The Great Hold of Oriclan
The Great Hold of Oriclan is as steadfast as the glaciers that gird its realm. In halls carved from living stone and gripped by northern winds, Jarl Orich Frigidbeard commands not just with words, but with the silent authority of frost-hardened marshals standing at his side. Clad in runebound furs and wielding ice-forged steel, his council governs from a fortress that bleeds ice-blue light through crystal windows—lighting the endless night with stoic resolve.
Beyond the walls lie endless expanses of tundra, where hardy ice Dwarves toil in gem-rich mines or herd musk oxen beneath auroras. In the dead winter, the Hold does not close—it becomes more alive. Fires burn longer in forges, and the Dwarves dance the fire-song even as the wind howls like a beast driven mad.
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