The Rimeward Coast

The Rimeward's southern landfall — cold shingle shore and pine shoulder under the Rimespine, looking back across the water at the Frostcrown. Rimeholt Landing takes the dead-ships and the living both.

Lowlanders always half-knew the Korl came from somewhere colder than the Rampart, and the Rimeward is that somewhere: a fjord-cut land of range-curtains climbing to seven hundred metres and dropping sheer to water, a day-and-a-third of hard sailing north-east past the flanks of the Frostcrown. Its people ferry their honoured dead across that same water to lay them on the sacred mountain, so the crossing is a burial road as much as a trade road. The High Moot's holds gather here at Windcut Hold, high in a fjord-pass above the landing; the old toll-hold of the same name back on the Rampart is a garrison ruin now, kept only in the name of the crossing. Cold does not bite a Korl, and the Rimeward asks for that gift every day of the year.