Game Management Tools

On the northern slopes, the bones of Tarsk the Mammoth King pierce the tundra like white spires. Each tusk hums with ancient magic, drawing lightning from stormy skies and summoning snow that never melts. Locals warn that, on nights when the aurora dances, the ground shakes with a slow, shuddering heartbeat. On the northern slopes, the bones of Tarsk the Mammoth King pierce the tundra like white spires. Each tusk hums with ancient magic, drawing lightning from stormy skies and summoning snow that never melts. Locals warn that, on nights when the aurora dances, the ground shakes with a slow, shuddering heartbeat.

The Silent Menagerie is a collection of glass cages hidden beneath the palace, each holding a creature made of shadows, dreams, or vanished songs. When the torches gutter low, their shapes flicker and twist, and faint music drifts through the halls—reminding those above that not all treasures are meant to be seen. The Silent Menagerie is a collection of glass cages hidden beneath the palace, each holding a creature made of shadows, dreams, or vanished songs. When the torches gutter low, their shapes flicker and twist, and faint music drifts through the halls—reminding those above that not all treasures are meant to be seen.

Aveline Blackwater, sheriff of Dustwind, carries both badge and burden with a weathered hand. Her gaze is as cold and steady as the barrel of her rifle, and rumor has it she once stared down a tornado until it turned aside. In her presence, men and storms alike find themselves wanting. Aveline Blackwater, sheriff of Dustwind, carries both badge and burden with a weathered hand. Her gaze is as cold and steady as the barrel of her rifle, and rumor has it she once stared down a tornado until it turned aside. In her presence, men and storms alike find themselves wanting.

Husk Hollow is a mining town chewed into the ribs of a red sandstone canyon. At sunset, the wind howls through empty streets, carrying the ghostly refrain of pickaxes striking stone. Locals say the gold veins ran dry the night the earth swallowed half the townsfolk whole—and spits out their whispers with every dust storm. Husk Hollow is a mining town chewed into the ribs of a red sandstone canyon. At sunset, the wind howls through empty streets, carrying the ghostly refrain of pickaxes striking stone. Locals say the gold veins ran dry the night the earth swallowed half the townsfolk whole—and spits out their whispers with every dust storm.

Skarnroot, the living fossil, stalks the prehistoric marshlands on knuckled claws, its hide armored with slabs of mossy stone. It uproots trees with a grunt and feeds on volcanic springs, eyes glowing with a slow, ancient cunning that has outlasted epochs. Skarnroot, the living fossil, stalks the prehistoric marshlands on knuckled claws, its hide armored with slabs of mossy stone. It uproots trees with a grunt and feeds on volcanic springs, eyes glowing with a slow, ancient cunning that has outlasted epochs.