Few have the ardent desire and hearty stamina to find this gentle beast. To reach this land, one must weather goat trails and mountain passes. Bitter is the cold and many a traveler has fallen prey to hypothermia in their travels. It is not uncommon to kiss the Crone's hands as she guides you to eternal rest, especially when conquering the northern reaches of Cyrileth. Yet still... some are more worthy than others.

Fog hangs in the air, its press warm and inviting. Frigid water tumbles down into a crystalline pool. Slabs of ice float idly on the surface and freezing water kisses stone. Snow-powdered rock creates an impenetrable fortress.

All is peaceful, or seemingly so. Fish and seals are found within the waters, and those that attempt to stay are misguided by the siren's song. They see beauty in the emptiness and comfort in the cold. This land cannot support the soft of heart, and so it has become little more than a burial ground.