I head north-east through the rugged tundra plains towards my next destination, the Morkul Stronghold. The leathery wilderness of central Wrothgar is littered with crumbling bridges, gates and towers built in the distant past to defend settlements that have long since been forgotten. Whilst traversing along its broken roads I pass bandit camps, wandering ogres, packs of durzogs, and even the occasional lone giant. This is a picturesque land full of ugly creatures, inhospitable and cruel not just to travellers, but even for the Orc tribes that call these tundra plains their home.

One creature I was to encounter however that is as striking beautiful as the glacial foothills that conjure them, was the Ice Wraith. For travellers from the temperate south, these nature spirits are but creatures born of storybooks, bard’s fancies or scholar’s pretensions.Too often do they only discover that these mythical creatures are in-fact real at the moment they are frozen by the piercing bite of the Wraith’s icy maws. For these serpentine creatures are nigh on invisible against the snow and ice to the eyes of the unwary, and even the most experienced of Orsimer hunters have a ugly scar and tale to match, which they are usually happy to share with southern visitors for the price of a mug of Grog or a Twice-Spiked Ale.

S.K