These chimaeras are a cruel joke. Two tongues, both foul, snarling frost and hunger. As if this wasteland needed more teeth. This clearing is all we have, constantly overcome by storms before we can settle further. The two-headed Chillwind Ravagers circle us, testing our resolve, bleeding our time. We spend more hours driving them back than building anything of worth. Cull them. Break their presence here. With fewer prowling beasts, we may yet carve something lasting from this frozen waste.
Reputation