed snow and icy crevasses tinted impossibly blue.
Perennially obscured by whiteout conditions, it’s uncertain how far the glacier juts above the earth over which it slowly plows. Although may feels like one is walking on level ground for miles, if you stray too close to the dungeon’s edges, you’ll soon find yourself staring down at a sheer drop into the a white nothingness below. The true altitude of the glacier may be uncertain, but it's high enough that the air is thin here, and one can easily find themselves gasping for oxygen should they overexert themselves.
A mournful song echoes through the deepest cracks in the ice, joined by the bitter screaming of high winds. The rational will blame it on the creaking, shifting ice of the glacier. The superstitious will claim it’s the spirits of Malantau's lost kingdom wailing their lament for the dead.
Welcome to the age of ice. Various glaciers dot the northern expanses of Luctemar, but one massive glacier in particular endures in Malantau as the southernmost of these massive frozen bodies. It would seem that the energies of the local mystery dungeon have preserved it in the face of a changing climate, and this billion-ton ice-river has steadily been encroaching on the frozen tundra. Or… is it receding? It’s hard to tell in the perpetually shifting dungeon structure. As hostile as it is confusing, the dungeon is a maze of hard-packed snow and icy crevasses tinted impossibly blue.
Perennially obscured by whiteout conditions, it’s uncertain how far the glacier juts above the earth over which it slowly plows. Although may feels like one is walking on level ground for miles, if you stray too close to the dungeon’s edges, you’ll soon find yourself staring down at a sheer drop into the a white nothingness below. The true altitude of the glacier may be uncertain, but it's high enough that the air is thin here, and one can easily find themselves gasping for oxygen should they overexert themselves.
A mournful song echoes through the deepest cracks in the ice, joined by the bitter screaming of high winds. The rational will blame it on the creaking, shifting ice of the glacier. The superstitious will claim it’s the spirits of Malantau's lost kingdom wailing their lament for the dead.
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Many thanks to @Panoramic_Vacuum for her help with the writeup!