Today
Now, Grimspire is a haunted husk, its halls inhabited by restless, frostbitten spirits and strewn with frozen wealth. Icethorn’s progeny say she yet roosts atop shattered towers, guardian in grief. And some say the Dark Walkers endure—eternal shadows bound to honor, borne by magic and sorrow.
The Frost-Veined Gate The granite threshold of Grimspire’s lower courtyard, its carvings etched with runes of oath and betrayal. Frost pulses from the stone at dusk, as if the citadel itself breathes. The Dark Walker’s Watch A hidden watchtower carved into the rock, where spectral blades still glimmer in moonlight. Said to be where the Dark Walkers last stood guard, refusing the hunt. Icethorn’s Nesting Perch High among the crumbled battlements lies a spiraled tower where Icethorn is said to brood, her silhouette seen against pale moonlight, sorrow or vengeance in her gaze. The Egg Chamber A frozen crypt deep inside the citadel, where shattered eggshells and frost-encrusted treasures—stolen but cursed—lie as silent witnesses to that fateful hunt. The Ghost Market Once Grimspire’s trading square, now a spectral visage of commerce: phantom traders with intangible wares. Few dare linger, but some claim they’ve traded with lingering spirits for forbidden knowledge. Winter’s Root Far below, this labyrinth of mining tunnels connects Winter to Grimspire’s old foundations. It serves as a refuge for smugglers bringing out artifacts—or bones—though even these tunnels grow colder and more restless the deeper one goes.