Dead Mountain

Notable Location

The Hollow Cave: A vast, labyrinthine cave halfway up the mountain, where light seems to die and the air carries no sound. Many who enter vanish without trace, and those who return speak of voices in the dark and shifting stone walls.   The Bleeding Crags: Jagged red-streaked cliffs that ooze a warm, tar-like liquid. Animals go mad here, and wounds refuse to clot. Locals say the crags drink the strength of any who bleed upon them. It’s not water, and those who touch it fall ill, their veins blackening.   The Heart Chasm: A massive, jagged fissure near the summit, plunging into unfathomable depths. At night, a pulsing glow rises from below, and travelers hear a slow, thunderous beat, as if something ancient breathes within the mountain’s core.   The Throne Of Spite: A ruinous black stone seat at the summit, half-buried in Wraith Ice. Legends claim sitting upon it grants visions or dominion over death, but no one who has reached it has returned to tell the tale.   The Spine Walk: A narrow, crumbling ridge near the peak, lined with the frozen bodies of past climbers. Crossing it means threading between brittle corpses frozen mid-crawl, beneath skies writhing with silent lightning.   Bloodcairns: Piles of black stone found scattered on the heights, each marking the site where a climber died. They say if you disturb a cairn, you wake its shade.    

The Paleborn

The Paleborn are the restless, hollow-eyed remnants of those who died upon Dead Mountain seeking warmth, twisted by the mountain’s dark will. Their skin is bloodless and stretched tight, their eyes pale and clouded, glowing faintly in the dark. They wander the slopes in silence, drawn to warmth and life but never able to reclaim it. Some move with a slow, mournful shuffle, others sprint and claw with unnatural speed when they sense a living heartbeat. It’s said that to meet a Paleborn’s gaze too long is to feel your own warmth begin to slip away, as if the mountain itself is reaching through them to claim you.    

Notable Lost Individuals

Rhogar Emberhand (Age at death: 65, Dwarf, Blacksmith & Graveglass Prospector):  Rhogar was a famed dwarven blacksmith from the Redvault Holds, known for his unshakable will and unmatched craft. Obsessed with forging weapons with Graveglass, he led a group of miners up Dead Mountain, bribing mercenaries to escort them. Weeks later, the mercenaries stumbled back alone, raving that Rhogar had “fed the mountain,” sacrificing his own men at the Bleeding Crags in a desperate ritual to bind Graveglass’s power into his warhammer. Some claim that his shade now haunts the upper mines, hammering unseen in the deep, and that the lost hammer, Ashsplitter, can still be found, if one dares face the wrath of the Bone Matron who guards it.   Elrissana Starcrest (Age at death: 211, Elf, Mage of the Azure Veil):  Elrissa was a brilliant but reckless elven sorceress who sought to master the strange currents of death magic rumored to flow from the Heart Chasm. A century ago, she and her apprentices scaled Dead Mountain under cover of night, using wards and spells to shield themselves. They were never seen again, but sometimes, in rare aurora-like storms around the summit, people report seeing her distinctive silver staff jutting from the ice, crackling with ghostly light. Rumor claims her spirit now lingers, a Wraithcaller, drawing the Paleborn into organized, intelligent hunts under the mountain’s will.   Varlas the Mad (Age at death: 47, Human, Scholar-Explorer):  Once a respected historian from the city of Velthamar, Varlas became obsessed with Dead Mountain after deciphering ancient texts hinting at the Shard Of Falling Night. Against all warnings, he led the ill-fated North Expedition thirty years ago, composed of six mountaineers, two mages, and a hired blade. Only Varlas returned, barefoot, frostbitten, and half-naked, muttering of a “throne that breathes and shadows that peel away from stone”. He spent his final years scribbling feverishly in a locked cell until he tore out his own eyes, claiming “they were still watching.” His journals, known as The Ashbound Pages, are now banned but circulate among dark cults and seekers.   Sister Raellen (Age at disappearance: 39, Human, Priestess of the Veiled Light):  A gentle healer known across the valleys for her miracles, Sister Raellen defied her order by climbing Dead Mountain alone, hoping to “bring peace to the tormented dead.” That was seventeen years ago. No trace was ever found, yet travelers sometimes hear a woman’s voice murmuring prayers near the Spine Walk ridge. Some say her spirit offers fleeting protection against the Paleborn, while others believe her soul was claimed, now whispering false comfort to lure climbers to their doom. Her silver medallion, bearing the sun-and-veil emblem, is one of the most sought-after relics on the mountain.    

Legend Of Lord Kaelric Mourndane

  Five centuries ago, when the Nekros Oros range was still sparsely mapped and few dared settle near its shadow, Lord Kaelric Mourndane carved a bleak fortress-city at the edge of the mountain’s reach. A hardened warlord and self-proclaimed “Lord of the Vale,” Kaelric was a man of iron ambition and bitter heart, ruling his people with a cold but steady hand.   But Kaelric’s obsession was not with land or conquest, it was with defeating death itself. His wife, Lady Selladine, had died young from a wasting plague, and Kaelric, broken with grief, turned to whispered legends of Dead Mountain, where it was said the Throne Of Spite could grant dominion over life and death.   In his fifty-second year, Kaelric led a great retinue, knights, mercenaries, mages, and priests, up the mountain, bearing banners of black and silver. It was called The Mourndane March, a procession of over a hundred souls, armed and armored, determined to seize the mountain’s heart.   None returned.   For years afterward, villagers at the base claimed to see armored figures standing motionless on the slopes, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Even today, there are rumors of The Frostbound Host, a spectral army wandering the upper reaches, led by a towering knight in blackened plate with a broken helm and a sword of flickering pale fire. Travelers say that sometimes, on the coldest nights, you can hear the echo of drums and hooves, as if the Mourndane March still climbs, step by futile step, toward the unreachable summit.   The ruined keep of Mourndane Vale still stands, empty and half-buried in frost, its gates marked with the crest of a raven pierced by a silver arrow, the symbol of a house long gone to ash.   

”They say the mountain’s heart is cursed, that long ago, something ancient fell from the sky and buried itself deep in the stone, poisoning the roots of the range. Some claim Dead Mountain is not just a place but a prison, or worse, a grave marker for a god, titan, or world-consuming demon.”

— Maciba Tradice, expert on legends, lore, and prophecy