Tsioraocht

Tsioraocht is a realm of endless twilight, a frozen expanse where time itself seems suspended under a canopy of permanent winter. The air is thick with an unnatural chill, a biting cold that seeps into the bones, carried on winds that howl like the lost souls of the departed. Here, the land is vast and barren, covered in endless snowdrifts and jagged glaciers, each shimmering like frozen tears in the fading light. The horizon is a hazy blur of snowstorms that never cease, and beneath the ice, the restless stirrings of death itself are felt.
  This is the domain of Ithe, the goddess of winter and death, a place where life is but a fleeting memory, and death lingers in the air like frost on glass. The sky above is perpetually overcast, a dull, pale gray, never quite dark, yet never bright enough to offer warmth. The sun, if it ever existed here, is a pale myth—Tsioraocht exists in an eternal, unyielding cold. The realm is timeless, trapped in an endless winter where nothing blooms, nothing grows, and the warmth of life has long since been extinguished.
  At the heart of this frozen wasteland lies The Frostspire, a towering citadel of obsidian ice and bone that pierces the frozen sky. It is both a palace and a tomb, built from the very essence of winter and death. Here, Ithe resides, her form ever-shifting between a figure of towering frost and shadow, her breath turning the very air to ice. The goddess rules with cold detachment, commanding her frozen servants and the spirits of the dead to perform her will. Her touch can freeze not only flesh, but the soul itself, binding it to the unyielding grip of death.
  The creatures that inhabit Tsioraocht are as cruel and unforgiving as the land itself. Undead spirits wander the snowfields, their hollow forms frozen mid-step as if caught in an eternal march. Frostborn Beasts, enormous creatures of ice and shadow, stalk the frozen tundra, their eyes glinting with malevolent intelligence. These ancient predators, born from the very essence of winter and death, hunt relentlessly, feeding on the souls of the living and the dead alike. Their chilling roars echo through the endless blizzards, a sound that freezes the blood in one’s veins.
  The winds of Tsioraocht carry more than just snow—they carry the voices of the dead. Whispers of long-forgotten souls swirl around travelers, offering cryptic warnings or lamenting lost lives. The souls trapped here are bound by Ithe’s will, their existence an endless cycle of suffering and regret. Some have forgotten their names, wandering aimlessly in the cold, while others cling desperately to the memories of their lives, tormented by their inability to escape the frozen grasp of the goddess.
  Beneath the surface of the snow, the land is alive with an ancient, twisted energy. A network of caverns and catacombs buried deep under the glacial expanse, is where the true horrors and dangers of Tsioraocht lie. Here, the restless spirits of the dead are trapped in a state between life and death, neither fully alive nor truly dead, their bodies encased in ice. These wraith-like beings serve Ithe, doing her bidding in exchange for the promise of release that never comes. The caverns are filled with strange, unnatural creatures, born from the fusion of ice and soul, haunting these dark recesses in the service of their cold goddess.
  Few who enter Tsioraocht ever return. Those who do speak of the overwhelming, suffocating presence of Ithe herself—the sensation of being watched by a force older and colder than death. The land itself seems to resist those who seek to leave, the very snow and ice binding them to the realm. Some say that Ithe’s gaze can pierce the very fabric of reality, calling to those who have suffered, offering them the cold embrace of eternal rest. But to accept her call is to be trapped forever in the frozen heart of her realm, a prisoner of winter and death for all eternity.