From the Journals of Dorunn Valeheart, Naturalist of the Ninth Survey of the High North
“Concerning the Land of Kadathe, the northernmost ally of Taurdain, Auris Mithrin and Thylor’”
To High Archivist Thalbern, Keeper of the Maphold in Areskholm,
I write now from the wind-blasted ridges of northernmost Aelgrun, some forty-seven days hence from the last tree line, and with the salt of three seas still clinging to my boots. Let my words sketch for you the form and breath of this desolate and splendorous land—this Kadathe’—so that you may hold it in mind though your hearth never dims.
Kadathe’ is a titan’s blade stabbed northward into the sea, girded on all sides save its southern reach, where lowland forests and rocky barrens merge into the greater continent. Along its spine runs a colossal ridge—the Jötnmark, as the old tongue names it—a near-continuous bastion of stone and ice that cleaves the land in twain for near a thousand leagues. It is said the mountains were not born from upthrust earth, but from the bones of a celestial wyrm that died screaming during the First Age. Though I count such tales as poetic fancy, there is a cold truth to their grandeur.
Geologically, the Jötnmark is ancient—far older than the western continents—with roots that plumb deep into the mantle itself. Composed of a strange black-veined stone known locally as glaungrit, these peaks resist all but the most determined erosion. Glaciers cling to their flanks like stubborn ghosts, grinding down to fjords that spear inland for dozens of miles. Earthquakes are rare, but when they come, the land sings like a drawn blade.
The western seacoast—called Kravenreach—is steep and sheer, dotted with sunless coves and sea-stacks riddled with cave-worms and nesting cliffdrakes. Here, the warm ocean currents grant a strange mercy, holding the ice at bay and allowing grim pine forests—blackspike, wolfneedle, and silver fir—to cling to the broken soil. Rich in iron-heavy clays, these forests breed hardy beasts: white-mawed elk, slate-coated direwolves, and the elusive smoke lynx, which trails frost from its whiskers.
To the east, beyond the crest of the Jötnmark, lies the Sunless Expanse—a vast permafrost tundra shrouded half the year in darkness. There is no true soil here, only windswept loess, lichens clinging to exposed basalt, and shallow-rooted shrubs that crackle like dry paper underfoot. In this land, winter is not a season, but a sovereign. The sun itself seems to retreat in reverence.
Life survives only through stubborn defiance or dire adaptation. Herds of horned ullak migrate with the ghost-light, their hollow bones whispering across the snow. Burrowing ash hares with ember eyes nest beneath thermal springs fed by the deep-rift veins of hot earth. The great predator of this realm is the skarthûl, an eyeless ice-lizard that stalks prey by scent and subtle tremor—a beast older than language.
Weather across Kadathe’ is violent and mythic. In the Jötnmark heights, storms gather with unnatural regularity—cyclonic snow-whorls spun by the shape of the land and funneled through the ridgelines like flutes. Summer is a blink, a sigh; a brief thaw during which alpine meadows bloom in colors like spilled paint, only to be scoured clean by frostwinds days later. Blizzards may carry salt or ash, and in some years, they rain sharp stones believed to be ejected from the Frostspine’s still-smoldering hearts.
And yet, there is a stark beauty here—a quiet reverence. I have seen frozen lakes glow from within, as if lit by some dreaming mind beneath the ice. I have stood beneath frostfalls taller than towers, and watched their icy tongues move as if breathing. There is power in the land—a slow, humming throb that speaks not in words but in weather, stone, and survival.
Addendum: On the Folk of Kadathe’
The people of Kadathe’ are as shaped by the land as any glacier or pine. They are a pale-skinned folk, tall and sinewy, with storm-gray eyes and voices like wind through crevices. Their gods are old—the Æsir, they call them—Odin, Thor, Freya, and their like. The Norse pantheon is not folklore here, but foundation; temples sit upon ridges and fjord-thrones alike, and the runestones are worn smooth from centuries of frost and reverent hands.
The greatest gathering of civilization is the walled city of Talismonde’, built on the frozen shoulders of three converging rivers. Within its obsidian-stone walls dwell dwarves in their forge-halls, rare and aloof elven kind who trade only in riddles and oaths, and thousands of hardy humans bound together by need and shared ancestry.
Scattered across Kadathe’ lie the remnants of the Everwinter War—forts buried to their battlements in snow, walls scorched by spellfire, and watchtowers that still creak under aurora-swathed skies. From those days of horror also rose the Phoenix Monks, a brotherhood both feared and beloved.
These monks wander the land barefoot in snow, their crimson sashes the only mark of order. They ask for nothing, own less than beggars, and live only by the goodwill of the people. Their role is not only spiritual—many serve as judges, bodyguards, and emissaries in the most remote reaches. Taciturn and solemn, they weigh every word before it is given breath. But should blood be called for, they unleash violence with an intensity that staggers even battle-hardened clans.
It is whispered, in corners and frost-hushed cellars, that the Phoenix Monks can return their fallen brethren to life, but only if the body is borne to the Flamecrypt, the hidden heart-temple of their order. Whether this is miracle or myth, none outside the brotherhood know—and few would dare ask.
May these words serve to paint some small measure of truth. Kadathe’ is not a land one masters. It is a land one survives. And in surviving, learns to revere.
Yours in frost and fire,
Dorunn Valeheart
Naturalist of the Ninth Survey, By Order of the Cartographer’s Guild
“Wyrm’s Spine and Winter’s Edge: A Traveler’s Guide to Kadathe’”
By Dorunn Valeheart, Naturalist and Cartographer of the Ninth Survey
I. Of Geography and Orientation
To the untraveled, Kadathe’ seems but a ragged northern peninsula, lashed on three flanks by grim seas and bridged at its southern heel to the mainland’s wild marches. But this is no mere projection of land—it is a continent in miniature, divided by the mighty Jötnmark Range, which cuts the land clean as a war-blade.
Map Reference: The Three Realms of Kadathe’
- The Western Coast (Kravenreach, fjords, sea-cliffs, blackpine forests)
- The Spine (Jötnmark Ridge, highland passes, the Old Forts of the Everwinter War)
- The Eastern Expanse (Sunless Tundra, scattered monasteries, nomad trails)
- Talismonde’ and the Lower Riverlands (the “warmest” of Kadathe’s zones)
Map items to include (delete entry once complete)
- Elevation shading
- Major keeps and ruins
- Trade routes (seasonal)
- Known monasteries of the Phoenix Order
- Boundaries of beast migratory paths (see below)
II. On Notable Beasts of the Land
The Ullak, Horned Wanderer of the Northern Lights
The ullak is Kadathe’s answer to the stag—though no stag was ever born with eyes like frozen moons and horns that sing in the wind.
Standing near fourteen hands tall at the shoulder, the ullak travels in small, matriarchal herds, favoring the frost-scabbed meadows east of the Spine. Their most unique feature is their hollow horns, which curl like ivory trumpets from their brows. These resonant chambers produce a mournful note in strong winds—some scholars believe it to be unintentional, while others swear it is a form of long-range communication.
Wiry black fur covers most of their body, but a stripe of silvery hair marks the dominant female of each herd. Ullak are shy but not foolish, and can gore a direwolf clean through if cornered. Their meat is stringy but sustaining, their hides prized for warmth, and their horn-song said to calm infants and stir visions in dreamers.
Map Note: Common Ullak Migration Paths follow a “V” shape from the eastern tundra into the high passes of the central Spine and back again with the seasons.
The Skarthûl, Glacier-Stalker
Imagine a salamander the size of a bear, blind and mute, its flesh slick with rime. That is the skarthûl, a predator of the deep frostfields.
They hunt by tremor-sense, lying motionless beneath snowdrifts or frozen ponds until the vibrations of prey pass near. Their bite can break stone, and when disturbed, they emit a bone-rattling hiss produced by vibrating their jawbones—a sound that has killed the unprepared out of sheer shock.
They are solitary. If you find two, you are already dead.
Smoke Lynx of the Western Cliffs
A feline predator that prowls the Kravenreach coast, the smoke lynx earned its name from its coloration—a dusky blue-gray that fades at the paws and muzzle—and from the way mist seems to follow its passage.
Covered in coarse, oil-slick fur, it glides between sea mist and bramble with uncanny stealth. The locals believe it can vanish outright, though I suspect light refraction from its oily pelt plays a trick on the eyes.
Few can tame one. Fewer survive trying.
III. City of Stone and Fire: Talismonde’
A true entry on Talismonde’ deserves a tome in itself. Here, let this brief suffice:
- Location: Eastern foothills where three glacial rivers converge.
- Construction: Obsidian and basalt walls, ringed with runic flame wards.
- Inhabitants: Predominantly human, though one may find dwarf forgemasters, elven oath-binders, and at least one known clan of icebound halflings in the lower ward.
- Notables:
- The High Forge Flames of Mount Perdium burn here, for the last 500 years since the volcano was last active.
- The Phoenix Quarter, home to the red-sashed monks
- The Echo Halls, an ancient dwarven ruin sealed beneath the southern rampart
Traveler’s Warning: Entry is taxed in winter and prohibited during certain moon-phases believed to coincide with unrest among the city’s buried dead.
Shermans fantasy world 