Ironsky Crag
Where the Dreamseers Fell and the Winds Still Weep
High up on the wind-scoured cliffs of the Spires of Thennavar, carved into a sheer face of dark granite streaked with silver, lies the broken ruin of Ironsky Crag—once the most revered aerie of Clan Seabhac, now a place of mourning, defiance, and unhealed memory.
In the elder days, Ironsky Crag was not merely a stronghold—it was a sanctuary of vision, a place where the most gifted dreamers and sky-druids of Seabhac gathered to commune with the winds, observe the stars, and interpret the dance of clouds and birds. Built into the uppermost edge of a jagged cliff wall, the aerie’s towers rose like fingers into the sky, crowned with mirrored lenses, wind chimes, and woven banners that sang with every gust. It was here that High Dreamseer Molra of the Second Sky foresaw the sundering of the League of Stars. It was here that falconers bred the three white stormhawks that once guided the clans to victory in the Icevale Skirmishes. And it was here, five decades past, that tragedy struck.
The Kaldurreach, in one of their most reviled acts, launched a raid not upon warriors, but upon their visions. Under the cover of an enormous thunderstorm, they scaled the cliff with their storm-cloaked warbands and put Ironsky Crag to the torch. The dreamseers, caught mid-trance and unable to defend themselves, were slaughtered. Those few defenders who fought back were thrown from the ledges or cut down in the inner halls. By dawn, only fire and ruins remained. The act shook the Clans — even among the most blood-bound peoples of the north, the murder of seers was considered a breach of all sacred bonds. It nearly sparked a full war, but Seabhac did not respond with rage. Instead, they closed Ironsky Crag, sealed it with skyglass and runes of mourning, and swore that its silence would be a louder condemnation than any blade.
To this day, no one dwells at Ironsky Crag. No windwatcher roosts, no hunter rests. The site is kept intact in its ruin, guarded only by the wind and the white hawks that still circle its burned towers, never nesting or leaving. Once a year, on the longest night, the High Druid walks alone to the Crag, lights no fire, and waits for a sign. What she sees, she never shares.
But the people remember. And so do the winds.
“They killed our dreamers to blind our path. But they forgot the sky has memory.” — High Druid Eira Skydancer, after the Siege of Ironsky Crag
